Bamako Living

The Bamako Blitz: Countdown to Ameriki*

2009-11-17T12:39:00.000-08:00

Wow - I've got 3 more days here. In a way, these three days seem like an eternity. I have prepared my mind and body for my departure, so I feel like I am walking through slow motion film as I tackle the small challenges that remain: getting final Ministry of Ed data, writing reference letters for my TAs, copying data on multiple drives, and then the extended waves of goodbyes.

I remember back in college, when I went home from Spring break - after multiple all-nighters, a season of basketball, waitressing: I would be so exhausted that all I would want to do is sleep. One memorable spring break, my college roommate Maggie came home with me, we curled up under a comforter in my bedroom, and I think we slept for 3 days straight.

That is sorta how the end of fieldwork feels. Your body finally gets to process 11 months of cold showers, trying to walk the line between your food budget and nutrition/health and happiness, living somewhere where the poverty is still ever present and there is so little you can do, every interaction being a cultural navigation, and constant linguistic gymnastics - french to bambara to english to french. It's easy to get overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by what's outside your door; overwhelmed by what you can't change; overwhelmed by what you have actually seen and done.

In a way - the almost year here seems like a 30 second movie trailer - images, conversations, and feelings pop up, mesh together, and cycle in and out, but it also feels like more than a year of trench warfare. For my own sanity and for your entertainment - I have tried to quantify some of what I have experienced here, what is dancing and clawing through my mind:

Visited 6 regional capitals (Bamako, Timbuktu, Segou, Kayes, Sikasso, Sevare/Mopti)
Trained 4 rockstar research assistants
Conducted 1000 household interviews (Well between me and my team)
Witnessed 4 fatal accidents (all moto drivers)
Learned lots of great new Bambara two-word words like muna-muna (turn) and walla-walla (to feel well/embrace life/attacking the day
Attended 1 wedding and 1 baptism
Danced in a record 3 nightclubs in one weekend - thanks Jessica
Passed 2 Malaria tests with negative results
Introduced 4 new people to Mali including my little bro
Taught English, coached basketball, cooked 4 dinners for in-laws/fake Malian parents
Talked my way out of 4 police bribes
Unable to talk my way out of 3 police "tickets"
Gathered voting data from 1999-2009 for 702 communes
Conducted 450 exit polls for the communal elections
Survived 1 sotrama accident where we hit lots of motots; 1 car accident where we rear-ended a donkey
Hosted 2 roof parties
Bought a car, sold a car, fixed a taxi, bought a bridal shop
Attended the Festival in the Desert, music/film fest on the Niger, Photo Biennial, and a crazy dance party/video installation exhibit in the old brickyard on the river
Learned how to "chi-ri-ry"
Played against the Malian 15 and under national basketball teams on local TV
Met and re-met some amazing folks: researchers, pilots, supportive spouses, teachers, coaches, students, NGO workers, peace corps, and students
Wrote 3 papers; 1 presented and 2 to go
Lost 15-20 pounds, 1 cellphone, and my favorite dress
Interviewed the head of the electoral commission, a anti-privatisation activist and the star of "Bamako," ATT's boyhood friend, Association of Koranic school leaders in Kayes, a WWII vet, and dozens of educators
Shared my home with 7 visitors
Recorded 200 interviews with university students
Became skype, web, facebook, internet dependent - wow Africa in 2009
Obtained 3 research clearances
Made a lot of Malians laugh

It seems silly to make a list. But it's also comforting as I am tired and I want to know that I did something while I was here. Mali and Bamako in particular continues to grow and expand by the minute - some problems remedied, others exacerbated. One feels a bit helpless, there for the ride, watching everything pass. Like when you learn a language - the better you get, the more you realize there is to tackle.

Going to try to make these last few days count. Then on to Kenya; then home in time for thanksgiving!

*Research Team Members and Drissa in the Sikasso Region

To Timbuktu and Back

2009-11-06T02:50:00.000-08:00

Most Americans haven't hear of Mali. I think its imagined as a hybrid of Malawi and Bali. However, all Americans have heard of Timbuktu. I first remember hearing about it while watching bugs bunny cartoons as a child.

I sent my RAs up to Timbuktu to finish up the final surveys. I had wanted to accompany them, but given the summers' events (assassination of a British hostage by a group calling themselves Al Queada of the Sahel, supposed ties between that group and family disputes in Timbuktu region, assassination of a Malian military officer in his living room in Timbuktu ville) and my lack of language skills - I don't speak Songhrai, Arabic, or Tamashek - I opted to send them up alone. I was also reaping the benefits of months of training and mentoring my bright, capable research assistants. One of them was from the region and other has been with me since February. We talked extensively about budget management, site selection, and various logistics before they left on the bus to Douentza and then a 4X4 to Timbuktu.

I was fortunate enough to score a ride up to visit them. My rock-star pilot friend allowed me to "roadtrip" up with him to Timbuktu. I admit I was suffering from a bit of Mali malaise before my departure, but riding in the cockpit tracing the path of the Niger to the left of the plane - was a shocking reminder of where I was and what I was doing. After a brief stop in Mopti, we powered on the Timbuktu. My RA Youba sent a friend to pick me up on his moto. The city was relatively quiet and calm. As we road over the sand dunes -I remember how different it was up North. Bella make-shift huts were scattered throughout the city, there were no taxis, no jakartas - just lots of 4x4s.

I was dropped off at Youba's house. I spent the day with him and Guindo - reviewing the budget and talking about the surveys - voting rates are much higher in Timbuktu, ethnic and inter-ethnic coalitions appear to trump party identification, people have fewer government documents. I met the two assistants that Guindo and Youba had selected to help them with the surveys and I was extremely impressed. A law graduate and a education student - both were very interested in the intersection of education and politics. They joked that the survey brought them luck - in that very week one had been hired with an NGO and the other passed his university exams. We ate some amazing "dibi sogo." I spent the evening chatting with Youba's dad in the compound under the stars. He told me how much Timbuktu has changed - how tradition is weakening and how the content of someone's thoughts/intellect is less valued. I said goodbye to everyone and headed back to the hotel so I would be ready for the 5:30 am depart.

I rode back to the airport and standing up in the back of a pickup - breathing in the fresh air. It smelled like the ocean. I returned triumphant to Bamako - timbuktu and back in less than 24 hours, receipts and 100 surveys in hand - this is definitely the most efficient trip I've ever made.

Bamako Bride*

2009-10-24T05:56:00.000-07:00

Less than a month to go in my Bamako adventure. My final month coincides with the opening our newest small business venture for his family - Bamako Bride. We are still proud taxi owners, but we figured it was time to diversify. We have opened a small bridal rental shop in the family's neighborhood -Niamakoro. It's a brightly painted (pink and blue) shop next to a newer Eco-bank with full length glass display windows in front. We have 14 wedding dresses (much thanks to my mom and wedding guru Viva Max!) and a whole bunch of "pret a porter" party dresses (many donated by friends and family- thanks!). We are shooting for a bride-friendly - queen for a day scene that mixes urban Bamako fashion with American bridal stamina.

Solo - my former driver - now mans the shop. Drissa's family brings him lunch everyday. Drissa's brother Yacouba helped us to secure and renovate the space. My neighbor, Nicole, and I arranged the display - wedding dresses along a long rack to the right and other dresses hung all around the left hand wall. We have a cheesy 1980s Macy's Dept style mannequin. Yacou and Solo bought an expensive mannequin and a wig and a hairnet that holds on the wig.

For our promotional shoot, Yacou asked his fiancee and her friends and his friends friends to come be in our catalog. I called on my friends Devon, who works for an NGO here, and Hillary, a teacher, as well as Nicole - to add some American models to the mix. I played photographer and stylist and all the girls worked together to model all 14 dresses. 8 models changing in a tiny room with one mirror. Trading jewlrey and dresses trying to to maximize both preferences and the the best fits. Everything accomplished in 3 hours - pretty amazing.

I used pics from that day to make a catalogue and business cards. I had limited photo-editing software, so I used old school "Paint" (an early 90s relic found in the accessories tab.) Those who took computer class in the early 90s will appreciate the way I used the eraser to delete the background images of this photo so that just Bintou (host niece) and the model remain.

Drissa has just started distributing business cards. My friend Sam is working on a logo (yeahhhhhh Sam)! Next step is posting fliers and sotramas that go to Niamakoro and a lottery for a free wedding dress rental for university students on campus.

So if anyone knows anyone who needs to rent a wedding dress in Bamako - send them our way!

*Rock'n crazy microsoft paint skills on this photo.

You're so 2000and late*

2009-10-16T07:24:00.000-07:00

It's now been more than 10 months since I first touched down on Bamako soil - and I can say - the times are a changing. I would like to see the Western Union money transfer total for the month of Ramadan. Up until September, there had been a slow and gradual rhythm of a few more cars here and there, store facades sprouting up like mushrooms. But then in the month of Ramadan and forever after there has been this explosion of fancy cars (porche cayenne's, brand new bmws), fancy hairdressing shops, kids wearing jeans and designer t-shirts, men in super expensive basin. When I first came to Mali - there were no such things as hair salons or non-diesel, non government cars.

What happened? Why aren't we feeling the financial crisis in Bamako... I have a couple of guesses - 1 is that malians don't have access to credit. Credit has always been hard to get and expensive here (relatively). So - when there is a credit crunch - Malians aren't effected. Most Malians living abroad aren't citizens and therefore have difficulty creating a credit profile. The stuff that people buy is bought with cash and paid in full. My guess is that while the US has suffered this financial crisis, Malians expats have been scooping up stuff on sale and sending over here to Mali - where again - people buy stuff with cash.

Second, I want to talk to study people who study customs regulations in Bamako, but I have a sneaking suspicion that there has been a great deal of regulation and standardization this year. Sure, people who know people probably get out of most taxes, but I think the rules of the game are being applied more broadly and becoming more transparent - meaning more people can get into the import game.

Third, remittances, remittances, remittances, - western union and money gram - everyone is getting much more organized and Malians making money abroad can send it over here at their convenience. For just 8 euros you can send money from Europe and have an email receipt an hour later telling you someone picked it up. It costs about $2 to send money across Mali.

However, my observations apply to the capital city - BAMAKO. I just got back from the regional capital of Sikasso - near the Burkina/Cote d'Ivoire border and it was like being in Bamako 7 years ago. Tough to find a fan, a cool drink, or a working internet connection. We interviewed 100 respondents in Sikasso ville and then another 100 in 5 surrounding villages. It was a shocking reminder of the stark contrast between urban glitz of Bamako and rural poverty. Most shocking was speaking to female respondents from the villages. Mostly, men tried to prevent us from speaking to them (oh the women don't speak Bambara - meanwhile - they would greet and joke with us in Bambara as we walked past). When we did get a chance to speak to some women - they were so uniformed and unaware it was a truly overwhelming. The good news is that their daughters (for a large part) are going to school. Hopefully, if nothing else, school will empower them to observe and reflect on phenomena outside of the compound walls and feel capable of expressing their own preferences and opinions. It's hard to imagine that those rural kids reach high school and then travel off to university in Bamako, which seems like another planet.

*Research team with respondents in randomly selected village - Ntjibougou (Sikasso Region)

Dear Cornell - Admit Nicole*

2009-09-25T14:49:00.000-07:00

This blog entry is an appeal to the Cornell Admissions Committee to accept Ms. Nicole Green:

First - a confession- my blog dedication and general Nicole-euphoria has been motivated in part by the fact that she unlocked Drissa and my i-phones (something that no one else in Bamako can do.)

Nicole is my bright and perky neighbor. She is an American exchange student here to do a semester at a Malian high school. A week ago, she celebrated her 16th birthday here in Bamako. Although, she is just learning French and Bambara - Nicole already speaks Chinese and Spanish. She plays many instruments. She has taken enough courses that she could graduate from high school early. Next year, She is hoping to study abroad in China for her "senior" year in high school.

This is my 5th trip to Mali and I still get overwhelmed. The language, the culture, sometimes I have days where it is all just too much. I want to curl up in my room with the AC watching English language movies eating kraft macaroni and cheese. I remember how crazy my first trip was. The poverty/the heat/the smells sort of slap you in the face and then you gradual adjust and start focusing on the kids smiles, the sweet tart taste of mangoes, the booming rhythms and silly lyrics of coupe decale....

Thinking of my slow, evolution, I am amazed by my new neighbor - Nicole. She is engaging Mali with a maturity and poise that I could never imagine at 16. She prefers hanging out with her host family than trying to learn french in the classroom. She has jumped in "free-fall" style. She is embracing everything and everyone. Everytime I tell another expat that she is here, they are blown away. Responses ranging from: "At 16?!" to "Why?" "Wow I was at another place at 16." But at 16 Nicole already seems to get it - to understand what Mali might offer. To be action-adventure enough to try a semester, the first time away from her family - in a foreign country, in a foreign language! But - she is still a 16 year-old - she likes vanilla milkshakes and plain peanut butter sandwiches.

Nicole hopes to major in Engineering with maybe a side of law. She visited google and loved it. After knowing Nicole for just a month, she seems like a perfect google employee. She is creative, she knows what she wants, she eschews formality for practicality and directness. When unlocking my phone, she worked for hours and hours, past vista blockages, and power shortages, trying different programs. She couldn't leave until she did it her way.

I wanted to honor her in my blog - cause I can't imagine many other 16 year-olds doing what she is doing. But, I hope she is not the last. I'd like to meet more quint-lingual, computer programmer- musicians.

Seriously Cornell, Nicole would be a great addition to the community. You will be lucky if she decides to join us in Ithaca.

*Nicole on her 16th birthday with host-sister Daly

Happy Eid

2009-09-21T06:14:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the end of Ramadan. After a month of fasting and abstaining from activites most young people would consider fun: dancing, fraternizing with members of the opposite sex - Mali exploded yesterday in a colorful, polluted mosasic of cars and people and food. Most Malians have special outfits made for Eid - for many Malians this is there only chance this year to get a new outfit. Hair salons have been packed wall to wall with women - literally 24 hours a day as clients seeks to create a spectacular "coiffure" for Eid. Malians like to get dressed up - and its common to see $100+ basin for weddings, baptisms, and funerals - however, yesterday - it was like the entire country was at a wedding.

During the morning - things were quiet. The non-residential parts of Bamako - markets and hotel districts were ghost towns. In the afternoon, the energy started building and never subsided. Traffic was crazy - the air was murky, tense, and excited. Drissa explained that many people drove cars that had been sitting in garages for months. As a result - streets were 4 lanes deep with cars, motos, and buses. Women in colorful outfits rode on the back of motos - carrying food to inlawS and breastfeeding babies. Bands of children in freshly made complets, faux suits with bowties, and chinese versions of "hip hop" gear paraded the streets in bands - going house to house - trick or treating for small change.

We visited Drissa's family. Each visitation includes each person giving blessings to everyone else and then getting them back. I shadowed Drissa and hung out with my niece and nephews as my Bambara repetoire was not up on the proper holiday greetings. We purchased a motorcycle from our friend Paul and Marie - who recently left for Europe - and presented it to Drissa's dad. He was thrilled. Unlike most motos in Bamako - Paul and Maries - came with two helmets, which makes me feel a bit more comfortable about my inlaws riding around in the chaos. Drissa's cousin Abou modeled a helmet that Marie had decorated in the form of a muppet fur bear head. Drissa's older, usually stoic Uncle put on the other helmet and was the first to jump on the moto. This post's photo captures the wonderful juxtaposition of the starchy white holiday boubous and the moto gear.

The celebrating continues until Wednesday as Tuesday is Mali's national independence day. I am sitting in my room - away from the chaos- trying to get some writing done. However, its overwhelming to think of the swirling masses of people, transport, and food just beyond my window.

Roadtrip*

2009-09-13T15:31:00.001-07:00

Most of the time, I forget that I live anywhere exotic. Men driving motos while holding two sheep or older Peule women with tattooed mouths don’t even get a second glance from me. It’s like living in DC or Chicago or NYC or anywhere that becomes so day-to-day (I won’t go quite as far as mundane), but you forget that it is anywhere special or all the mystique and intrigue that the Smithsonian, Central Park, or Wrigley field might provide for tourists. A friend once joked with me that you have to be high or drunk in Bamako to remember how wild it was to be living in Bamako.

Lucky for me, this quotidian haze disappears once I leave Bamako limits. Drissa and I decided to drive to Segou then San for a little R and R – and so Drissa could visit an old friend in a far off village. We had celebrated a friend’s birthday Thursday then went out to the “Peace Corps Swear-In After Party” at No Stress. Imagine 50 or so young Americans bumping and grinding to US top 50 hits before being sent off to remote parts of Mali. Entrance was free, so a group of us Peace Corps posers embraced the mood and danced until 2 am or so.

Drissa slept for an hour, ate his pre-fast meal then slept till 9. After final repairs were made to our car, we changed more money, etc –and headed off to Segou around 3. We got there just at fast breaking time. Drissa drank some tea, while I secured a room at our favorite hotel – the Djoliba. It’s hard to explain what makes the Djoliba amazing – there is no pool, no lavish lobby, but every time you stay there – you feel great -like a perfect vacation. The rooms are clean and modern and bright with Ikea furnishings and down comforters. We ate a delicious fish dinner, drank some wine and watched French game shows on TV. We woke up and had a leisurely breakfast with real coffee before heading off to San (Drissa took the day off from fasting).

There is not much to do or see in San, but the drive there was awesome. I kept thinking “I live in West Africa” something I had completely forgotten. We cruised in the Mercedes wearing matching aviators blasting the Roots Live in Stokholm, then Nick Drake, then Little Kim – it was so fun to see and experience Mali on our terms, with our soundtrack - not hot and jammed in a bus or in a 4X4 showing other people the “sights.” Just controlling the music, being able to offer rides to people walking along the way and taking in a green-rainy-season Savanna: gaggles of women selling technicolor vegetables, little kids herding large bulls – ducking down to feel the breeze of the car as it drove past, massive baobabs reaching out into the open plane, Disney-world huts next to cell phone towers and newly installed electric lights. Various landmarks reminded Drissa of stories from his childhood; what a world away from that we were. But then again, it’s amazing to think that 10 years ago I was moving into my freshman dorm with views of Lake Michigan- blasting Gill Scott Heron and collecting garbage from neighbors to create our “found art collage.” I could never have imagined driving along the road to San – feeling so at ease, but so alive – thinking “this is my Mali, this is our Mali.”

*Dual aviator action cruising in the 85 mercedes...

Thomas Schelling in Bamako

2009-09-09T09:52:00.000-07:00

As soon as Drissa arrived at the airport we stopped by his parents house right before morning prayer to greet everyone before heading back to our house. My father-in-law must have told the kids that he was coming because everyone was up and buzzing about. As Drissa emerged from the car everyone was chanting "ton-ton Drissa." We said our hellos then headed to Magnambougou to say hi to my host family. Then my brother-in-law insisted on breaking his fast and praying at our house before heading home, so we sat with him and Solo for a while to plan out the next day. The missions included the following: changing money, buying a new motor for our taxi, starting to sell various electronics drissa brought from the US, and starting to scout locations for our newest business venture - a bridal shop in Bamako. Drissa and I were finally able to escape family-time for five hours or so before the crowds arrived back at our house at about 10 AM.

After a team huddle we all dispersed in various directions - first heading to look for a motor. I wasn't quite ready to let Drissa out of my sight - so I decided to head downtown with them. (I think I might hold the title of toubab logging the greatest cumulative hours in West African garages). Then the rain started to pour - and pour and pour and pour. Rain means business stops and people sleep. Drissa braved the rain and managed to arrange to get a motor the next day. We headed back across the river to our neighborhood. Roads were flooding as sewage systems got clogged with mud. We saw crazy moto-drivers trying to navigate through 3 feet of water. People got were panicking and abandoning their cars in the middle of flood zones. Luckily, I was with 3 public transport people: solo, drissa, and our taxi driver Cheble. Solo was driving and as the water approached our windows - Drissa walked him through the flash flood - keep your car in low gears, keep the accelerator steady. Water poured into our car onto the floor maps. We slowly drove around abandoned taxis and people pulling their motos to the median. Any sudden change of speed or stopping the car would pull water into the motor and break it. I was completely impressed by the calm of my husband, solo, and cheble. It was only after the water receded from the floor mats and I saw drissa laughing explaining that Solo was a Kalanden numan (a good student) that I realized how crazy what we just did was and how nervous they had all been.

Meanwhile, neighborhoods away in Niamacoro, our nephews decided that they wanted to visit Drissa and I at our house. So the 5 year old and 8 year old started walking to our house. The rain started pouring down and my in-laws noticed that the two boys had disappeared. Boi had told another nephew: "It's late - we've waited all morning. Ton ton Drissa hasn't come yet. We are going to his house." Drissa and I arrived at the house to learn that the kids had been gone for a couple of hours in the rain. Noone knew where the kids had gone. Everyone in the house - except the younger cousins - was out searching for the kids. Drissa and I exchanged glances - it was one of those amazing moments where you gain strength and calm from your partner in the most pressing of times. He said that often lost kids are deposited at a local radio station in Magnambogou. He called my host brother to get the station's number and seconds later he was talking to the DJ who explained that they would announce that the kids were lost. Each announcement cost $2. Drissa called his brother Yacouba and told him to go to the radio station to investigate. As Drissa made these calls, the political scientist in me was amazed that a private radio station - and not a police station - was the "focal point" for lost kids.

I started out on foot - trying to think of places where a five and 8 year old might go or hide during the rainstorm. I walked along the road and Drissa got our car and tried calling other relatives to figure out where they had already been. After an hour or so of searching, I got a call from Drissa who had talked to Yacouba who said that the radio station had located the kids. Drissa picked me up and dropped me off a couple of blocks from his house, where I jogged back to tell everyone back at the house that they were found. His dad was relieved, but his mom was still out looking - without a cellphone. I decided to stay put at the house where I could call both Drissa and Yacouba for updates.

About 30 minutes later, Drissa arrived with our nephews. He had bought them meat and they were eating it as they arrived rather sheepishly. Drissa sat down and explained the whole story. A man had seen the kids near the large highway that separates my neighborhood from Drissa's parents. He asked them where they lived - realized they were lost and promptly brought them to Radio Guintan. Radio Guintan said they had nowhere to put the kids so the secretary took the guy's information down and had him bring them back to his house. By the time Drissa had called the station, the kids had already come by the secretary's office. However, she failed to tell the DJs in the booth (who drissa had spoken to). Yacouba arrived and asked the secretary if anyone had brought any kids by. She said yes, but then she asked for $20 to tell Yacouba the location of the kids. Yacou was furious, but composed enought to negotiate down the "finders fee." If I was there I would have been far less composed - I have been practicing my bamana insults for the one day i get to meet her: Fin be be sugula?(ohh, everything in this world is for sale?) I be i yere yere fere? (Does that mean that you sell yourself/you are a prostitute). Eventually she disclosed the phone number and address of the man who was hosting the kids. Drissa met Yacou at his house. The man was extremely nice and refused money, but finally Drissa convinced him to take $10. On the car ride home, Drissa overheard the boys saying that the younger one was willing to stay at this guy's house, but that Boi was already planning his escape cause he missed his grandparents.

Back at the house, Drissa called a family meeting with all the grandkids. He revealed the toy cars my grandma had sent from the states and explained that there would be no more escaping -especially after dark. After 14 days of good behavior, the children would be rewarded with the cars. He enlisted all of his younger brothers to report back on the children's behavior. Hopefully the toys will serve as a sufficient incentive to keep the kids at home.

The Good Aunt

2009-08-31T13:44:00.000-07:00

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.

The Good Daugther In-Law*

2009-08-25T10:37:00.000-07:00

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.

Isolation and Luxury in Bamako*

2009-08-20T08:32:00.000-07:00

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.

Back to Bamako Living: Home Sweet Home

2009-08-17T02:44:00.000-07:00

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!

Taking stock of the last 18 days in Kayes*

2009-08-12T05:58:00.000-07:00

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

Madinel: Our very own randomly selected village

2009-08-09T08:10:00.000-07:00

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.

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

2009-08-06T11:40:00.000-07:00

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.

Weekend in Kayes

2009-08-01T11:39:00.000-07:00

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.

Playing Frogger in the Regional Capital

2009-07-30T08:00:00.000-07:00

Kayes is a pedestrian town with no pedestrian space. There is little public transport so it is common to walk 6-12 kilometers a day. Some neighborhoods live in secondary flood plains off the river and this makes walking around a perilous and exciting adventure (we toubabs play a game called – “don’t fall in the nyegen ji (toilet water).”

Yesterday I went on one of my cross town adventures. I was headed from Khasso neighborhood over to the Peace Corps house in Legal Segou to check my email. My friend Brandon (aka supreme Bamanan speaker and esteemed mayor of Bamako and Kayes)had graciously allowed me to sit in on one of his interviews, so that I could meet one of his many Kayes VIP contacts.

I walked down a narrow road along the river. The road, unlike most in Kayes, was paved. Decaying colonial buildings walled in the road. Large trucks transporting merchandise from Senegal lined the walled street, thus making the road narrower and narrower. The road cuts through a market and as darkness fell, people, cars, and motos dodged in, out, and around the layers of building and trucks. About half the way through my walk, pirogues coming across the river (the bridge is out and everyone and everything crosses in a small pinasse) were unloading massive bulls into the road. The bulls, whose legs were bound as if they were planning to win a 3-legged race, were shepherded by a couple of teenage boys holding ropes tied to their back legs. Four groups of bulls funneled out of the pirogues into the narrow road. I watched as the teenage boys struggled to control the bulls meters away from me. Cars zoomed up behind the bulls and only a few feet away noticed the thick walls of livestock zig-zagging along the road. Motos zoomed around the cows and I tried to stay a couple of steps behind them – always anticipating an impromptu and unscripted running of the bulls. Only in Mali would one worry about being hit by both a moto and a pack of bulls in a regional capital.

Yesterday we completed 17 surveys. Today it is raining (12 hours straight and counting): the roads are ruined and people are sleeping, so I suspect we will do none.

Goodbye Bamako, Welcome to Kayes

2009-07-30T07:56:00.000-07:00

My first and only visit to Kayes was in 2003. Drissa and I were taking the train from Bamako to Dakar and we stopped halfway (24 hrs) through our journey. I remember eating delicious fish and rice during that brief stopover, but that is about all.

Besides the railroad, Kayes is famous for a few other things. It is fabled to be one of the hottest cities in the world (supposedly the iron ore below the earth pulls the heat in); Kayes was the original French colonial administrative capital in present-day Mali. The French built the firsts schools here in the 1880s. In a contemporary context, Kayes serves as a customs junction between the ports in Senegal and landlocked Bamako.

I arrived in Kayes on Sunday. My team and I are staying with my Aunt Djeneba (who ran for mayors)’s family. It is a large concession with trees in the middle. I’ve had to adjust to family-style living: no inside toilet – just an outside “nyegen” (a whole in the ground with cement walls around it, no personal space (my suitcase sits on a series of other suitcases along the wall – I rifle through my suitcases to find items as needed); I sleep outside on a bed with a mosiquito net surrounded by women and children watching TV (people greet me as I sit in mosquito net feeling rather like a pet or zoo animal). I had a David Sedaris moment the other day when I brought some butter cookies into the nyegen with me so that I could eat them in isolation because I didn’t want to have to share.

That said, the pros of my set-up completely outweigh the cons. That a family could so quickly accommodate 4 people is incredible. Completely unlike me trying to run a Bamako house, everything is done for me here. People assembly and disassembly my bed, they bring out food, buckets of water to wash with, chairs, etc. And the food!!! The food here is incredible. A couple of months into my fieldwork I had decided that I no longer liked most Malian food. Kayes has changed everything. I eat and love every sauce that is presented – even the leafy ones like fahgwe and saga saga. I try everything – a Peule woman cam by with fresh yogurt milk which I drank and I am currently sipping millet pourridge as a I write. The food in Kayes is so much better than the food in Bamako. I have asked people here why and they say that it is because the servants cook in Bamako and in Kayes the women in the family cook. Evidence A is my Aunt’s incredible 70/80 something mother who must sleep less than 4 housr a night, who tirelessly prepares breakfast for us every morning. The other theory is that Bamakoise eat out of their homes less often and are thus less invested in food preparation. Whatever the reason I am happy that my faith in Malian food has been restored.

Happy Retirement Mom

2009-07-24T14:17:00.000-07:00

My mother has just completed her last day of teaching summer school and the last day of her 34 year career! Congrats Mom! Enjoy the rest of your summer and think about coming to Bamako!!!

Maggie's in Town

2009-07-21T15:09:00.000-07:00

My best friend Maggie is visiting Bamako and doing a photo a day blog: www.bko24.blogspot.com.

Back in Bamako!

2009-07-17T11:08:00.000-07:00

After 6 weeks in the US- Ghana - US, I was happily surprised how excited I am to be back in Bamako. I stepped off the plane into less than stifling heat that smelled like the Sahel ecstatic to be back home. Six weeks away had been a pleasant vacation - a nice rest from the wear and tear of hot season, but now a Bamako at 80 degrees was like a whole new (yet familiar) world. I came home to find my sub-letter in my bedroom and our cleaning guy Drissa living in my office. My courtyard has transformed into the neighborhood card spot. My dog - much to my delight and amazement - got fat! My nieces and nephews crawled and squirmed all over me as I distributed beenie babies from my grandmother. In thirty minutes they were already parading the stuffed animals across real livestock, attaching rubbery wire "leashes", and throwing them up into the air.

I have made a pact with myself to only update this blog while on Malian soil, but here I will offer a quick update of the last month and a half of activities. In 6 weeks away I conducted a mini East Coast tour (NYC-Ithaca- NJ-Philly) and saw great friends, family, my dog, and my husband. Activities included: house party in brooklyn, lots of Ithaca fun, my mom's retirement party, snuggling Zumana, and a weekend date with Drissa to Philly (I love that city). Then spent 3 weeks with 20 profs from all over Africa at the American Political Science Association Africa Conference in Accra. Accra was overwhelming - there was a mall and coffee shops and a Shoprite! In addition to the intellectual exchange, I got to check out dwarf soccer, bring Obama posters to local nightclubs, visit an Ashanti palace, and jump into freshwater in Africa for the first time ever. Go Team APSA Accra! Jokers foreva? A special shout out to my comrade Jessica - who traveled 12 hours overland to come visit me in Ghana - it was fabulous.

So, now back to work. It's nice to be home.

Ode to the 85 Mercedes*

2009-06-02T03:23:00.001-07:00

Hmmm. In taking stock of the last 5-6 months of blogging - I realize the write a lot about weather and transport. I am not sure that that means, but I do think its a fair measure of my preoccupations here. I take a cushy Air France plane to the US tomorrow night. I can't really believe it. The idea of fancy cheese, fancy wine, fancy bread - yes, I am fantasizing about airplane food and the English language movies on the plane. I will be East Coastin for 2 weeks, then 3 weeks in Ghana (yes, I will be there when Obama is. I am crossing my fingers that he wants to make a special visit to the American Political Science Association Africa Workshop). Then the US for a few days, then back to Mali!!! I have successfully survived the Bamako portion of my fieldwork: 300 household surveys, 450 election exit polls, and 200 university student interviews. Now on to Timbouctou, Sikasso, and Kayes.....

Much of the grunt work of these last 5 months has been performed by my 85 mercedes. I take this moment to recognize my mercedes, which recently traveled all the way to the village of Borko in Dogon country then through Dogon to Mopti and then back to Bamako. My friend, colleague, and collaborator, Pablo, is visiting from Ithaca/Spain and thanks to the mercedes we were able to explore the Malian country side without any flat tires or mechanical failures!! We did rear end a donkey, but there appears to be minimal damage to the car or the donkey. There was no airconditioning and cold water became hot water in a matter of minutes - but we had a cassette player with some coupe decale, reggae hits, and Nahawa Doumbia. The mercedes took us to my friend Bara's village where we visited sacred crocodiles that you could pet and went on an intense and very hot mini-hike up to a village on the hill. The mercedes took us back 3 hours through Dogon to Badiangara - where we could again order cold cokes and bottled water. The mercedes took us to Mopti for an afternoon pirogue ride and back to our hotel room in time to watch the barca victory and rainstorm swimming at half time. The mercedes took us to Segou for fantastic food and drinks along the Niger.

*Picture of our driver - Solo- in front of the mercedes in Segou.

The Sidibes Go to the Zoo

2009-05-29T16:53:00.000-07:00

I am a fan of zoos. I know this is not a politically correct thing to say - but I do - I love zoos. When I was really little I wanted to be a zookeeper. Reflecting back on my life choices I don't think I would mind bottle feeding baby polar bears instead of compiling data in excel...

I have happy memories from visiting zoos as a kid. When Drissa and I used to live in NOVA, we used to go to the National Zoo quite a bit. It was awesome because it was free - and it drew a very diverse crowd of families from all across the DC metro area. Walking around, looking at the animals, it always put me in a good mood. When I student taught in a Chicago public school, we took the kids on a field trip to the zoo. When I asked my group of 1st graders, which animal they liked best - they all voted for the horses and chickens (over white tigers, elephants, and other exotic offerings). While this was astonishing - I gradually have come to understand that all kids form their own bond with different zoo animals and have less than rational methods for picking out their favorites.

My favorite zoo anecdote from Africa was when I was on a work trip in Congo Brazzaville. After a long day of visiting schools and girls from the US govt sponsored scholarship program - my colleague, Dr. Ndole, had said that we were going to go to the zoo. While it seemed a bit ironic that we we would visit a zoo in Congo - I was super excited. When we showed up however, there were no animals in sight - just a make shift bar and outdoor seating. "Where are all the animals?" I asked. "They were eaten during the war, " replied Dr. Ndole. The zoo - now referred to the bar that sat on its grounds.

The story of the Bamako zoo, while less than cheerful, is not quite as tragic. I am told the zoo is a mere remnant of what existed in the 1960s. Makes you wonder how post independence governments prioritized their social spending though.... However, it is still home to a chimp, an elephant, a lion, hyennas, monkeys, a panther, ostriches, pelicans, a petrified manatee and a snake house. I decided that a struggling, poorly maintained zoo is better than no zoo at all and invited all my nieces and nephews to come with me to the zoo. Selfishly, I had planned to take a family portrait posing around the petrified manatee - however that never quite panned out.

My nieces and nephews don't go on many field trips and don't often leave the house, so when I came to pick them up they were all buzzing around the house trying to put on their best outfits. I enlisted Drissa's brother/cousin Abou to help me chaperon the 7 boys and one girl ages 3-8 (Dramane, Boi, Ba Couraba, Ba Seydou, Pablo, Mohammed, le Vieux, and Saouda.)

We poured out of the mercedes and paid our ten cent a piece entrance fee. The first thing I spotted was a baby elephant in front of a pile of burning trash. I stifled a laugh; this was a hyperbole of a run down zoo. But then i thought for a second and realized that I have been living next to burning trash for the last 5 months, so well, this baby elephant can muster up the strength to survive as well. We marched up and down stairs from the Chimpanzee who catches fanta bottles and drinks out of them to the lion cage to the snake house. The children, reminiscent of my Chicago zoo experience, seemed most excited about the fish aquariums in the snake house. Abou and I had to lift each of them up to see almost every exhibit. My niece Saouda liked being able to recognize familiar animals - "jege" she would say after looking at the fish. She looked at the ostrich and looked at me and asked "she?" (which means chicken); I was like nooo its not really a she (she te), but it does look like a "she billi billi ba" (very very fat and large chicken) - to which she kept repeating "she billi billi ba."

All the animals are kept in cages with bars on them. Kids can run up and theoretically pet any of the jackals or monkeys they want to - so Abou and I had to keep a close eye on them as my crew attempted to scale walls and bars to get better views of the animals on the side of the cages/fences. We steered the kids past the donkey heads that were kept in piles outside of the hyena cages and attempted to find the fabled petrified manatee, but were unsuccessful. After an hour and a half of zoo fun, we headed back to Niamakoro. I think the kids were just as excited about the car ride as the animals, but I - as always - enjoyed the zoo.

Countdown to Ameriki

2009-05-19T01:43:00.000-07:00

Fieldwork can sometimes seem like its in another dimension. As you attempt to sync up with local rhythms, requests back home (aka USA), funding deadlines, crucial facebook status updates you find yourself caught in this timewarp - void of real deadlines for your actual work=dissertation research and just a string of responses and mini-obligations. Despite my penchant for personal disorganization and chaos, I am actually a super-planner/list maker. This type of behavior (extended timelines and masterplans) doesn't fly so well here. Malians keep things pretty short term - probably since things are always popping up here and there. For instance, last Friday, one of my RAs informed me that he had to go to a wedding in his village for his cousin for the first three days of this week. "You know," he said, "if I don't go - they will speak badly about me." I told him to just keep me informed as to his plans.

Weddings and baptisms pop up just like that. No save the date. Just one day - someone will tell you - oh there is an important wedding this weekend. I have to confess - I have been hiding from weddings this trip because, although they would no doubt contribute to my Bambara acquisition, are really tiring and eat up your weekend days. But every Thursday and Sunday - you are constantly reminded that there are weddings all around. Motorcades drive thru the city. Or better put - gangs of moto drivers who think they are stunt drivers fly around the city. Driving to teach English on Sunday - we surrounded by a flock of wheely popping motos - doing figure 8s around the two lanes of traffic. Everything was a 1/2 second near miss. I felt really bad for the car drivers - who had moto drivers coming straight onto them in a bad game of wedding chicken. I seriously felt like I was watching a 70s action film. I remember going with Drissa to a village for a wedding once - this kind of crazy driving business was exxagerated there - where people were driving buses and cars in circles to the point that some of the cars broke - and everyone cheered. I am trying to think of a US equivalent - destruction and risk to celebrate permanent life choices/transitions. I don't know that getting wasted at a wedding is quite the same.

In 2 weeks and 1 day, I leave Mali for a mini vacation in the US and then a conference in Ghana. I will be back - thank goodness! but its the first time that calendars and deadlines have really slapped me in the face. In Accra, I am attending the American Political Science Association Africa Workshop - along with 3 other US grad students and 20 Professors from Africa. I need to present a paper by then, so there is a mad scramble to get voting data. The municipal election data - from about a month ago, is still not available - so I am trying to go after the 2nd and 3rd best participation proxies until I can get my hands on that data (hopefully before I leave). Meanwhile, my friend and colleague Pablo is coming to visit early Saturday morning. We are planning a roadtrip out of Bamako to visit my former-coworker's village, Mopti, and Segou. I don't know the exact dates yet - because Bara wasn't comfortable scheduling this far in advance. So, maybe we will leave Sunday....

And then came the rain

2009-05-14T01:41:00.000-07:00

After 3 months of hot, dry heat the rain came down. It made a dramatic entrance. I was playing basketball in Kalabancoura and the winds came and created a semi-dust storm across the court. We went back to playing and the rain started a slow constant dribble down for a couple hours - we were able to keep playing and it was delightful.

The next day Bamako basked in the cool afterglow. The air was pregnant with humidity. The rain made the whole city more manageable - it was a good 10 degrees cooler in the morning and it was half as dusty. That afternoon - it poured. The first storm lasted only a couple of minutes. My TAs came into my house and promptly fell asleep on my couches. Rain is a serious sedative in Mali. Malians love to sleep when it rains. Often, you will find people late to work or meetings on rainy days because everyone has been sleeping in. Drissa still finds it extra hard to get up on rainy days.

Later that evening it poured and poured. I had just gone to play pickup and was drenched with sweat. A friendly teacher from the American school offered his pool - I jumped in and shortly after the rain came down. This time a hard and steady dream of droplets for a good hour. The pool suddenly felt warm and it seemed like paradise.

That night - it rained and rained all night. My dog was drenched and a bit baffled. In her short 8 month life - she hasn't yet witnessed rainy season. All she knows is the hot and the dry. She jumped on the door barking all night wanting to come inside. This I thought - she will have to get used to. Rainy season lasts about 3 months. I slept really well.

Yesterday's interviews were great. The city was cool, the dust was minimal, and everyone had slept well the night before. People were jovial and talkative. I never in my life thought I would write a blog post about weather.

Marching Bands along the Niger

2009-05-10T13:24:00.001-07:00

So Mali often seems like a world of unharnessed potential. I remember coming here a couple years back with a Cingular (now ATT) phone that I couldn't get unlocked before leaving the US. Frustrated that I could free it from the corporate cell phone company chains I was almost ready to ditch it for the standard Nokia $30 made in Dubai special. However, I soon discovered that you can get any type of phone fixed to work in Mali - you simply bring it to the market - hand it off to a phone guy with about $14 and the Chinese-trained engineers in the market stalls fix everything for you. This type of thing makes you stop and say wow - the ingenuity, the creativity, the dynamism - there is a lot of potential in Mali. Conversations with 8 year old math whiz money changers and the plentiful rich world of Malian music create similar sentiments.

However, it is rare - that this potential if fully realized. One ingredient is usually missing to prevent the allstars from really shining. Last night was an exception.

The French Cultural Center, EU, and Orange Mali (cell phone company and one of the only private enterprises here that is truly on top of its game) hosted music along the Niger river - looking out over the old bridge. It was free!!! and it was replete with a Malian marching band, live accordion accompaniment to silent films, documentaries on Malian artists, Spanish flamenco, french jazz artists, Coco Dembele (pictured), and the Super Rail Band of Bamako. It was truly awesome - the setting, the $1.50 beers, the liberty of street vendors to sell their own wares at reasonable prices, the crowd, the entertainment - everything was idyllic. I couldn't stay for the afterparty - a big screened VJ tribute to African music videos of the 60s, 70s, and 80s. I rest assured that that rocked too.

Makes you wonder why the Malian Min of Culture (who owns the space) doesn't do something fun like this every weekend? Why does it require massive donor dollars to pull this off? A stage, cheap refreshments, and the abundant talent of Malian artists is certainly feasible and could fill up an entire year of Saturdays....

I heart the Malian Ministry of Education

2009-05-05T05:03:00.000-07:00

There are many bad stereotypes about Africa: war, disease, huts, malnutrition, etc. However, some stereotypes even penetrate the development community - who works in Africa. There is a particularl cynicism about government institutions - that they are slow, corrupt, and full of annoying protocol. When I worked on a USAID sponsored girls scholarship program, I harbored some of these feelings. Obligatory trips to the Ministry were full of kowtowing and politesse without being able to discuss any real issues.

However, the Ministry of Education in Mali and the Ed sector more broadly is changing my hardened view. This is partially (ok mainly) because the Min of Ed's statistical department gave me a whole bunch of data (on my flash drive!). Not only that, but they actually put a report together for me. I am not a donor nor US government official. I am a lowly researcher - working in collaboration with another Malian researcher. The data department specialist a I talked to - even worked on a Friday holiday to get this information to me.

Sure you might say. Big deal - Americans work through holidays and weekends all the time to make deadlines. Well - ask yourself this: When is the last time we commuted to work in 100 degree weather every day with no air-conditioning? When is the last time we had to go to 2 baptisms and 1 wedding (and shell out lots of cash in each event) in one weekend? When is the last time that 4 different people stopped by your house asking for some money on your day off? These are all daily battles and experiences for most civil servants in Mali.

I know this isn't an isolated incident of civil servant "rockstarness" because my fellow basketball coach Amadou - works for the Min of Ed as well. He busts his butt every day and then coaches basketball for 3-4 hours. Every day! He works on weekends and holidays and is truly committed to improving the education sector - but also the lives of kids in Mali. The CAPs (Ministry branches in each school district) that I have visited have also been churning away - grading exams, running trainings - it truly seems like an active and committed group.

Mali has jumped from 30% primary school enrollment in 1992 to more than 78% today. While I am currently writing a critique about the quality of education here, that jump in enrollment is no small feat.

I hope all those civil servants - who are kicking ass - get promoted. I hope that someone like Amadou becomes the Minister of Education. In all my pessimism about bad air quality, corrupt police, no traffic laws, begging in the streets, people with diplomas and no job - these all-stars that you encounter now and then give you hope. Sure, there are lots of government institutions that aren't working in Mali and at the highest levels - a lot of political appointees are living large and eating funds. However, some regular everyday people are making a difference and doing it without housing allowances or R and R trips. I think the trick is trying to keep these people motivated and trying to make their work incentivized. For me, development in Africa is all about all-star teams of every day people being given the right opportunities and environments to thrive in.

Election Madness

2009-05-02T04:12:00.000-07:00

Mali is an interesting country for a multitude of reasons. From a political science perspective, it's particularly interesting because its had 2 peaceful turnovers of power, and 4 Presidential elections since it's democratic transition in 1991. Mali also happens to be one of the poorest countries in the world (about $300 GDP per capita) and over 90% Muslim - two characteristics that are rare for "democracies."

A little background on Malian Political History for all you who might be interested... Moussa Traore staged a military coup in 1968, removing Mali's first President - Modibo Keita from power. He ran the country in a military dictatorship until violent government response to student/civil society protests led to another coup d'etat (by current President and then military man) "ATT". ATT led a transitional govt for a year, but then stepped down to allow for democratic elections. Alpha Konare, former University Professor and Democratic activist, won Mali's first democratic elections with the backing of his newly formed party - ADEMA. After completing his second term, Konare stepped down from power and ATT ran for President as an independent and won. He is now serving his second 5 year term.

Mali held communal elections last Sunday - every district elects Mayors and various members of de-centralized government. It is a complicated system of proportional representation - where parties are elected and depending on the percentage of votes they get - they divvy up the positions. ADEMA (Konare's party and the current majority party in the senate) swept all but one district in Bamako and most regions. ADEMA is a well-financed, well organized political machine. And for communal elections - money and organization really matters. Sad to say, there were few debates about political issues. Some parties claimed to be the voice of women or young people - some promised electrification, some wanted to fight corruption. The build up to elections, included soccer games and sponsored concerts. Candidates invite the community to watch these spectacles and then say "vote for me" at the end. (The picture above is of my Aunt Djeneba - who ran for mayor of our commune handing out soccer jerseys and cash to the winning team at the soccer game she sponsored). My brother in law - played in finals one of these soccer games sponsored by ADEMA and the cash prize for his team was $1000! Each player got $30- more than some people make in 2 weeks of work.

Come election day - the different parties rent sotramas and round up people to vote for them. I had 3 teams of students/RAs doing exit polls at different voting stations. In fact, it was very hard to get local transport on election day, because all the sotramas had been rented. All 3 of my teams noted rampant vote buying (for about $2 or sometimes a sandwich and coffee). The polling station I visited seemed pretty relaxed (a far cry from what I saw in Kenya in Jan 08). Perhaps it is because its communal elections so lower stakes - no observers and minimal police control (unless there are allegations of fraud). All parties seemed to be engaging in the same kind of mobilization - get people in a sotrama - bring them to the polls and then reward them with some cash or food or something.

So, how "democratic" are these elections. Democracy is a really tricky thing to qualify (political scientists debate this a lot). However, despite all the vote-buying and pomp and circumstance seemingly void of content - Malians were in control. Unlike what happened in Kenya last year, there did not appear to be tampering behind closed doors after the public had voiced their choices. If fraud happened, the voters were complicit in it. This doesn't make the elections clean or perfect, but it makes me hopeful. Hopeful that the right candidate with the right message and network of support could create change.

A nice story came out of Commune 4. The incumbent mayor, running as "the Obama of Mali," beat all of the major parties. His independent party came in first. Why? Well, he has performed during his tenure - building infrastructure for the community and managing his commune budget well.

So I hear there's a heat wave

2009-04-28T02:55:00.000-07:00

Friends and family in the US have been speaking of this "heat wave." My brother was IMing me the other day saying - jaimie i am soo hot. How hot is it? I replied. He knew he was being set up. To offer some comparable indicators, it's currently a cool 88 and I am outside typing on my porch; my air-conditioner is set to 80 degrees. Drissa came home to faux-summer in the US (78) yesterday and went inside to get a jacket.

I am now flying solo. This is of course horrible for my personal life - no husband, but has a mixed effect on my work. Drissa is a total facilitator - since he is from Mali - sometimes I look to him for mediation, etc. This is natural, but it makes me a bit dependent. Minus Drissa, I need to figure it all out myself - there is no hesitation I just go into automatic pilot and satisfice. I am starting to set up some systems (and make use of my refrigerator so not as much running around - hence last night: purchased an entire roast chicken, will eat remaining half for lunch).

It's not always easy to be here with your Malian spouse. Sure, I get way enhanced street cred for being married, but in Mali is that there is no concept of "couple's private time." The self-inflicted isolation of movie nights, cooking together, or any other types of coupley behavior that exist in the US are absent here. Now, I tend to think of Drissa and I as a little bit Malian - we like living with people and since we have been married have always had a roommate. But here, the stream of calls and visitations make me see the American side of myself. As Drissa fields calls at 11, 12, 1 in the morning asking him to do stuff - I find myself uttering "Don't they know you are married." Aghast - I can't believe I am saying stuff like that - resorting to some kind of weird 1950s rhetoric. I guess the scariest/most jarring aspect is realizing what weird latent parts of your culture you carry with you, no matter how much adapt, immerse, etc. This all makes me respect Drissa that much more - to be able to balance and finesse the transition between these two very different worlds with such ease and grace.

So I am forging my path alone "solo." Luckily, I have two families (Drissa's and my own host family) as well as my RAs, my basketball team, friends, and now domestic staff (my house cleaner and driver - more on domestic help in another post) so I am far from alone here. Last night I was out doing surveys until 7, then taught English until 9:30 and ate dinner at 10:30. Despite my entourage and crazy schedule, when I did hear about Drissa's arrival in the US, drinks and dinner with my mom, brother, dad, and dog on the deck in NJ, I got a little bit home sick.

Making Breakfast in Bamako

2009-04-23T04:59:00.001-07:00

Sometimes you wake up yearning for some hash browns, fried eggs, french toast, pork roll. You wish there was a IHOP around the corner, even a waffle house, hell I'd take a huddle house at this point. But things like that don't exist here. Apart from the ubiquitous fried egg stand (eggs fried in a lot of oil served on bread), these types of breakfast spots just aren't available. So you are left with your gas stove, the corner store, and your cooking savvy to try to recreate an American favorite.

A note on corner stores: Bamako has the African equivalent of Bodegas - they are everywhere and they all sell the same things. They are usually dingy, one room operations with tin roofs and for the longest time I was like how do any of them sell anything (since they all sell them same stuff) and what are they actually selling anyway? This is before I started living and cooking here. I realized that you can get almost anything there: butter, sugar, oil, eggs, cold cokes, cookies, tape, bleach, the list goes on and on.

Here is my fabulous morning creation:

Ingredients:
Drissa goes to corner store to purchase - eggs, butter, french bread, and milk. I had some stuff in my fancy refrigerator!: halal beef sausage cut into thin slices, Malian honey, nescafe, sweet and condensed milk, water, ice.

Directions:
Mix honey (lots) with 2 tablespoons of butter (pre cut and measured by corner store) and put in a cup. Place the plastic cup somewhere with full sun exposure - on a ledge, in a tree, etc. Wait for honey and butter to melt together.

Pull gas stove from the back mini-courtyard to front courtyard. Turn on gas and light stove. Put beef slices onto skillet with salt and pepper. Heat until a little bit burned. Remove from skillet and put on a plate; cover with another plate so the flies don't attack it. Take skillet to outdoor faucet and wash by hand using soap and a piece of a rice sack.

Crack 5 eggs into bowl. Pour in plastic sachet of milk. Cut french bread into small thin slices. Submerge approx 6 in egg/milk mixture. Turn on gas stove and heat skillet. Move slices from bowl to skillet - heat until brownish. Take off skillet put on a plate and cover from flies. Repeat procedure with new slices.

Retrieve honey/butter mixture from tree or sunning spot. If its over 100 - it will have melted; if less than 100 - you may have to mix together with a fork. Divide beef slices and french toast between two plates. Cover french toast with honey/butter mixture. Voila French toast and pseudo spam.

Pour ice into two glasses. Pour a teaspoon of nescafe into each glass. Put a teaspoon of sweet and condensed milk in each glass. Cover with water. Stir with a fork. Voila iced coffee.

(Warning: my french toast creation, while delicious - looked nowhere near as delicate and precious as the breakfast food featured in this post's picture).

a love letter to sotramas*

2009-04-17T13:04:00.000-07:00

Sotramas are one of my favorite things about Bamako - not just because I fell in love in one or because they were on my wedding invitation or because as a chauffeur's girlfriend I used to get free rides in the front seat - sotramas epitomize Bamako for me. They are loud and bright and wild- but in their chaos, they are very reliable. They help citizens criss-cross quartiers in a way I have seen in few other cities. Imagine fleets of painted mini vans moving people around various Chicago neighborhoods! Sotramas are painted green and follow standard routes and charge a standard fare (between 20 and 30 cents a ride), but the drivers and their team of apprentices (aka apprendikes) have full creative freedom in their decoration. Often you see Che Guevera and Barak Obama flanking sides of the back door, or Madonna next to a veiled preying girl. The windows and ceiling's are often peppered with soccer stars from around the world. Up in the drivers cabin, where the lucky ones, usually hot girls, get to sit - there are fake flowers and tassles around the windows and sometimes snapshots of the sotrama team with various ladies.

You scrunch into the sotrama with 16 other people and the apprendeki. The latest arrivals angle their way into small spaces on the benches butt-first. Chickens and kids and produce share the floor/lap space. Flying through the city in a sotrama makes the whole sensory experience so much more intense - you watch the craziness wizzing by, but seeing all the diversity - the colors and people and clothes and produce in the sotrama - you realize you are part of all craziness too. You feel very alive.

When I am in a sotrama I often imagine myself playing I spy. Just today on my two-sotrama trip from the National Archives to basketball practice: I spy a pile of smoked sheep heads, I spy 30 different Bruce Lee DVDs, I spy sparkly, Chinese-imported slip-on shoes, I spy a near-accident, I spy another near-accident. That is when I stop playing I spy. If all the crazy moto and car drivers rode more sotramas, there would be less traffic and less pollution. I want to start a movement to make sotramas glamorous again. In Kenya, some matatus have flat screens and pimped out sound systems. As a friend suggested, maybe we should just start an "elite" line of sotramas with comfortable seats.... I am already a proud taxi owner, but it is my dream, one day, to own and decorate my own sotrama.

*I have sampled this blog title from one of my Chicago-twin (Khrist's) upcoming works.

Out on the town

2009-04-13T16:08:00.000-07:00

Drissa went off to San (its the town right after Blah) for the weekend and left me home in Bamako. As such, I decided it would be an appropriate time to go out on the town. Friday I had meetings downtown, and then went to coach a basketball game. It's the first time my girls every played a real game and though we lost, they were fearless and I was proud of them. The other team hit about 60% from the 3 pt line, so that was pretty crazy. Meanwhile, we don't have any plays yet or any defensive systems - so it was a good first outing for us. So I tried to get back over the bridge(s) to take a shower and then go out to this US military party I had heard about. Unfortunately, traffic was so crazy - I barely made it over either bridge and decided to stop close by to meet fellow American (and Kiva Fellow) Jessica to get a beer cross back over the bridge. Hence, I was not in any kind of cute going out attire - some African print pants, dirty feet (which I tried unsuccesfully to wash in the bathroom), and a t shirt. Regardless, we headed back over the bridge to the soldier's house - which oddly is in the same neighborhood of former Malian dictator Moussa Traore's home. (In fact, that's how you tell the taxi where you are going: an be taa Moussa Traore ka so karafe). We got to the party and we not disappointed. Super hospitality, imported beef and bacon, and a full, free bar. You'll be happy to know our soldiers are living well in Africa - huge house with pool over-looking the Niger river. I was able to borrow a t-shirt and shorts to go swimming in this amazing pool. Eventually I made it back to my comfortable air-conditioned room!

Saturday - I slept in until the afternoon. This would be impossible without my airconditioner as the heat wakes you up by 8 usually. It was the first day of doing nothing - I basked in the cold after-glow of my airconditioning during the afternoon then went to an election meeting for my Aunt who is running for mayor. Election season is now in full effect - there are flyers everywhere, flat bed trucks with music and dancers, dance parties, and soccer games - all ringing in the upcoming local elections. This meeting was organized to hand out flyers - representatives from the 10 areas that make up our commune were given posters to put up. It's hilarious to be in a Malian meeting - everything is extremely democratic - everyone gets his or her turn to say his piece. Unfortunatley, in this atmosphere of tolerance and equality - some people like to hear their own voices - hence lots of repetition -to the point where I am like - come on guys - let's just do this!!! But Malians are more patient. Some verbal fighting and insults broke out, people faked like they were leaving the meeting, but it all ended in laughter in the end... gotta love Mali for that.

After the meeting met Jessica at my favorite bar - le Flamboyant and then headed to meet another new friend Abigail en route to a club called No Stress. The club was fun - we danced till 4 am with the owner (who I had met at Festival in the desert - my brother tommy aka Zander had performed in his tent). I retired again near morning time to my room and wallowed in the AC. I slept until Drissa returned from his trip and then slept some more! What a wonderful, indulgent lazy weekend - all facilitated by an airconditioner!!

Can appliances buy happiness?

2009-04-09T09:45:00.000-07:00

So from my last post, you might have noticed that hot season was getting to me. The air quality + non stop heat (110 degree) made for an unhappy researcher. Well - Drissa and I have decided to go all out and make the transition to Donna Reed levels of domesticity: we now own a refridgerator and air conditioning!!!! The last straw came yesterday when, after a couple of nights back on a Bamako rooftop, I came down with a serious stomachache and was vomiting 'cause the gross stuff in my lungs seeped down into my stomach (ok well there might have been a little food poisoning mixed in there too). Health before everything else right?!

Well one trip to the Samsung store and my spirits (and hopefully my health) restored. Both appliances have one year guarantees, which means they aren't going away and I can enjoy chilled mangoes for the rest of the year. This is a rare type of assurance in Mali - knowing something is working well and will continue that way for the rest of my stay. If I had a quality of life index - it would be making some major jumps.

I am so excited to sleep in my bed tonight - it's been almost 3 months outside on the roof! I can enjoy the fact that the bathroom is steps away, clean soot-free bedding, a little bit of privacy (instead of waking up seeing all your other neighbors getting up and scrambling to put on some decent clothes), no passing smells of burning garbage or charcoal fires, and maybe even getting up in the middle of the night and pulling a bottle of coke from the fridge.

Tonight I am making a celebratory dinner - Massaman curry. This investment was expensive (like $700 for both appliances), but for my own sanity and for the next 9 months here - I think it was worth it. After all, I only pay $150 a month in rent. As goes my graduate school moto: it's all about sustainability!

Segou is the best "gou"

2009-04-05T12:17:00.000-07:00

Today felt like that scene from the stranger - where the main character is walking on the beach and the sun is so hot that he decides to murder someone. I always thought - crazy existentialist literature - how could weather ever effect your emotions in such a radical way. That was before I experienced peak hot season. I had an itinerary today - but instead - i asked Drissa to take me home - so I could take 6 showers and sit under 2 fans.

What made this heat so awful is that I spent Friday and Sat in beautiful Segou. I was about at my breaking point with this heat, so I asked Drissa if we could escape to sleepy, breezy, tree lined, colonial Segou; he said yes. Coincidentally, the day before we planned to leave - I found out that I got some extra cash $$ for my research project. Thus, my escape became a full fledged vacation. We spent a day and a half eating well, drinking wine by a river, taking naps in air-conditioning, and breathing in the pollution-free air. I feel in love with Africa again.

We were joined by Art History Fulbrighter Paul and his wife Marie. It was great - everything was slow and indulgent and easy. We even went sight seeing at the Markala dam and bought some fresh fish right off the river.

Then was the sad 3 hour drive to Bamako. Upon entering city limits you could feel the heavy air starting to clog your lungs - like the Wump world after the pollutants come. I went from my air-conditioned, IKEA-adorned hotel in Segou to sleeping on my mat on the roof. I awoke with soot covering my bed and sheet. Welcome back to Bamako. With the peak temps of today (113)- we resolved to buy a refridgerator. Cold mangoes and cold water would make things much more bearable.

Door to Door

2009-03-31T02:53:00.000-07:00

In Mali you get a lot of traffic knocking (or not knocking) on your door. Beyond the ubiquitous flow of children visiting Rex - you get shoe cleaners and toothbrush sellers (oddly both of these merchants have their own special song so you can recognize them from far away). There are also the religious figures/beggars who sing songs asking for money. The other day, I had a woman, wearing a badge, come into my courtyard and wait patiently for me to calm Rex down and come over. I asked her what she had and she said - medicine. I looked in her big blue bag and saw a slew of Chinese male enhancement potions. I said no thanks. Mali is launching their national census this week, too - so Malians are fairly used to these types of interruptions and visitations.

Nevertheless, going house to house is a daunting challenge. We (my survey team) has already done about 70 of these visits. It's been amazing to see the diversity within Bamako (languages, income, houses, perceptions of wealth, politics, etc). We use a map of our target school district and draw a grid over it. The I have an online randomizer pick the quadrant where we survey for the day. We start in the middle of the quadrant and flip a coin to determine which direction each team goes in. We then stop at every 5th house and ask if they would be willing to take our survey. We've interviewed a 90 year old guy, former civil servants, sex segregated households - I have had to go talk to the women while my male colleague talks to the men-folk, Arab households, Peul households, Songhai households. One house randomly selected yesterday belonged to an American.

People are overwhelmingly generous with their time and everything else. People generally listen carefully, bring us water, and give us blessing for our work. So far households have been surprisingly open, very few times have we been refused. Yesterday, we went to what Malians refer to as a "Wahabyi household." It was a house where women wear black burquas and face coverings, which stand in sharp contrast to the bright loud fabrics Malian women usually wear. We saw a woman come out and i admit I was a bit scared to go inside and ask if we could do our political survey, but the man inside was more than welcoming and one of our most attentive and frank interviewees. I am very fortunate to be in such an open and communcative country for fieldwork. I can't imagine how hard it would be to try to do a 45 minute survey with political questions in a more closed society.

Best of Bamako - Review

2009-03-28T03:07:00.000-07:00

I thought its time to give a shout out to of my favorite new spots in Bamako (there didn't make it into the tourist guides). They deserve the publicity - for any of you thinking coming through the BKO these are must sees:

1. Le Flayboyant - The Flamboyant is a "cultural space" in Niamakoro - right next to city UNICEF. Thur - Sunday entrance is free, beers are cheap (about $1.20 a piece), and there is live music and dancing from 10:30 till 6 am. There are two lovable men - we refer to as the Grandpas who hold it down on the dancefloor regardless of the crowd. Grandpa 1 favors a solo salsa style dance, usually smoking a cigarette with one hand while the other is suavely placed along his abdomen. Grandpa 2, or "my grandpa," favors a more free style energetic style and often grabs crowd members to join him up on the floor - Drissa and I are both past victims. The MC/singer is another older guy who sings from his chair - surrounded by beer bottles and gives love to the crowd throughout the night. Their slogan is "on est ensemble" - we are together - which people shout out after every song. The chairs and tables are set up around the stage which hosts the band and dancers. They have palms and other large trees covered with X-mas lights and you almost forget you are in Bamako. It's the outdoor music space I alwasy wanted in BKO. I am working on becoming a regular.

2. Broadway Cafe - The only place in Bamako to get a real hamburger - cooked medium - realy medium with pink inside. This place is owned by a Malian who lives in the US. Broadway's menu boasts coke floats, burritors, cheeseburgers, and American style breakfast foods. The restaurant has funkyish decor and is air-conditioned with wireless. This is a refuge when you are missing home....

3. The Cactus - owned by a older Canadian couple who've been here since 1979 - the Cactus has hands down best food I've had in Mali. It's about 12k outside Bamako toward Kabala - past Kalabancoura - I give it 100 stars! First time I went, they treated us to an assorted salad plate - macaroni salad, potato salad, tuna salad, and german pickles. Last night we had mexican beef, beans, rice, salad in home made tortillas - it was phenomenal. When you go - the patron - usually suggests food or drink and you just roll with it and its amazing. Last night we had margaritas - with lime picked from the neighboring tree, followed by bloody marys (what he happened to be drinking). It was amazing!!! He has two adorable granddaughters who come visit the clientel as well as a never ending stream of interesting guests. We met a guy who was driving a 1954 Landrover from the UK to South Africa. His headgasket blew in Bamako so he was staying at the cactus while the repairs were being done. Go to the cactus and I promise excellent food, conversation, and drinks.

Celebrations and Obligations

2009-03-25T01:44:00.000-07:00

With all my work, I had fallen out of the Malian social circuit. It was time to pay my dues and spend some time sitting, waiting, and eating. I decided to accompany my Malian Aunt to her "ton." A ton is an association - a group of men or women who get together occasionally to eat and hang out. Most importantly, tons function as credit associations. Members contribute a sum once a month and then one member is selected to receive everyone's money each month. They can use that money to invest in a small business, pay for big expenses, whatever they want - as long as they pay for the others every month. My Aunt - Djeneba - is in what we would call the high rollers club. It's an association of women who work a commerce triangle between Benin/Togo, Nigeria/Accra, and Bamako. They put in about $100 a month each (big money in a country where GDP per capita is still around $300) and the selected person gets about $3000. When we showed up, we were presented with a huge plate of fish and rice. Other groups of women, all very large and well dressed - we eating their own large plates of fish and rice. Women had brought various imported fabrics that they were selling to their friends at wholesale prices so the friends could resell at retail. There was a mini fashion show of various women trying on various outfits. There was laughter and happiness. Then conversation turned to the governing rules of the association and somehow a disagreement arose over interest rates and order of who goes when. These are all the kind of women you don't want to mess with. There is a reason they have been able to conduct business in Lagos. There was screaming, some crying, and hand gestures that bordered on slaps. The place seemed like it was imploding. The somehow, someone threw a plastic soda bottle at someone else - and the mood changed. The 20 or so women slowly started giggling - which erupted into laughter. The most upset and angry -tried to maintain their sour expressions but most frowns dissipated and the fashion shows recommenced.

My second social outing happened the next day. One of my nephews was turning one. While birthday parties are something that most people my age in Mali never experienced - its something they want for their own kids. His mom, who is only about 15, organized a birthday party for him. Drissa and I packed 10 nieces, nephews, and neighbors into our car and drove them to the birthday party. The children were sat down around an open circle where we all waited for about an hour (this is standard for most Malian gatherings). Eventually they got the radio working and all the little kids were encouraged to dance in the middle. I began to notice scores of 16year old girls arriving in their most glamarous outfits, as well as a substantial gaggle of boys (who were supposedly their for technical support) but it all appeared to be this pseudo flirtatious air between the young men and women permeating the kid's birthday party. The girls at one point cleared the dance floor of kids and shook it themselves for all to see. The boys stared from their chairs and later approached and joked with the girls. In the US, I can't quite imagine this kind of age/activity integration.

Kalaban Sports Club

2009-03-20T04:56:00.001-07:00

So 3 times a week, I head back to the first neighborhood that I ever lived in in Mali - Kalabancoura. I return to a dusty cement basketball court - where I first played in 2002. The court is surrounded by open space where there are usually multiple soccer games (official and pickup) taking place. This kind of large public space is rare for Bamako these days -its about 2 football fields by 4 football fields large. While its great to see hundreds of kids playing side by side - the lack of houses and trees mean that its a mini-dustbowl. (I am convinced that this dust was the source of my mysterious throat swelling).

The space is surrounded by a large public school, a mosque and madrassas, and the houses of the two coaches - Amadou and Kamba. I've known Amadou for 7 years now. He is amazing. He started out as a public school teacher - was posted in Mopti for a while and then was pulled into the Min of Ed's primary department. He used to be an awesome basketball player - I know because he used to play with us back in 2002. He and his friends used to play on this court and he was one of the leaders in securing aid from a French foundation to re-do it. Amadou coaches every day as soon as he gets off work until around 7:30. Kamba is a university student - finishing up his thesis. He also comes every day - often morning and night for double sessions - and gives free tutoring to those kids preparing to take the bac.

Unlike most other clubs in Bamako - ours is free. All the coaches are volunteers with day jobs. This helps to contribute to our high numbers of girls and the diverse socioeconomic backgrounds of the players. There are about 80 some kids who come every night - a group of novices, a middle group of boys and girls, and then the oldest boys. I work primary with the 14-16 year old girls and then sometimes go play with the older boys. It's pretty cool cause one of the girls that was just starting to play in 2002 now plays for one of Mali's best female teams and also joins -as well as another former female player who just comes to work out with the older boys. In the US it would be rare to see this kind of gender integration on the court past the age of 13 or so.

When I coach - its a mix of French and Bambara. When Kamba works with me he translates into Bambara - when I go solo I use a lot of demonstration to make my point. I present the toughest, strictest version of myself here as the levels of discipline on the court aren't really up to US standards.

We are working on a Self Help Grant from the Embassy to try to electrify our court - which would enable us to work more hours and add mores kids. In 2007, my mom helped organize a sneaker collection and when she, my aunt, and dad visited they donated their suitcase space to bring over 100s of pairs of shoes. The team and the kids were sooo excited. I would like to do this again, the problem is that the shipping costs are prohibitive. Unless someone is flying over - FEDEX is like $400 for 20 lbs. Argghh the dilemma of being land-locked and in Africa!

The Hot Season Continues

2009-03-16T14:44:00.000-07:00

I am writing this blog entry from my roof. My roof is usually a good 10 to 15 degrees cooler than my house. Unfortunately, today it's not. It was very hot today. I took a couple of showers, shifted between fans, laid down, got up, put on my Malian booty shorts (=regular thigh baring shorts) and a tank top. For the hottest of days - my newest strategy has been to go work out with my basketball team. Somehow the act of running suicides, playing defense, and doing wall sits in 100 degree heat brings me back to summers of un-airconditioned gyms in New Jersey - where you are supposed to sweat and be hot. This in stark contrast to the image of you sweating into your couch and any other furniture as you try to format survey response sheets.

The good news is - it's mango season. It all happened in one day - the mangoes appeared. Our mango tree is filled with greenish nodes (about as big as a jalapeno) - some which missle down on to the ground below prematurely. Mangoes will be a fabulous fruit complement to my oil+starch+onions diet.

We finally set our survey start date for this Sunday. Very exciting, but lots of forms to clean up before then - we need survey questionnaires in French and Bambara and response sheets in French and Bambara. I am looking them over again to make sure I am not missing any crucial questions and to make sure all the questions I have are important. We have GPSed the location of all the schools, churches, and mosques in our first school district (Faladie) - we are going to be make a map to help us look at where parents send their kids as compared to where they live.

Meanwhile, my RAs have been busy entering the 200 university student interviews into an excel sheet. Really interesting to listen to student responses about perceptions of education and politics in Mali. So far everyone who we have interviewed has been very gracious - hopefully this continues.

Day Off

2009-03-14T04:31:00.001-07:00

It's Saturday. Doing fieldwork I had never anticipated that it would be hard to take "days off." I sorta thought the research would be cushioned by a lots vacationy type days. This has not been the case. My research assistants come over from 8-4 Monday - Thursday and 8-11 on Friday (They have half day to go to mosque). However, they usually arrive between 7:30-7:45 and stay past four - browsing the internet and completing the third prayer of the day. This means that its only after 4 and on the weekends when I can work on a slew of administrative chores/my master plan. The other thing - its hard to know when enough is enough - you are swimming in a sea of potential data and you don't really know how to evaluate what is worth throwing your time into and what is just an interesting distraction. So you try to do lots of things - hoping that a couple will be relevant.

So what does a work day look like: One of my RAs and I went to visit a madrassa the other day. I had met the director through Drissa's dad a couple of years ago. He was very welcoming, although he didn't shake my hand, and took me around to visit the packed classrooms. Boys on one side and girls on the other. All the girls were wearing some kind of head covering. All the classes stood up to great us in Arabic and giggled at me when I spoke Bambara. I had been wondering how integrated madrassas are into the government education system. In my visit, I witnesssed school officials coming to monitor curriculum. The 9th grade class was covering civic education and the violent events right before the Traore dictatorship was taken down. In addition to the director, we interviewed four different teachers, some who shook my hand and some who didn't, who spoke about their experiences. Upon leaving I got to meet the directors first wife, who was covered in black without even an eye slit showing, but I could see through her veil that she was pretty young. She was stopping by to visit him at school. Then we went back to my house and joined the other RAs to keep coding the university student interviews.

So now its the weekend. I slept in, but paid the price and woke up sweating. I went to take a shower, but the water was cut. I wanted to go to the pool today, but the radiator in our car broke - so its day 3 off Drissa at the garage and me homebound. There is a lot of action in our neighborhood. Rumor has it - one of the families down the block is marrying off 6 of their daughters today. (It is some tradition where they all get married together - can you imagine if we had that in the US - no siblings can get married until everyone is ready to do it at once?). There are multiple cows tethered outside their house - so I know this is going to be a big party.

Things I Miss from the USA

2009-03-12T04:42:00.001-07:00

(Minus the snow)

Hidden Treasures

2009-03-10T08:52:00.000-07:00

Bamako's population is estimated to be somewhere between 1-3 million. However, it often seems like a small town - most times that I go out I meet someone I know (a former co-worker, my little host sisters' friends, basketball players). The great thing about Bamako is that, unlike Ithaca, there are a ton of hidden treasures waiting to be found! This last week was a great example.

My parents graciously purchased a $30 membership for Drissa and I to the American Club. The American club is a mini-suburban oasis in Bamako - they have volleyball Fridays where Americans play volleyball with Bruce and AC DC pumping in the background as gaggles of mixed race expat kids run around the lush grass lawns. It all feels very 4th of July party- until you pinch yourself and realize its march. I had no idea that you could become a member until I saw a flyer. So last Friday, we signed up. On Sat I showed up at my private little country club and there was no one there. I splashed around in the pool by myself and did some work on my laptop under the cabana and then in the air-conditioned dining area. Drissa and I joke that its our second home, cause noone else is there (except for a couple of French kids taking tennis lessons). There are tennis courts, an air-conditioned weight-room, pool, and hi-def movie viewing room. A nice break from the water and power outages in my real home. It's fun to be a faux expat once or twice a week.

Then Sat night, we went out to this AMAZING live music spot less than a kilometer from Drissa's parents house. It's free entry, great live band with rotating singers, and a lively dance floor. The crowd sits under the palm tree covered grounds sipping $1.25 beers. Much props to the mayor of Bamako -Brandon- for finding this place. I cannot believe I been there before; it is the Bamako nightlife I have always fantasized about and its 3 days a week every week! Everyone was super friendly and really into the music. At one point, I was swept up to the dance floor by a drunk, 60 something patron and thrown around in an attempt at salsa.

Sunday, we hosted a rooftop party in honor of the mayor's 10th anniversary in Bamako, his friend's first and only Sunday in Bamako, the prophet's bday and international woman's day. I strung up x-mas lights and we drank dabalini (hibiscus flower and sugar) cocktails with a various assortment of Bamako based Americans.

Rooftop wake-up call

2009-03-05T01:47:00.001-08:00

All is well on the roof. We are woken up every morning around 5:00 by the call to the first prayer. It's call to prayer in surround-sound as there are multiple mosques in our neighborhood - so the repetitive (sometimes off key) Arabic chanting comes at you from multiple directions. Around the time, the German Shephards on the roof a couple of blocks over realize that we are up there sleeping on the roof and they start barking. It's funny here, but there are a lot of dogs in my neighborhood on rooftops - rather reminiscent of the Go Dogs Go Tree party - except they are each on their own branches. It's a warm morning welcome.

We have completed 3 days or interviews and are embarking on our fourth and final day. This morning I dropped my 3 RAs off at our third campus to collect the final 30 or so interviews - bringing us up to about 200 complete interviews. Our interviewing coincides with student union rep elections, which appear to be rather competitive/militant. Campuses are covered in campaign posters - my favorite being - Omar Diarra dit (called) "Obama" with a picture of the candidate super-imposed next to Obama. Gaggles of students ride through on motos wearing their candidates' colors and holding up pictures. Two days ago there was clash between machete wielding student groups disputing election results. The police came in and hit one of the students - now all the students are on strike again. My strike-o-meter is as follows - in roughly 5 weeks of working for me since the school year started - Djenebou - my intern has had exactly 1.5 days of class. (Professor strikes then student strikes then these new student strikes). It's going to be very interesting to hear what these students have to say about the Malian school/political system. We will start coding the taped interviews this afternoon.

Hot Hot Hot

2009-03-02T13:49:00.000-08:00

As Winter struck Ithaca early this year, there were many a snowy/freezing November day when I looked out my window and swore to myself that I would never EVER complain about the heat once I got to Bamako. I am proud of my heat tolerance= the way that some people are proud about "never burning" when they go to the beach. But as we all know - everything has its extremes. It's almost 10 pm in Bamako and its currently 91 degrees. It was about 105 today and will be about 100 for the rest of the week. I usually try to measure the heat by the number of showers it takes me to go to sleep. As I tried to take a nap yesterday afternoon at 3 pm I had already logged five showers in the first hour. The strategy is - you run into the bathroom - shower then run out of the bathroom wearing minimal clothes and lay in bed and try to fall asleep before you dry off and get hot again.

Lately, Drissa and I have moved to phase 2. When it gets really hot - you go sleep on the roof. I can tell my heat tolerance is way below most Malians, because no one else is on the roof yet. I also know its going to get much hotter because I know at some point - everyone does sleep on the roof. So its usually just us - sleeping on a bed of double sleeping bags - it usually cools off enough by midnight to put a sheet over us (which serves as protection from mosquitoes as well).

Today, my research team launched our first attack. We invaded the university campus with our questionnaire sheets and voice recorders. I sat back and supervised as 2 of my RAs went at a time talking to university students about their educational experience/opinion of the Malian state. They took turns interviewing and most students were pretty into it - speaking loudly into the voice recorders as if we were doing a BBC special on university systems in Africa. The University campus was reminiscent of an American campus with some Bamakoise touches. The grounds were dotted with old copying machines and black plastic bags, laundry was flying like flags from the balconies of the imposing concrete dorms, there were fashion photo stalls, food vendors, shoe vendors, and parking lots filled with 1000s of motos. Clearly the student population makes up a lucrative market. Student attire ranged from all out suits, to burqas, to traditional Malian garb, to straight outta brooklyn colored skinny jeans. Everything went pretty well - got almost 60 interviews done before the heat started to strangle us and we headed home.

Alright, I am going to go take my 4th shower and off to the roof!

The Weberian State?

2009-02-27T00:06:00.000-08:00

The African state is often criticized for being both inept and omi-present. This is an exaggeration of the extremes, but it captures the basic jist of the irony of total dependence on a set of very weak institutions. If I could recommend any book to read for a better understanding of why this is/how this works - it would be Pierre Englebert's Africa: Unity, Sovereignty, and Sorrow (coming out in May of this year). Basically, the African state has exclusive control of legal sovereignty and finds a way to make itself needed in all quotodien interactions. Further more, it entangles members of society into is its web - as they all search out a little piece of the state.

To offer an example:

I had to get two research permits from the Malian government to conduct my research. One as a foreigner to conduct research here and a second to conduct survey research. On the applications for both research permits, I need to put an "official stamp" from the Malian government to certify it. It would be like having to put a post office stamp on an application that I was submitting to for a forestry permit in the US. The stamps are supposedly sold by mayor's office except when we went there, they said they didn't sell them there any more. So after going to a larger government office, we asked a nice police officer where we could find the mystery stamps and he called over the vendor who walks around wearing an array of phone cards and selling cough drops/assorted candies. He pulls some government stamps out of his pockets and sells them for 10 cents over their face - which appears to be a standard transaction. Many questions remain: where did he get the government issued stamps? Is he the exclusive vendor or are there a lot of telephone card guys that have govt stamps to? How does his stamp make my application more official? Could I attach a cough drop wrapper instead?

So, I go to office one and succeed in obtaining permit #1 - which costs me $20 USD. The office is air-conditioned and the guy working the desk is very nice and efficient and turns out to be a Professor who works on education and is excited about brainstorming with me (I am meeting with him later today). So despite the $20 (which equals about 4 days of food from my budget), this was a good interaction.

Then on to permit 2. I am a bit intimidated because I have to submit this one to the department of statistics and they want my methodology, copies of my questions, etc. Some of my questions include: Are their high schools in Bamako where grades on report cards can be altered? Name 5 high schools where this is prevalent. Do you believe that the President and/or any of his staff are involved in corruption? Despite what I know about Mali being a very open society I was still nervous.

I prepared my dossier and we drove downtown to the DNSI office. I inquired outside about where to find the reception and then walked up to the first floor. I opened the door to a small office with about five women and two men. One man was behind a computer and the rest were watching a soccer game and/or sleeping under the mildly air-conditioned breeze. I asked about where I could get file my application for a "stastics visa." They sent me up to the 3rd floor. I walked up the narrow staircase and asked a very competent looking man about the visas, who then informed me that I should go drop it off at reception. I explained I was just at reception and so then he sent me to ask for Mr. Fofana back down at the 1st floor. I went to the first floor knocked on that door and found two secretaries chatting with each other. They explained that Mr. Fofana had left and they didn't know when he would be back. I went back up to the 3rd floor and told my ally that Fofana was out and then he said to go back to reception and ask for Mr. Doumbia. So I go back to reception and ask again about the stastical visa. Mr. Doumbia is now out, but one of the five ladies picks up my appplication and says - oh a stastical visa (I had repeated that about 6 times before she read it on my seat). Sit down she says. Drissa is with me and people soon find out that he is my husband and that I can speak some Bambara so at this point the entire mood of the sleepy air-conditioned office changes and there is much laughter and joking about Drissa's ethnic group and our lack of children. Finally, Mr. Doumbia - the first man I spoke to comes back and then takes my application and tells me to come back in two days. I say great.

I come back on Wed to pick up my application. I am greeted with smiles and laughter. I go to Mr. Fofana's office and he is very kind and explains that my application has been approved, but that there are some mistakes on the approval letter that they have written. I look down on his desk and see my approval letter with a big red circle around Monsieur - where they should have written Madame. He tells me that they are correcting these problems and to come back Thursday.

I return Thursday. Again much laughter and joking -even Mr. Doumbia smiles and greets me with "daughter in law" how are you? He hands me my permit!! And I don't pay a cent! With patience and laughter, most things are possible here. A free research permit with less than a week turnaround - pretty impressive.

Bamako Jazz Festival

2009-02-22T11:26:00.000-08:00

So in my last post, I mentioned the "music of Bamako." Most of the time, I under-utilize this tremendous resource. However, this weekend I took advantage of two wonderful live music shows! On Friday I went to see Moussa Diallo trio (http://www.moussadiallo.com/index.php) and Andra Kouyate and his wife Mah Bara Soumano (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e0dXRoYhuzI). Moussa Diallo was probably around 50 something, but was in amazing shape and just exuding energy - jumping around the stage, laughing, and dancing. He was accompanied by a jazz guitarist and a percussion guy - they definitely played a type of fusion - jazz, calypso, malian, and pop. The husband group were very cute - they played more traditional malian fare, but she has this really interesting vacuous/scratchy voice. They both gave each other a lot of props throughout the show.

Then on Sat, I saw this amazing amazing outdoor spectacle. 110 Belgians traveled to Mali to perform with Mali's own Baba Sissoko in a collaborative endeavor called Mali-mali. They set up an outdoor stage at this large conference center, hung bogolan in the background and made a faux baobob tree out of sticks and hanging candles. Then they strung white lights around the whole stage. The Belgians were dressed in reds and oranges and browns. There was a chorus, huge horn section (french horn included), and a bunch of Belgians with African instruments (djembes, koras, tamani). I am guessing it was a mix of real musicians and people who had taken part in a 2 year long African music class learning how to play these things. The conductor/co author of this thing was a short, bouncy, smiling Belgian guy wit a skater (circa 1992) haircut- shaved on the sides and long down the middle. Baba Sissok is from a family of famous griots and didn't disappoint with either his singing or his tamani skills. The music was this quirky mix of Cuban big band, cheesy french 70s soundtrack, and Malian folk. I absolutely loved it and encourage you all to check out there music:http://www.malimali.be/pages/spectacle.html. Below the flashing add on the lower right had side you can click on the speaker icon and hear some of their stuff. It was fun because everyone on stage was totally into it. Another surreal Saturday in Bamako!

Top 10 Bamako

2009-02-20T11:57:00.000-08:00

Bamako often gets a bad rap due to the chaotic layout, the dust, the pollution, and the whirlwind of people, kids, animals, motos, and cars flying about. This makes me sad because I love Bamako; I definitely have what you would call "South Side" pride (we live on the newer southside of the river). I read a travel blog the other day that was hating extensively on Bamako. In retaliation, I decided to write a top 10 list of things I love about Bamako. Sure, Bamako isn't (and probably won't ever be) a tourist haven, but its the little things that make me want to keep coming back here.

Bamako top 10 (in no particular order)

1. Cold, bottled cokes for $.40 a piece
2. Driving across the bridge at night watching the lights line both sides of the Niger
3. Sassy, confident women
4. Music (in clubs, live concerts, in cars, in shops - music music everywhere)
5. Malians' sense of humor - you have to know how to laugh at yourself/defend yourself with witty comebacks
6. Family and friends that embrace you like you were born here
7. Fresh food: fresh fish, sho (beans and onions cooked in oil), cheap fresh vegetables from the market
8. Bamako fashion - super loud colors, stylish accessories often with a retro, Middle Eastern, or American flair
9. athletic, creative, fearless children
10. Sitting on rooftops staring at the stars - knowing there are millions around you doing the same thing.

Serving Valentines Day Meal

2009-02-15T12:23:00.001-08:00

Happy Valentines Day

2009-02-15T11:52:00.000-08:00

I have never really been one to celebrate Valentines Day. However, sometimes being far away from home makes you crave stupid, unimportant holidays for some unexplainable reason. I remember being in Bamako during Halloween one time and buying a bag of candy that I handed out to all the kids of my block with a mini-lecture on Halloween (nothing informative - more like - it's Halloween in the US and this is what kids your age are doing...). Noone got it. This valentines day I might have imagined Drissa and I going out to hear live music or splurging on a nice dinner for two or maybe going dancing. Suprisingly, Bamako was well aware it was Valentines day and the local Shell station was selling cut flowers, candy, and used stuffed animals ($10 a pop).

However, I did not live out any expat valentines fantasies last night. Instead - we hosted Drissa's "geren" at our house. A "geren" is a group of men that you get together with to drink tea, make fun of each other, and talk about ex-girlfriends. Drissa gets together with his geren every Saturday. So every Sat - the 15 or so men all go to a different guy's house. Drissa's turn coincided with Valentines Day.

I asked Drissa if my friend Kadi could come help us cook. I have known Kadi since I first came to Bamako in 2002. She is married to Madou - who owned one of the Sotrama's Drissa used to drive. I always found Kadi and Madou's story inspiring. In a place where most marriages are arranged, Kadi and Madou actually fell in love and got married. They now have 4 kids. Kadi is my best female friend in Bamako. I love Kadi and I think she is one of the most beautiful women I have ever met. She has taught me more Bambara than anyone here. She doesn't speak French, is extremely patient, and speaks with a stutter. This means that she is slow and patient when she speaks with me. I knew that if I would be stuck cooking for 15 men - I would want Kadi on my side.

Kadi came around 3 and we went to the market to buy meet, potatoes, garlic, onions, peppers, oil, celery leaves, carrots, and mustard. We went back to my host family's house and peeled and cut vegetables and then slow cooked some meat (later pouring the vegetables on top). The whole cooking process took about 5 hours.

The men arrived at around 10. Drissa had set up chairs for them outside. They sat and talked and drank tea. I went over to check out the scene and asked Drissa when they wanted to eat. Then I went back and watched a Valentines Day poetry competition with Kadi at my host families house. At 10:30 it was time to serve the food. Kadi and I brought it over to my house and seperated it into 5 plates. We put the food out and then brought water so the men could wash their hands. Then we served them cokes and brought them water to drink.

Then we sat down in the house in front of our own plate of food. Some of my host familiy's daughters came over and joined us. As we were eating the men started to rush out to attend secondary Valentines Day parties. Kadi's husband Madou, who had joined the geren for tonight, drove Kadi and their youngest baby home on their motorcycle around midnight.

China in Africa

2009-02-13T05:44:00.001-08:00

So my intern called me early this morning to explain that she couldn't come to work because all the roads were closed. Chinese President Hu Jintao is visiting Mali and the Malian government has been busy closing down roads for him and declaring public holidays for civil servants (everyone got off a half day yesterday so they could line the streets for his arrival). Granted Mali has a population of 11 million and is one of the world's poorest countries, so it seems like a pretty big deal that the President of the world's largest state would spend the first two days of his Africa tour in Mali (He will also visit Senegal, Tanzania, and Mauritius). It was pretty cool to watch the news footage of him getting of the plane, the troops of Malian dancers and soldiers that greeted him. Drissa and I debated whether or not this type of thing could happen in the US. I explained to Drissa that Mali's population is not much larger than NJ's - so its sorta like if the President of China came to visit NJ. Drissa contends that NJ state employees would still not get half a day off for the visit. Regardless, in this age of democracy it is difficult to see this kind of spectacle - the moblization of the entire population for a grand welcome.

China gets a lot of bad press about their involvement in Africa - collaborating with the Northern Sudanese government, no-strings attached aid to countries like Angola, displacing indigenous manufacturers. Much of this is deserved. However, in Mali their material contribution is apparent. In a world where few donors want to fund large infastructure projects - the Chinese are all about it. They have built quite a few strutures in Mali already - but their newest contributions will be a hospital in Sikasso (I learned this from the billboard overlooking the highway) and a 3rd bridge for Bamako. For anyone who doesn't live in Bamako, it is hard to explain how amazing/important a third bridge would be. The Niger slices Bamako in half and everyday, commuters travel on one of two bridges to get to their job, go to market, or whatever business they have on the other side of the river. One bridge is just one way traffic from 7-10 or so and then reverse traffic from 4-6. You sit in line waiting to get on the bridge for an hour or so (without traffic this trip takes like 5 minutes) breathing in exhaust waiting for the cars to squeeze single file into the line for the bridge. A third bridge will clear up traffic, but also enable an entire economy and community farther up stream where the bridge will cross the river. Bamako will go from having two overworked arteries to three less-overworked arteries.

I can't quite understand the Chinese goodwill campaign. It is not unlike Libya's efforts to appear as a benevolent benefactor (thought Khaddafi's are of a much more personal nature). However, Libya is less efficient and has left Bamako littered with quite a few unfinished government buildings. But why the billboards proclaiming Chinese investment in Mali? Billboards of not - Malians respect that work of the Chinese. They might complain about the lack of quality in Chinese products but know that it is grace a la Chinese plastic motorcycle that many people don't have to walk or take public transit. Air Pollution definitely!! But between the cell phone/plastic moto explosion here in Bamako - I can say that things have really changed since 2002.

Bad Day

2009-02-11T03:30:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was a bad day. First of all, I had been struggling with a weird kind of strep/flu thing when all of a sudden on Monday - I noticed a swelling on the right side of my neck. It was tender and sore to the touch. I always a little bit freak out about stuff like this - like I have some bizarre tropical disease - but given the sore throat, fever, etc - seemed likely to be a swollen lymph node. Monday night I demanded that Drissa take me to get a remedy - a cheeseburger, fries, and coke float from the only american restaurant in town (way on the other side of the river). Unfortunately, neither cheeseburger nor the American film I watched via itunes (the secret life of bees) kept my swelling down or fever away. I took some cipro thinking that this would wash away all the bad strep bacteria. Cipro is a tough medicine - it kills the good and bad bacteria and leaves your body feeling like a trampled battleground.

So I wake up wed and the swelling is worse. Rex proceeds to eat my computer power cord to the AC adapter (prob cause I have been sick and haven't given her attention lately). I wave this off and ask that Drissa give my RAs some data entry work to do and proceed to sleep for the day. I later im with my Aunt and cousin (who are the best fake doctors I know). Later my mom and her school nurse send word that cipro doesn't work for strep. I stop taking cipro and try to find some other antibiotics. I get my Malian Aunt to write a prescription for penicillin - (basically her writing onto a doctors sized notebook, but no stamp or letter head or anything), but the pharmacy says they only carry injectable penicillin - well I don't want that. Drissa sends his little brother to get their family doctor to write me a prescription - which after a lot of discussion - he does and then Yacouba (drissa's bro) brings over Ampicillin - which ends in cillin and should be ok. "Where there is no Doctor" reports that it is a suitable replacement for amoxicillin - so I take it.

Meanwhile, Drissa discovers that someone has stolen our car radio. He runs off into the night and tries to bounty hunt the culprits - which he is pretty sure - live in the neighborhood. I watch like 2 episodes of the new bachelor (which I don't even like but was the only thing I could find on youtube) and then fall asleep before Drissa is back.

Today I feel better. Besides the swelling and fatigue - my body feels good. I am going to force myself stay in bed again all day today and see what happens tomorrow.

The After

2009-02-08T03:32:00.001-08:00

Here's the after shot of my feet. Oh that secret chemical indredient - poloni = rat poison!!!!

Beautified

2009-02-07T10:59:00.000-08:00

In two days I have undergone extreme makeover - Malian Edition. Yesterday I went and got my hair braided. Now that the hot season is coming, braiding helps keep you head ventilated - so you don't sweat under your hair. There is the added side benefit that everyone thinks you are like 5 times as beautiful. I've gotten complements from my coaches, Drissa's uncle, kids on the street, the ladies who work at the Shell station. I am sure part of it is my willingness to embrace "farafigne" style, but I honestly also get a dramatic reaction from people as if I'd gotten liposuction or a nose job.

Today, I embarked on stage 2 of my beautification - I got my feet hennaed. This is like a 4-5 hour procedure - so I planned to do it at Drissa's family's house - thus earning me extra points with the inlaws. (In Mali, you get social "credit" by sitting and visiting. You don't necessarily have to bring any great conversation or party tricks - just gotta log hours sitting next to people.) There was extensive discussion over what henna procedure I should get. There is a temporary kind - that is painted on using "black Japanese hair dye" or there is "jabi" (henna) which is then turned black with "poloni" (some kind of chemical that smells like peroxide). Drissa's sisters decided that I should get jabba done but then there was some debate over whether my feet would be able to handle the poloni - which supposedly burns. At first I was going to opt for regular henna (my argument being that in India and Morocco they use red/orange henna), but Drissa's uncle and one of his brothers put their feet down and demanded that I have black henna. The family reached a compromise and determined that we would try the poloni for 25 minutes (as compared to the regular 45) or until my feet start burning.

First, a girl from the neighborhood cut strips of white tape with a razor blad along my feet. I was a bit nervous at first because she was cutting out designs with the blade along my feet (at least it was a new blade). After the designs were cut, henna was applied to one foot by one sister - while the design specialist started on the left foot. Then the left foot and my left hand were hennaed. After being hennaed - they wrapped my feet in the omnipresent black plastic bags. Then, they proceded to put socks over the plastic bags. The entire time - a gaggle of children was wriggling and watching with anticipation.

After an hour and a half - my feet were freed from their enclosures and washed off - revealing a rich orange/red henna. The whole process felt rather nice - I guess anytime you have 3 people working on your body it feels very relaxing - like a manicure and massage at once. So then came the moment of truth - to see if the toubab could withstand the poloni. They covered my clean feet with this chemical mixed into another substance and then re-wrapped with socks and plastic bags. 15 minutes - so far, no pain - people were impressed. I heard gossip in the background - it must be that my feet are tough from sports. They looked at my feet, but it wasn't dark enough yet - so they put them back for another 15 mintues. Finally, my feet began to itch a bit and they figured they should wash off the final solution. My feet emerged rather rainbow colored - red and green and yellow and grey - a bit like a tye dye bob marley birthday tribute. Everyone laughed a little, but assured me they would become black. Now my feet have almost turned all grey/black - revealing a nice geometric zig zag pattern around the tops of my feet and darkened soles. I am planning to put on some heels and go out for a beer or two tonight and show them off.

Nescafe fueled Training

2009-02-05T13:06:00.000-08:00

It's about 9 pm and I am exhausted. This is partially due to the dust. It's like dustbowl everywhere in Mali - it is on your skin, in your hair, and you can just feel it in your lungs. Many people riding motorcycles wear those Air France/Air Morroco sleeping masks over their noses. I haven't figured out how to pull that off (or the bandana look) while coaching baskteball without looking like a bankrobber or sorta OCD. However, the bizarre thing is you wake up with a cold feeling like a complete dork (like I haven't spent the last two and a half year of my life in Freezing Ithaca) and need to remind yourself that it was dust-induced. Today, Drissa brought me some Lipton full of pepper as a remedy, which tasted good but then seemed to take all my energy away. I swear I need to google pepper to see if it has some crazy healing/body cleansing characteristics.

The second factor is my week long training. So back at Cornell I ran 3 hour long discussion sessions (in English). Now I lead a training from 8 am to 4 pm (in French) - we dicuss various topics and then we usually do some computer training (word, excel, etc) then we eat lunch then I work with one student on Bambara lessona and I give random tasks to the other two (translation work, reading articles, fixing my written french). As I mentioned before - I have two recent undergrads (maitrise in Sociology and another in Econ) and an intern who is still at university. The intern is supposed to have school 3 times a week and come to our trainings the other days. So far, every day her school has been cancelled or the profs haven't shown so she has come.

Sample material - Week One:
Monday - state formation, sovereignty, legitimacy, nationalism, etc
Tuesday - Education as a tool - statebuilding, nationalism, socialization of citizens, teaching democrats, building legitimacy, and intro to educational trends in West Africa, ed stats in Mali; word and excel training
Wednesday - Research methods - hypothesis formation, causaliity?, different types of variables, observable implications, different research methods etc; composition and budget creation in word and excel; translation
Thursday - review of my hypotheses, primary descriptive data questions, methods for obtaining that data, discussion of: why parents send their kids to different types of schools? why certain schools are built in certain places?

It's tough and tiring, but I feel like we are covering a lot of ground. It's awesome to have them gut check my assumption and quesions. It's also great to work with them to come up with research questions they think are interesting or ways to get data on phenomena (diploma-buying) that ministries or schools don't keep stats on. So far we have come up with some really fun side projects - doing interviews with univesrity students about the easiest and hardest highschools in Bamako and looking at the politicians's use of soccer games when they announce their candidacy.

We do the training at my house. I have food brought from my host family's house for lunch each day. The funny thing - in the US once you say work/training is over - people generally go home. However, my team has a tendancy to just sorta hang around after we are done. The Malian way? I've got a lot more learning to do.....

Mali Music Video

2009-02-02T13:47:00.000-08:00

So my brother Tommybear aka Zander just finished putting together the video that he shot in Mali. I am 80% recommending watching it because I am proud of my brother and 20% recommending it because there are some beautiful images of our beloved Mali! Check it out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xB9_4SBuAuw&fmt=22 and you won't be disappointed! (Look out for Drissa's mom - in the back of the sheep feeding scene and our nephew - "boi fitini" running with the kids chasing my brother.) You can catch Drissa and Deriki aka Soft-touch in the car pushing scene.

The visitors

2009-01-31T04:18:00.000-08:00

My house has become the popular neighbhorhood hangout spot. I think its the combination of Rex and the internet connection. It's fairly hot and I don't have a fan in my "office," so I generally sit and work on the couch with the doors open and celiing fan running. So, 7-8 times a day various kids from the neighborhood come streaming through the gate and into my house. They are fascinated with dog training and usually come in to ask me how to get Rex to do some kind of new command. The most recent request - what do we say to get Rex to attack someone?

One grouping of kids lives by my host family's house. They must have heard about Rex and then they just started coming over. They are Malian, but grew up in Congo - so they speak excellent French. They were a bit upset that Rex's commands were in Bambara and not French. As an American, you need to learn to pace yourself through the cycle of interupptions. However, I appreciate my gang as they keep Rex very busy and entertained. I often look at my door and laugh as kids run circles around the mango tree with Rex chasing their heels.

Usually they bring some kind of toys. As I type right now, two kids are rolling matchbox cars underneath me. (There is no school today so the kids can spend extra time here). Often they crowd around behind me and watch me use the computer. If I am trying to do work, I will try to change to the most boring window I can find, usually a word document, to try to get them back to car-rolling and dog-training. Last night about 5 or 6 popped in around 10:00pm. I was conducting English lessons with Drissa's brother, an older neighborhood kid, and one of my research assistants. I decided to entertain their internet fascination and did google searches for various breeds of dogs. After looking at Zumana, pugs, bulldogs, sharpeis, and irish wolfhounds - I decided to call it a night. It was about 11:00 pm. I wonder where they tell their parents they are? We were off training dogs....or I was at my American friend's house.... Or if their parents even ask?

I'm working on this relationship - trying to encourage quiet, independent play and figure out how to activate my army of followers to do some good deeds (or at least household chores).

Progress

2009-01-29T02:25:00.000-08:00

In Mali, I have found progress to be a stop and go kind of enterprise, which requires a lot of patience. You wait until the right rythym comes along and then you try to hold on. Finally, things are starting to line up.

Thank you all for voting. Our puppy is now named Rex. I, along with a contingent of neighborhood kids, are working rather diligently on her training regimen. Rex can "sit (sigi)", "come (naa)", and is learning "down (daa)" she knows that she isn't allowed inside the house and must wait until we say so before attacking her food. We wash her once a week, which due to the dusty season - is less than effective. She, like my feet, is permanetly covered in a red/orange dust.

After two weeks of interviews, I've selected two research assistants (recent sociology and economics grads) and an intern (still in college). We embark on a six week training next Monday. I am scrambling to get the materials together. The first week we are covering theories of statebuilding, education, nationalism, and citizenship as well as looking more specifically at Mali's education sector in the context of the global campagin for "Education for All." This will be covered in the morning. In the afternoon, they will take the lead - teaching me Bambara. I'm hoping that we will all learn a lot.

I coach basketball 3 times a week. It's the same team that I have been playing with in Kalabancoura since 2002. The other coaches are amazing - they put in at least 3-4 hours a day, 6 days a week - unpaid. Right now I am helping with the beginners and the girls team (about 30 kids - 20 girls). Slowly we are moving from a lot of chattering, gossip, and laughing to more focus, concentration, and intensity. I have to explain moves and correct players using a combination of French and Bambara - very good practice for my language acquisition.

Simple Pleasures

2009-01-26T02:51:00.000-08:00

In addition to the puppy, Drissa and I have made two other very important acquisitions. One is a 1985 Diesel Mercedes (190D). The Mercedes affords us accelerated mobility – we had been confined to borrowing cars and motorcycles and/or pulling our taxi off duty to give us some rides or paying rides in sotramas or taxis. Drissa looked at 30 or so cars before buying this one, and has already started to try to sell it for a higher price than what he paid. Bamako – has no “Craigslist” and thus flipping cars (without doing any extra work on them ) is time-consuming, yet possible. It does feel great to zip around the city, slicing through waves of motorbikes listening Malian radio programs – “learn Russian and explore diverse Russian contemporary music” or a Malian remix of some of Lil’ Wayne’s recent beats. I compare Mali to Chicago in that it is a city of neighborhoods. We live in Magnambougou, Drissa’s family is in Niamokoro, and I coach basketball in Kalanbancoura. Luckily, Niamokoro is sandwiched between the other two “quartiers.” However, these are only 3 of 8 or 9 neighborhoods on this side of the Niger. The other side of the city has another 10 or so neighborhoods and is continuously expanding farther out.

Our second acquisition is a kerosene cooking stove. I cannot tell you how liberated I feel. Any domestic talents that I might have acquired over the last 6 years or so were rendered worthless due to my inability (or at least unwillingness) to create a charcoal fire, wash clothes by hand, or skin and gut poultry. I used to ride past roadsides, eyes desperately searching for a new whole in the wall restaurant to test. On my research budget, I have allotted $10 a day for meals for Drissa and me. This will not pay for fancy meals at toubab restaurants and even a splurge at a mid-range faux Lebanese patisserie would eat up most of the budget. So, we usually eat most meals at my host family’s house and/or make do with yogurt/laughing cow/bread or an occasionally meal at one of these hole in the wall $1 a plate Nigerian/Senegalese/Togolese spots. Eating at my host family’s entails gender segregated eating – boys eating out of one big plate and girls out of another. While this is fun and social, sometimes I want to eat a meal with Drissa. Also, I get no input on what is being cooked (clearly) nor can I predict what will be there when I show up – except for riz au gras and fish – which is always a Sunday meal. However, now with my stove – all the produce that was formerly street decoration now looks like food. I can boil anything and eat it! I can cut and boil potatoes, fry fish, make salads, cook green beans, and even buy canned lentils to cook. Last night I baptized my stove with one of my rations of Kraft macaroni and cheese brought from home. I peeled carrots and cucumbers and was ridiculously pleased with myself. Tonight I might try potatoes with garlic, butter and cheese with a side of green beans.

Borrowed Puppies and Inauguration

2009-01-21T23:53:00.000-08:00

After hearing the stories about election night in Bamako, I think I was expecting inauguration to induce all out rioting and partying in the street. Luckily for Malians, the inauguration coincided with day of the Army - which represents the day the last French soldier left independent Mali. However, of course things were a bit mellower than I expected. Two former co-workers from Winrock (www.winrock.org) came to watch with Drissa, me, and our friend Derek - recently returned from a freezing vacation in Senegal. We went over to a local bar and waited for TV5 to start covering the inauguration. It was cool because we got to explain to the other 20 or so Malians in the bar - the who's who of the inauguration (Tipper Gore, etc). In the hour leading up to the oath - TV5 paraded a series of French "specialists on the United States" who gave color commentary. This was followed by some weak French translations of the speech, oaths etc which managed to block out the actual speech - this was very frustrating. We walked over to my host parents home (they have satellite) and were able to finally put on CNN live. My host parents were having their 26th anniversary party and there were about 30 of my host father’s friends over gathered around the TV as well as a group of Malian expats who live in the US.

In other news, we have borrowed one of my host family’s dogs. It is a three month old puppy. The dog had a rather tragic first couple of months. It was taken from its mom too young (it tries to nurse everything) and managed to fall three stories from the top of my host family’s house and broke its leg. Luckily, my host mom is a vet and managed to set it, however it still has a bit of a limp. The puppy used to be tied to a two foot chain, but now enjoys free roaming around our enclosed home. After a bit of stumbling – it is now flying around the front yard – destroying insects and chasing plastic bottles. It is a very smart dog and has already learned how to come and to stop at the entrance way of our house because it’s not allowed inside.

We are not sure what to name her. The dog resembles Benji a bit, but my puppy seems a lot tougher. I remember going to see Benji the Hunted with my dad, and even as an 8 year old I could tell that the menacing wolves were edited in and were nowhere near Benji. We are trying to choose between 2 names – Cab 3 and Rex. Cab was the name of my Granny’s dog; when Cab 1 died and she got a new puppy she was in her 80s. She couldn’t think of a good one syllable name – so she decided to name the new puppy cab, too. This dog – rather shaggy – resembles Cab 1, so we thought we might continue the Cab legacy. My friend Derek suggested Rex and I think the dog looks like a Rex. I have a habit of giving many of my friends pet names with dinosaur endings. ___________ saurus or __________dactyl. We thought it would be funny if I had a Rexasaurusrex. I am setting up a poll on the blog so people can vote (scroll to bottom of the page).

The Housing Game

2009-01-17T02:42:00.000-08:00

Our housing search began about three weeks ago when Idrissa first arrived in Bamako. It seems straightforward enough – responsible American/Malian couple with steady income would like to rent a small house for a whole year. For some reason, I thought the prospect of steady rent would be enticing for Bamakoise landlords. I was wrong. After analyzing the rental system here in Bamako, there seem to be little productive incentives for future tenants. First of all, in order to see vacant houses, you need to go through middle men – let’s call them real estate agents. Their job is to show you vacant properties, but their responsibility ends there – they cannot tell you how much the house rents for, who lived there last, if the electricity works, or how to get the keys. All of these questions are greeted with – “well you will have to make an appointment with the owner.” The wacky thing is that these guys make commission not on houses they rent, but on each house they show. So, they have an incentive to show you the dirtiest, most haphazard, misfit houses possible, or worse, houses that have been already rented. On top of all this, cleanup and general maintenance/repair is the responsibility of the new tenants – so the houses tended to be missing crucial appliances (ceiling fans/lighting fixtures) and in complete disarray. This made it very difficult to visualize the Bamako Living headquarters.

After viewing more than 30 houses of all varieties (apartments, multi-level, and ranch) in 5 different neighborhoods, Drissa and I were very frustrated. We made a couple of offers – and in some cases we were denied – or we watched an additional fifty dollars rent appear on top of the initial quote. We were prepared to leave for the desert without any good prospects. Then, my host brother – Alou – spotted a vacancy three houses down the block from my host family in Magnanbougou. While in the desert, we got the news that we had secured the home.

Upon our arrival back in Bamako, we explored our new house. A three bedroom/ 2 bath ranch with a mango tree out front and stair access to the rooftop. All the rooms had been freshly painted with a Miami Beach colored teal. It has tile floors and faux tin patterned ceilings. After a day of scrubbing the whole thing clean, we finally moved in. Drissa had some furniture made – so our house is now complete with a bed, mattress, nightstand, and bamboo couch set. The floor is still littered with suitcases, but with the help of some Ikea organizers we brought over – things are shaping up. Neighbors have been popping in at all hours to check in on our progress. Little kids seem especially fascinated to see how the Malian/toubab couple have set up their house. People are sincere and welcoming.

Festival in the Desert

2009-01-15T10:28:00.000-08:00

Essakane:

This is my 5th time in Mali, but it will be my longest stay. The plan is to set up camp for a year here in Bamako to conduct my dissertation fieldwork. After finishing a freezing semester up in Ithaca, I decided to celebrate with a trip up past Timbuktu to the Festival in the Desert (www.festivalaudesert.com). What better a way to start dissertation fieldwork than a roadtrip up to the middle of the desert to watch some live music?

So, me, my husband - Idrissa, my little brother Tommy aka Zander (www.zanderbleck.com), his photographer friend Michael, our college friend Derek, and his friend Wanja rented a 4X4 and drove for pretty much two and a half days - through Mopti then Timbuktu - all the way to the village of Essakane. Zander and Michael were straight from Manhattan, while Derek and Wanja are working in Southern Sudan '- so we had quite an ecletic posse - led by our fearless and well-connected leader- our driver Papa. Despite state department warnings of threats against Westerners at the festival - we decided to brave it.

Essakane was one of the coolest sights I have ever seen. After hours of driving and waiting for 40 something car in front of us to take the hour long ferry across Niger - the last stretch through sanddunes - we arrived at a festival sight -littered with traditional Tuareg tents, camels, and the giant mainstage. We were feeling pretty action adventure for making it up there until we saw that the dominant tourist demographic at the festival were 60 something Westerners. I cannot explain this phenomena - former hippies love of live music or empty-nesters with enough resources to pay the tour fees to come up there? However, it was amazing to watch Salif Keita and others on the main stage and then look out to the throbbing crowd full of these adventurous babyboomers, Tuareg teenagers, craft vendors from Southern Mali, soldiers off their shift, and all of the other musicians that made up 3 great days of music. The stage was set in the middle of a series of sanddunes, so people could sit on all sides and watch the music. During the evening, there were camel races and traditional dances down this ravine. Then as night fell - they lit charcoal fires in chicken wire baskets along the dunes so you could huddle around it with your friends and take in the music, the full moon, and the vast expanse of sand.

Our accomodations were less glamarous- we rented a tent from a Tuareg family- which was covered above and below with spur like vegetation called cram crams. So after the music ended around 2, when we were tired of after parties and such we would lay down in the freezing cold tent and try to sleep without acknowledging the painful presence of these cram crams. We arose to the sounds of camels bleating into our tent (they sound and look very star wars).

It was an amazing trip - now our friends have left and we are back in Bamako trying to set up camp. As I am signing off, a cell phone went off in the internet cafe next to me- the ringtone was nothing other than Barak Obama^s acceptance speech. Five days away. Its a very exciting time to be in Africa.

Coming January 2009......

2008-12-12T10:04:00.001-08:00