September 18, 2010
When preparing myself to move to Mali I knew that there would be a number of things I would have to become used to. When I made the list in my head, and a few on paper, it always contained things like the food, dress and language but never did I once think about spitting and this in Malian is a prevalent activity.
Let me first discuss Malian tooth brushing. I have only seen women do this- which of course makes me wonder about male oral hygiene. The process goes something like this: a woman will be walking and suddenly stop and move toward a tree or bush or anything with branches and remove a one, she will then de-leaf and when applicable she will de thorn the branch and break it into a manageable size (manageable meaning, easy to fit in your hand and long enough to reach back into a those hard to reach molars). Then she will chew on one end exposing the inside and making that edge become something like bristles on a toothbrush. For the next 10 minutes or so she will scrub her teeth with it.
Now, it is impossible to discuss the act of tooth brushing without a through discussion of spitting (or at least that is what I am going to do next) and it would be doing Malian tooth brushing an injustice not to include this discussion here, for Malian spitting is an art. An art which every Malian has mastered from young boys to elderly women. An art that is practiced and distributed everywhere- inside the house, on the way to the mosque, while eating dinner, after eating dinner, while drinking tea, while preparing breakfast, while playing cards, while talking with friends, while on the bus, while sitting on MY porch- you get the idea.
The art, however, is not in the location but is in the act. There is the projectile spit which is like a bullet. I would be willing to put good money on the fact that if one of these were to hit someone they would require medical attention. Then there is the arch, the person leans back ever so slightly and created a perfect arch from their mouth to the ground. Then there is the sideways spit. This one is always done effortlessly and usually in the middle of a conversation. In the middle of a sentence they will quickly snap their head to one side spit then continue on without missing a beat. Its brilliant.
I am sure there are other types which I will be sure to keep you updated on as I observe them (because I am sure that you all are very curious about this topic, and if you have actually read this far into this entry I commend you).
I must say that with this in both of these areas, (tooth brushing and spitting) I have yet to "integrate" and not sure if I ever will. I still enjoy my Crest with Scope- but who knows, its only been three months.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Malian Independance Day
September 26, 2010
Wednesday September 22, 2010 marked Mali's 50th year of Independence from France. Since we arrived in this country we have been awaiting the, what I could only assume would be a large celebration that would mark this occasion. There have been signs up everywhere and a variety of fabrics that had this date written on it. So the day has come and passed and the party consisted of all day long music and dancing, a bike race, several games from the children, and speeches given by the mayor, representatives of the various districts of my village, and Peace Corps (to be fair this was not quite a speech rather me terrified as a microphone was shoved into my face and mumbling something I hope was a greeting and a thank you).
The day started with the raising of the Flag and the singing of the National Anthem and I must admit that I was scratching my head while four young boys started to sign as the flag was being raised and I realized that they were singing in French. As the day went on the French Language punctuated every event. It is odd that a country, celebrating its Independance from France would continue to conduct the majority of their official business in French when many of the people in village don't speak French. I attempted the large challenge of asking a few Malian's why this is, in hopes of understanding their perspective but of course don't understand enough of Bambara to get a response that can truly satisfy my curiosity. I hope to, one day, be able to engage in a conversation in which I can discuss this in more detail; but, for now head scratching continues.
In addition to the bike race and other activities my village slaughtered three cows in preparation for the fete.
I was woken up on Tuesday morning by a child telling me to follow him because the men of the village where killing a cow. I thought to myself, "cool, never seen that before" (so much for vegetarianism) and excitedly hoped on my bike and pedaled to what I can now only refer to as the killing field.
There I was greeted by a large cow and 6 or 7 men each armed with a knife, mind you no one had one larger than your average kitchen knife. Needless to say it took a little time and a lot of energy. I was the only female older than 10 who was there as "women bring life and therefore should not take it."
Malians use every part of the cow and boy are there a lot of parts! They used the hide as a carpet and made 100 piles of meat (placed on top of the hide) and the community split them up. Meanwhile one man started a fire with a few branches and roasted the head and the hoofs. I would look in his direction occasionally and see him picking pieces off and chopping away, apparently its the best part of the cow (second only to the heart) but I just took their word for it; or at least I think I did-- in reality who knows what parts I actually consumed.
I could certainly go into more detail on the process and what exactly I saw but I think you get the idea. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your perceptive) my camera died and I was unable to capture these events. But in two years I am certain this image will still be with me (and remain there the rest of my life) so if you require more detail I will happy to provide it then.
For now, Happy Independence Mali.
Wednesday September 22, 2010 marked Mali's 50th year of Independence from France. Since we arrived in this country we have been awaiting the, what I could only assume would be a large celebration that would mark this occasion. There have been signs up everywhere and a variety of fabrics that had this date written on it. So the day has come and passed and the party consisted of all day long music and dancing, a bike race, several games from the children, and speeches given by the mayor, representatives of the various districts of my village, and Peace Corps (to be fair this was not quite a speech rather me terrified as a microphone was shoved into my face and mumbling something I hope was a greeting and a thank you).
The day started with the raising of the Flag and the singing of the National Anthem and I must admit that I was scratching my head while four young boys started to sign as the flag was being raised and I realized that they were singing in French. As the day went on the French Language punctuated every event. It is odd that a country, celebrating its Independance from France would continue to conduct the majority of their official business in French when many of the people in village don't speak French. I attempted the large challenge of asking a few Malian's why this is, in hopes of understanding their perspective but of course don't understand enough of Bambara to get a response that can truly satisfy my curiosity. I hope to, one day, be able to engage in a conversation in which I can discuss this in more detail; but, for now head scratching continues.
In addition to the bike race and other activities my village slaughtered three cows in preparation for the fete.
I was woken up on Tuesday morning by a child telling me to follow him because the men of the village where killing a cow. I thought to myself, "cool, never seen that before" (so much for vegetarianism) and excitedly hoped on my bike and pedaled to what I can now only refer to as the killing field.
There I was greeted by a large cow and 6 or 7 men each armed with a knife, mind you no one had one larger than your average kitchen knife. Needless to say it took a little time and a lot of energy. I was the only female older than 10 who was there as "women bring life and therefore should not take it."
Malians use every part of the cow and boy are there a lot of parts! They used the hide as a carpet and made 100 piles of meat (placed on top of the hide) and the community split them up. Meanwhile one man started a fire with a few branches and roasted the head and the hoofs. I would look in his direction occasionally and see him picking pieces off and chopping away, apparently its the best part of the cow (second only to the heart) but I just took their word for it; or at least I think I did-- in reality who knows what parts I actually consumed.
I could certainly go into more detail on the process and what exactly I saw but I think you get the idea. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your perceptive) my camera died and I was unable to capture these events. But in two years I am certain this image will still be with me (and remain there the rest of my life) so if you require more detail I will happy to provide it then.
For now, Happy Independence Mali.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Segoukow (People of Segou in Bambara)
September 7, 2010
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| Crocks! |
The firsts days in Segou have been wonderful. The older PCVs have shown us a great time. We all got together as a region and had dinner the first night here. We ate at the Esplanade, which is an amazing Italian food restaurant that is located right on the Niger river which makes for amazing views. For some reason however, there are crocodiles caged up on their patio. Apparently the restaurant sells them-- I have not quite been able to bring myself to ask how much or what one would do with a crocodile once it was bought but I am sure in the next two years I'll have an answer to these questions.
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| Lindsey and I on the Niger River |
Before this we took a boat ride at sunset down the Niger River, which runs through Segou. Its was spectacular. As we rode down the river in our gonadal like boat we saw women washing clothes, dishes and themselves in the river; young boys jumped in the river after long days of fishing; and children splashing each other. The river is by no means clean and although it was a beautiful ride these scenes were very real reminders of where we are and what we are doing.
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View of our Boat on the Niger River |
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| Segouknow |
Offically a PCV
September 3, 2010
So here I am an official Peace Corps Volunteer. I am getting ready to head out to site where I will stay for three months before heading back to Tubaniso for another few weeks of training. Needless to say I am excited and nervous all at once.
We were sworn in as volunteers on Friday morning at the American Embassy in Bamako. There the Ambassador gave a moving speech and was actually brought to tears. She said that she would have never been courageous enough to do what we are doing and called us "America's best ambassadors" because we actually live among Malians. It was powerful and I can say I am very proud to call myself a PCV. The volunteers where dressed in our best Malian threads and were all very excited. It is nice to be done with constant classes and finally reaching the point where we can unpack our bags, decorate our huts and make our own schedules. It shall be glorious!
So here I am an official Peace Corps Volunteer. I am getting ready to head out to site where I will stay for three months before heading back to Tubaniso for another few weeks of training. Needless to say I am excited and nervous all at once.
We were sworn in as volunteers on Friday morning at the American Embassy in Bamako. There the Ambassador gave a moving speech and was actually brought to tears. She said that she would have never been courageous enough to do what we are doing and called us "America's best ambassadors" because we actually live among Malians. It was powerful and I can say I am very proud to call myself a PCV. The volunteers where dressed in our best Malian threads and were all very excited. It is nice to be done with constant classes and finally reaching the point where we can unpack our bags, decorate our huts and make our own schedules. It shall be glorious!
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