The Longest Yalla Ever

Transport in Mali is a crapshoot. The first transport I took in Mali was even a bit chaotic. Walking through customs and trying to find bags and go in the right direction was intoxicating enough, but finally getting in the buses I thought it would be calmer, but it was hot and sweaty and smelly and altogether terrifying. Once you walk off the plane into the heat, you know there’s no going back. Seeing the Peace Corps staff and current PCVs wasn’t a comfort because they had already gone through the overwhelming wonder I was now experiencing and they were used to it. I think I even resented them for being so happy. At some point my bags were thrown into a huge semi-truck and I was stuffed in the back of a van and we were off to the training center. For the early part of our training we were mostly carted around in Peace Corps vehicles, which represent the finest way you can travel overland in Africa. These Land cruisers are fully equipped, and I have to say, I feel rather privileged and a little powerful riding in them over places where most cars in Mali can’t go. (Peace Corps vehicles even have a straw in the event that the engine is submerged in mud, so that it can breath and shoot out mud.) Unfortunately, we do not get to ride in Peace Corps cars regularly. To be fair, my experiences riding transport having given me a lot to write about, nevertheless, I’d rather be in a Land cruiser.

Last week my friend Nicole came to visit my site. Her site is on the other side of the country, so she had to travel to the capital, Bamako, and then take another 8 hour bus ride to my regional capital where I met her. The transport she took was easily the most evolved bus company in Africa. Not only is it a non-stop ride the entire way from Bamako to Kayes, but they also give you snacks and refreshments on the trip. This is the Express, or in Bambara, Expressi. Normally, you get packed into big rickety charter buses and they stop at every market town on the road to your destination. Women and children with platters topped with everything from cooked mutton to bananas to curios yell from the roadside what is available. If you want to buy anything you have to reach out the window and get the attention of someone and yell for what you want. On the buses where the windows do not open the merchants clamber up the stairs of the bus and holler what they’re selling and they push their way back to the rear door of the bus. I have to say, it’s great service never having to leave your seat to get nourishment, but it adds a lot of noise to the bus-riding experience. The express gives you the illusion that you’re not in Africa. It’s a nice break from reality.

After Nicole arrived we did laundry and then went to have a beer at the Hotel Khasso. A hotel and bar on the river, a relaxing little oasis that overlooks the surprisingly manicured Malian vegetable gardens the line the banks of the Senegal River. That night we headed to bed early but unfortunately didn’t get much sleep. My dog has a “short-man’s” syndrome, in that she likes to hide in my concession and bark with a high-pitched whistle at the neighboring dogs who wonder around at night. In order to prevent her from barking I have to cuddle with her and pet her until she calms down. Meanwhile, my kitten is using my mosquito net as a hammock and tries to attack me from outside of it. This is a regular night in my house. After everyone quieted down for the night, I finally got to sleep. The next day we headed off to my village with two buckets, one filled with small mango trees to plant and the other filled with groceries, a daba (small handheld hoe for farming), our backpacks and a twin mattress. I called Dao my taxi driver. He’s rather talkative and incredibly annoying, but he gets me where I need to go. Lately he’s been trying to learn how to say my American name. This is what usually comes out “amwee.” It’s an awful lot like talking to a three year old so I just tell them to stick to Mariam.

Once we arrived at my house we were greeted by several men finishing the cementing of the walls of my latrine. This effort began last October and has finally finished. We were both exhausted after the effort of getting the 26 km to my site, so we relaxed then headed over to my homologue's house for dinner and greetings. Djeneba Bagayoko-Sogoba, or Nicole Williams, is famous throughout Mali because she was featured on Bien Mangee, a Malian cooking show where she sang a famous Malian song for the viewers. This coupled with her fabulous personality and warm sincere and usually overdone greetings makes her a favored guest in Malian villages. While Djeneba entertained my friends I laid under the stars and listened. The next morning we had planned to start working on a mud stove the next morning so Nicole/Djeneba explained to my homologue the materials she needed to get and the two of us headed back to my house to get some much needed sleep.

The next morning we got up around 7 am and set out to do some gardening in my yard. We started hoeing and after plowing about 10 feet our hands were so blistered we couldn't go on, so we showered and then it started to rain. We thought it would be fine to walk to my homologue's house but by the time we arrived we were soaked. To warm up my homologue gave us her clothes and we drank some yummy millet porridge with milk. We sat in their house until the rain calmed a little then trudged back through the mud to my house. We spent the rest of the afternoon laying inside the house because we couldn't do any work on the mud stove.
Later Nicole and I went to greet my host family. That day happened to be the Baptism of the newest baby in the family. When the baby is born you go and bring gifts and they tell you the name of the baby. The baby is named after 7 days. His name is Brahima Camara. Nicole and I ate a second lunch then went for a walk around the village.
I showed her some of the more extravagant houses in my village. This particular house is probably the largest in the village, however there are other that are painted with some wild colors. People who have solar panels and televisions. I guess the idea is to work hard in France so that you can retire as a rich Malian. Nevertheless, I prefer the mud cottage to the cement palace.
Even though the people in my village live in large houses they still farm and have donkeys and wash their clothes in the dirty river and drink dirty water and complain about not having any money. On our walk Nicole and I followed the river that appears in my village only during the rainy season, and came across these guys trying to get the donkeys across to the other side. Maybe my village needs a bridge?

On our way back to my house we got a little lost and then had to trudge through this disgusting waste water.
The next day Nicole and I headed to my homologue's house to begin work on the mud stove. The mud stove project was the entire reason Nicole had come to my villag, so it was exciting to finally start it. The mud stoves that Peace Corps volunteers teach people to make are supposed to save fire wood and prevent people from cutting down more trees or spending money on firewood.
Nicole was hugging my supervisor's wife for the photo before we started the mud stove. Papi and I were preparing the area where we were going to build it by flattening the mud over it. Papi is trying to help me out here, but actually he was being a little obnoxious.
The first step is to make the mud. You have to mix mud, grass, cow poop and ash to make a thick clay-y mud that won't collapse when it rains. Nicole and Harouna are mixing the stuff with their feet while I stand back and take photos! :)


Next we have to move three rocks in the order that we want them inside the stove. The pots they use will side on the rocks but will be surrounded by mud. The mud is what kkeeps the heat from releasing. Normally they just cook on rocks. After a long hot day of mudding we ate a delicious lunch then headed back home. I had hired a guy to come and cement a patio for me months ago and he decided to show up this afternoon. It actually looks fabulous! So you can see him starting out the cementing.
Later Nicole and I went back to cut holes in the mud stoves where they can stick the firewood then we added one more layer of mud that is supposed to weatherproof the stove a little more.

After this, Nicole and I did a walk around the village to invite people to come to our Moringa formation we had planned for the following day. So few women in my village speak Bambara, however, that it was difficult to get the message across.

After we told everyone about the formation we took a walk over to the kindergarten to take a look at the progress on my project. They are now adding cement to the inside of the well, and should be very close to finishing the project. I have given them all of the money for my contribution and will hopefully be getting their contribution done after rainy season.
Looks like a fun job, right?
Before the cement dried on my patio Nicole and I wrote our names so we will permenently be remembered in Goumera!

The next day Nicole and I carried out a formation on Moringa, apparently these pictures didn't make it online, but if you check out my facebook photos you can see them. Nicole did a great job explaining the incredible benefits of Moringa to the women in my village. As the formation went on more and more women showed up. They all expressed interest in doing another formation! YAY!
My door has some shortcomings. Nicole probably hit her head 10 times in the 3 days she was at my site. This is a picture of her after sweeping my house and below is a photo of men putting cement on the roof of a building Kayes. They literally toss piles of cement up each level. These guys noticed us and were yelling so I thought I'd take their photo.