Laura drives a motorcycle; the village is unproductive.

My first village trip of the season is over. It was both good and incredible boring, at intervals.

The journey to get there was interesting this time. As soon as we got out of Douentza and onto the highway, Seydou handed the steering wheel (or handlebars, as the case may be) over to me, and I did my first long drive. I cruised us all the way down the freeway, swerving to avoid the hundreds of potholes, but otherwise doing very well. We turned off the freeway to head towards Borko, but pretty soon we ran up against a flooded low spot that I was too afraid to cross, so we stopped so that Seydou could take over. At this point, we noticed that the engine (which we’d just poured a fair amount of money into getting tuned up) was leaking oil, all over my pant leg too, I might add. We decided it would be closer to head a little ways up the freeway to a town to get it fixed than to power through until Borko, so we set off again with me still at the wheel.

Once we got some screws tightened, it was back on the road, and though I was still scared to death, I powered the motorcycle through the watery spots, which left us soaked but safe. I drove all the way up to Borko, putting the motorcycle into second gear and powering up the steep, cobbled road.

At Dogani, we ran into a neighbor of ours from Douentza whom we had just seen that morning. It turns out that he and two other guys were also going to Tongo-Tongo by pick-up truck (though how he had failed to mention this or I’d failed to hear it in the morning, I don’t know). They offered to put the motorcycle in the back and drive it there, but after it got banged up on top of the 4x4 the other day and with a full tank of gas, we declined. However, we unloaded the baggage (including myself) on them, and Seydou went ahead alone.

I should have stayed with the motorcycle. The truck was in terrible shape (like most vehicles here, but especially bad). The windshield was punched in, my door would neither open nor lock, the windows had lost their cranks so they were permanently down, and the transmission would screech defiantly anytime the driver tried to change gears. Reverse seemed especially jammed. Each time we finally got it in gear, I was sure it would be the last. After getting lost and scraping up against many a tree, which sent showers of spiders and inchworms down upon me, we finally made it to the village about an hour after Seydou got there.

Despite the fatigue from the road, it was nice to see everyone. They all seemed glad to see me, and I swear almost every person I ran into, whether I knew them well or not, asked how my brother’s wedding was. Word sure gets around quickly in a small village.

Seeing Ramata again was especially nice. We even hugged, which I’m not sure if Malians do a lot of. However, all of this excitement soon died down, and it was back to the grind for everyone. This meant Seydou and I spent a lot of time just sitting there.

My plan was to stay until Friday, but it is just so unproductive being there, with everyone busy with their lives and no one particularly held to working with you, that there was just no point. Monday was especially bad. In the morning, I went with Seydou and Bureima to where the women pound millet and got words for that. But then I got nothing accomplished the rest of the day. Needless to say, it was a frustrating start to my work.

Tuesday was better. I observed and filmed the whole process of making millet porridge in the morning then hunted some grasshoppers in the afternoon. People came by and talked more on Tuesday as well. Then on Wednesday, I got some vocabulary for different kinds of baskets and for the harvest from Ramata, then gathered probably 50 plant specimens in the afternoon. I’ll have my hands full trying to identify those for a while.

We were told the village was going to dance on Tuesday night. However, Seydou and I sat around after dinner, with no sign of anything. Around 8, we decided we’d lie down and rest until something started, but before I knew it, it was the next morning, and to my knowledge, I had done no dancing. That was kind of a disappointment. I guess the rational was that because the director’s wife had fallen ill and needed to go to Sanga for surgery, no one really felt like dancing. Fair enough. But they could have at least told us there would be no party. We were definitely the village losers that night.

The trip back was tiring but not too eventful today. I did some driving, though not as much as on Sunday. I’m just glad to be back. Ramata should be coming in tonight with some guys carrying out a population census, and then her father should be coming to start work with me on Sunday. We’ll see how these plans materialize.

I think the reality of the length of stay is beginning to hit me. I had a terrifying moment the other day where I realized that it would be over 7 months until I ate my next burrito. I don’t know if I’ve ever gone 7 months without a burrito! Sacrifices indeed.