Friday, September 25, 2009

Dear Cornell - Admit Nicole*


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

Monday, September 21, 2009

Happy Eid


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.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Roadtrip*


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...

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Thomas Schelling in Bamako


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.