Fun Facts with Numbers

○ 7- hours I waited for the bus from my village to Kita to be fixed; another 4 hours to actually drive 90k

○ 104oF/ 40oC- day temperature in Kita (and always 10 degrees hotter inside)

○ 3- number of baths/showers I now take every day

○ 6 to 8- liters of water I now drink every day

○ 27- hours it took me to finish off a package of Double Stuffed Oreos

○ 21- mosquito bites on my body

○ 8 &1/2- hours I went without going the bathroom, traveling (you better believe it, people)

○ 3-4- mangos I eat these days, on average

○ 821- pages read in the past two weeks

To Smack or Not to Smack

When you stop to think about it, it is strange what cultural adjustments are easy for people, and what are not. Thinking about this one day in village (have you noticed? I sit a lot and think), I realized that many of my teammates and I have adopted several Malian practices; more specifically, there are certain cultural practices regarding children that we’ve become comfortable with. One of these is “chiing” children, or telling children to do something for you. This can range from telling children to mind their siblings, to sending them to the store, to hauling water, to whatever you need done and your child is available for. Funnily enough, this is not limited to commanding your own children to do it. In a way, children in Mali are public property; you can hold, play with, command or smack any child you want, even if you don’t know whose child it is. There have been numerous occasions where random children have wandered up to the clinic, and have been given money to go buy tea or cigarettes, for example. There has never been a time when a parent has told me that I could not hold their child or to stop whatever I’m doing in regards to their child. At first, I was a little apprehensive about telling kids to go do things for myself, as am I pretty capable person, but after 8 months here I’m coming around to the idea.
The other practice regarding children in Mali, to which I am also quickly coming around to, is the practice of smacking children. Maybe you’re wondering why me, of all people, would smack children. Don’t get me wrong, I love kids; but in truth, Malian children are tremendously rude by Western standards, and even a little so by Malian ones. Many children, both in the larger towns and in our villages, will not hesitate to try and get your attention by calling out “Toubab!” as loud and as many times as they can; at times they are honestly just trying to be nice and greet you, but mostly they regard you the same way one regards the monkeys at the zoo. My biggest pet peeve at the moment is children in my own village calling me “tubabmusoni!” i.e. little French/foreign woman, when they actually know my name. Another pet peeve involving children, and Malian culture, is asking for gifts. It is ok in Mali to ask, in a joking kind of way, where one’s gift is when one has gone on a voyage. However, because of my being white, this question is taken more seriously and asked more often, especially by children. I will, on a regular basis, be asked by kids in the street to give them a gift. I’ve been told that they have been taught how to say this in French at school, because foreigners will often hand out trinkets and what not all the time; whether this is true or not, I don’t know. Many children will also overstep the boundaries, trying to get in my house to see what I’m doing, petting and touching me, mocking my language skills, etc. which incites my ever natural reaction to teach them a lesson.
Before you worry, however, that I end up in trouble because I threatened to kick the village chief’s son’s ass, it is perfectly ok in Mali for people to beat children. I’m not saying its right, but it is definitely culturally acceptable for adults and older siblings to hit a wayward child (need not be your own!). In fact, I am constantly encouraged by the adults around me to threaten those offspring that step out of line. I don’t even need to actually touch them; Malian children are familiar enough with a raised hand, stick or tree branch, that they will hightail it in the opposite direction. For my part, I am always surprised that there does not seem to be more violence in Malian society, since spanking children is so common; but then I guess everyone gets over it, and then just does it to their own children when they’re old enough.

The Safest Place I've Ever Lived In

I pride myself on that I feel like I am slowly getting my bearings around here, after 8 months in Mali and 6 living in my village (go me!). Things that normally would have shocked me a year ago seem commonplace now, and I am forgetting how different I found life here. However, there still are those moments of surrealness, where I shake my head and remind myself to let it go. Like when I come to my host family’s for dinner one night, and find a cow head roasting in a fire, its big tongue lolling out of its mouth. I stood there in the compound, watching it slowly roast. I’m not sure who was more intrigued: me, by the fiery cow’s head, or my family, intrigued that I was intrigued (no, I don’t know what happened to it afterwards, and no, I don’t want to know). Or when the doctor tells me that everyone will be on vacation for “Paques” next month, and seeing my confused look, explains to me that this is when Jesus Christ died and then rose from the dead (“it’s a Christian holiday”). I guess I am grateful that there are still moments like these that keep me on my toes.

Anyway, time for your cultural notes of the day from Mali. This topic was suggested by my father, who m in our phone conversation the other day, was surprised by the polar opposites that make up security, and violence, in our separate worlds right now. While the BBC keeps me up to date on how the drug cartels are running amuck in Mexico, the only thing dangerous about my village is the donkeys wandering around. In reality, there is little crime or violence in my little town, and if there is, there is no police force that would deal with it. As far as I have been able to tell, any matters dealing with property damage or loss, or other such disputes, are either taken to the chief of village or to the commune mayor’s office. There are no security forces, either local or military, in my area; as far as I can tell, there is a slight presence at the Guinean/Malian border 25k south of me, and in Kita, 90k to my north. Which often surprises me, because although Mali is a fairly peaceful country (especially in my area) it is also well-known that people are continuously smuggling goods (and God knows what else) from Guinea.
The only governmental presence I have seen is the mayor’s office, the nature reserve rangers, and the border control force (the only people I’ve seen with weapons). Because of the decentralization process that Mali undertook 10 to 15 years ago, the aim is that local communities are responsible for development and governance, and not the central government. Although this doesn’t mean that my village is responsible for patrolling the area, there is less of a federal presence, at all governmental levels, than one would expect. It is meant to encourage local participation in solving local problems, although so far I have heard mixed results.

And Hot Season Begins...

My mother pointed out that it has been over a month since I last wrote on here, and I’m sorry. Sometimes I don’t know what to write about, what will be interesting or what cultural norms people are interested in. And I have been traveling about the countryside a bit the past month, which has been nice. Like I said, I did some visiting after the January training: I went to Manantali (again) with some girlfriends, and saw my significant other, all of which was great. Unfortunately, the rest of my travel plans had to be cancelled because something came up, so I didn’t get to go to the rest of the places I was planning to. But Manantali is always very relaxing (even if the hippos still refuse to show up) and I spent a week doing nothing but reading and relaxing. And then it was back to site; everyone was very happy to see me and thought I’d been gone for a very long time. I’m slowly starting to get things I want to get started done, although like everything in Mali, its slow-going. But that’s how it is here. Which brings me to hot season… because if there wasn’t much happening before, there is even less now. There is no farming going on, and all the harvesting is done. Mostly women still carry out their day to day chores, like cooking, washing, etc. and tend to small garden plots on the side. Many also try to do some small income generating activities, like selling vegetables. The men still kinda do what they always do: make tea and chat, a lot. This is also the season of making the mud bricks they use to build houses, and of fixing the thatch roofs and fences that are everywhere. But there is definitely a lot more sitting around and chatting than before. Which works well for me a lot, because I don’t like the heat so much. Its not so bad yet, but will be soon. I’m not sure the actual temperatures; I think right now daytime temperatures outside reach to well over 100o. It’s a little cooler in my thatch hut, but only by about 10 or 15 degrees. The mud huts here are very nice because they stay relatively cool during the day, but at night its pretty unbearable. Most people tend to sleep outdoors, which I have been doing. At first it was relatively frightening, sleeping on my little mattress in the middle of my compound by myself, but after living in Mexico City and Los Angeles, I think my village is pretty darn safe. For some reason I have also taken to sleeping more now, probably because of the heat. I know its always gotten very hot in California, but without so much as an electric fan or cold water anywhere, there is not much to do to cool off. What makes it a little more unbearable is that it is also terribly dusty; the harmattan winds coming off the Sahara blow dust and dirt everywhere and anywhere, so not only am I sweaty, but I am also very dirty. Its an interesting state to be in, to be honest. I’m glad I will be spending a few weeks of it on vacation in Parisnext month with my family, because its going to be hard to be that sweaty for the next several months. There is one other topic I wanted to mention, since I think there are probably some misconceptions about it, and that is modesty in Mali. Surprisingly, for a Muslim country, Mali is pretty lax. Part of it is just cultural, part just common sense. Not that Malians don’t care a great deal about their appearance and show as much skin as Americans do, but women aren’t required to cover their heads or worry about showing off parts of their body. For some reason, which I guess has something to do with men thinking naughty thoughts, women do not show their legs, or at least anything above their knees (unless they are working). Women don’t wear pants ever in my village, but wrap a 2 meter length of cloth around as a skirt, called a pagne. Its surprisingly comfortable and once you figure out how to wrap it, pretty secure. Actually, the top half of a woman’s body is pretty laissez-faire, because odds are that they have a small baby that needs to be fed constantly. So I (and this includes all volunteers, even males) have seen a fair amount of breasts here. Probably more than I will ever want to see, ever again. And, although I have never said this before, I am now pretty thankful for bras. Because you can imagine what a lifetime of feeding numerous babies and wearing loose shirts with no support does for your chest. Women in my village are actually fairly jealous of my bras, and ask constantly if they can have them (maybe when I leave). So its not as modest as one might think. If they are working, women generally wear a pagne and a t-shirt; if they are going out or it’s a holiday, they wear a complet (notice my photos from swear-in). Men do not show much skin either; men never wear shorts and always have a shirt on. A lot of men, especially the younger set, wear Western style clothing for working in the fields or just being around village, but during holidays will wear Malian outfits. The typical Malian male outfit is called a bubu, and consists of pajama-like pants, and a long, flowy, loose tunic with big sleeves that extends down to the men’s knees. These are made from several different types of fabric, regardless of color or brightness (and believe me, neon pink is not a problem here). Malians do like to be put together and presentable when they are out in public, and will go to great lengths to do so. Personally, I still have problems comprehending how anyone stays clean here, but I try my best to keep up.