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...

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.

The Good Aunt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Good Daugther In-Law*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Isolation and Luxury in Bamako*

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

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

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

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

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

Back to Bamako Living: Home Sweet Home

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

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

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

Taking stock of the last 18 days in Kayes*

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

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

*Picture with village chief - Oumar Diallo- in Madinel