The last few days have been a busy mix of fun and work, and the work has paid off. I have about 200 words left to review, something easily achievable by dinner time. Then my work is on my own time, cleaning up entries, organizing, double checking some words with Ramata, and changing it from a spreadsheet into a usable document. Needless to say, I’m quite glad to have reached this stage.
Dave has been in town for the last few days, so when I’m not working, we’ve been hanging out. He even cooked some delicious pasta with homemade tomato sauce yesterday—it was nice to not eat Malian food for one meal.
The weather is starting to turn hot again. I even turned my fan on last night while I was sleeping, but it was only so I could simulate the feeling of being cold and needing to use a blanket. I’ve heard conflicting accounts of what this means. According to most people, it’s just going to keep getting hotter from here, but yet at the same time, I’m also told that February is still chilly. I don’t know if this is what they call chilly, but it is anything but that.
The vet came over to take a look at the rams today. He gave them some shot, I’m not sure what for, and we bought some packets of vitamins to give them next week. Prince is so cute. He’s allowed to just walk around the courtyard sometimes, so there are days when I look up from my computer and see him in the doorway staring at me with a vacant look on his little rabbit face. I’ve taken to calling him the Bunny Sheep.
The kittens are as energetic as ever—they are currently mauling my sandal. Sami is a picky eater and will only eat smoked fish that have been moistened, whereas Sami will practically unhinge her jaw and swallow huge hunks of raw meat whole. I don’t know if Sami hasn’t grown proper teeth yet or if she’s just being a brat or what.
In general, I’m quite happy. Especially when I’m driving my motorcycle down the main street, past the mosques, the men in their flowing boubous, the women swaddled with babies, for all the loneliness and homesickness I feel, I’m glad to be here right now.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Actually having fun
Just so you all don't think that I've forsaken Pangolin Watch and will never post again, I will post properly tomorrow. The last few days have been packed to the gills with work and hanging out, since Dave has been in town. If all goes well, the dictionary revision will be done tomorrow night, and then it's clean up and organization from there. All right!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Humbling generosity
Today, I went over to Fatima’s house, the woman whose family made my ring and the camel saddle for my brother. It was just to say hi and also to have a small ring-guard made to keep my main one from falling off. She had come over last week to tell me she’d moved, so M. le Maire escorted me to her new house up towards the hills.
As usual, she greeted me with incredible warmth and ushered me into her new house, where some family members were working on dying pieces of leather. She disappeared for awhile, then came back with a friend of hers who wanted to meet me, Urukiatoum. When she sat back down, she handed me a little package wrapped in lined notebook paper. It was a beautiful hand-worked silver pendant on a hand-made silver chain, a present for me.
I am always blown away by her generosity and genuine warmth. It is both humbling and inspiring. Her family is of low caste, leather workers and silver smiths, but she gives me gifts whenever she sees me, to me who comes from the land of plenty. You could say that it’s just so I’ll keep coming back and giving her business, but I don’t think so. She is just a beautiful person.
Next time I go to pick up my little ring, I’m going to give her one of my necklaces from the United States. I want her to be able to keep something to remind her of me the way her gifts will always remind me of her and talented, hard-working family.
As usual, she greeted me with incredible warmth and ushered me into her new house, where some family members were working on dying pieces of leather. She disappeared for awhile, then came back with a friend of hers who wanted to meet me, Urukiatoum. When she sat back down, she handed me a little package wrapped in lined notebook paper. It was a beautiful hand-worked silver pendant on a hand-made silver chain, a present for me.
I am always blown away by her generosity and genuine warmth. It is both humbling and inspiring. Her family is of low caste, leather workers and silver smiths, but she gives me gifts whenever she sees me, to me who comes from the land of plenty. You could say that it’s just so I’ll keep coming back and giving her business, but I don’t think so. She is just a beautiful person.
Next time I go to pick up my little ring, I’m going to give her one of my necklaces from the United States. I want her to be able to keep something to remind her of me the way her gifts will always remind me of her and talented, hard-working family.
Monday, January 26, 2009
A veritable animal husbandman
January is drawing to a close, as is my work on the dictionary. I figure 5 more days of 500 words each, and it’ll be done. I’m looking forward to the break. For the last 12 days straight, I’ve worked for at least 5 or 6 hours on it. I could use a weekend.
We got a new little ram yesterday. He’s no Bean, but he is a textbook “fine specimen”: pure white, long ears, dangly neck waddles, sturdy build. We got him for the same price we sold the mother for, so I’m back to my original investment. If he accrues some value (which he should, barring any more acts of God), I could break even. I named him Prince, since his little horns look like a crown. Oumar’s ram, whom I’ve named Frank, seems happy to have a friend. At least he bellows a lot less now. Oumar let them loose around the courtyard for a while this morning, and they both stuck their heads into the house to say hi.
Yesterday was market day, and my stomach was not happy about it. Well, I figure my stomach didn’t care either way about the market, but something greatly displeased my digestion. I spent the morning in my room looking at my grammar in despair (there is so much to do) and napping with the kittens, but by the afternoon, I was back and at ‘em. I think maybe the dried fish we feed to the kittens made me sick, having it on my fingers, that is. At one point, I broke open one of the little fish to feed to the kittens, and about a half a dozen squirming insects spilled out. That was first class gross.
The kittens are otherwise as pesky as ever and looking well-nourished. It seems that the only time they’re awake and sitting in one place is when they’re using the litter box. They’re little terrors, but I love them.
Warren seems to be gone. I haven’t seen him in days, so either he crawled into my suitcase and died somewhere, disturbing me even in death, he’s vacated the premises. The kittens are hardly a threat right now (though they ate the thoraces off of some flying termite things yesterday), but I guess the wiring in Warren’s little brain sensed feline and told him to flee. Plus ten points for my kittens.
We got a new little ram yesterday. He’s no Bean, but he is a textbook “fine specimen”: pure white, long ears, dangly neck waddles, sturdy build. We got him for the same price we sold the mother for, so I’m back to my original investment. If he accrues some value (which he should, barring any more acts of God), I could break even. I named him Prince, since his little horns look like a crown. Oumar’s ram, whom I’ve named Frank, seems happy to have a friend. At least he bellows a lot less now. Oumar let them loose around the courtyard for a while this morning, and they both stuck their heads into the house to say hi.
Yesterday was market day, and my stomach was not happy about it. Well, I figure my stomach didn’t care either way about the market, but something greatly displeased my digestion. I spent the morning in my room looking at my grammar in despair (there is so much to do) and napping with the kittens, but by the afternoon, I was back and at ‘em. I think maybe the dried fish we feed to the kittens made me sick, having it on my fingers, that is. At one point, I broke open one of the little fish to feed to the kittens, and about a half a dozen squirming insects spilled out. That was first class gross.
The kittens are otherwise as pesky as ever and looking well-nourished. It seems that the only time they’re awake and sitting in one place is when they’re using the litter box. They’re little terrors, but I love them.
Warren seems to be gone. I haven’t seen him in days, so either he crawled into my suitcase and died somewhere, disturbing me even in death, he’s vacated the premises. The kittens are hardly a threat right now (though they ate the thoraces off of some flying termite things yesterday), but I guess the wiring in Warren’s little brain sensed feline and told him to flee. Plus ten points for my kittens.
Friday, January 23, 2009
A female police officer?
Work is going quite well. I’m over a third done with the editing process, and now that I don’t have the distraction of my Peace Corps friends here, I get a lot of work done during the day, then have time in the evening to myself (and my kittens). The night before last, I read all of Herman Hesse’s “Demian”, which was a very good little book. I’m reading Plato’s dialogues now to get up to speed on my classics.
Sami and Pili are proceeding very nicely in their litter training. They know that sand is where they are to pee, so they use the make-shift litter box in my room and pee outside the door of the main house. Pili got confused yesterday and peed in a little spot of sand that was in the house, but that’s an understandable mistake. They’re eating well—milk, dried fish, and table scraps—and sleep peacefully in their basket at night.
Oumar had gone up to Boni a couple of days ago, and he brought back a bag full of delicious carrots today. I’ve spent all morning crunching on those and a cane of sugar that M. le Maire bought at the market.
I’ve been inducted into the Ouologuem family affairs. M. le Maire told me just a little while ago, “Now that we’re family, you can be part of the family discussions,” and proceeded to tell me how Ramata had told him last night that she wants to train for the police force. Her father was not particularly jazzed about this idea, not only because of the physical danger but also because it is still a society where being a female police officer would be hard. Like any good father, he doesn’t want to see his daughter face hardship. I told him I understood that completely, but that also if anyone could be a female police officer, it was Ramata, with her strength of character and ability to stand up to anyone and anything. He nodded thoughtfully and told me how he had particularly raised her at his side, never raising a hand against her (unlike his other children). She is kind of his pet or his protégée. I didn’t want to voice my own opinions too strongly, namely that if Ramata wanted to be a police officer, she has the strength to and should do it. But I agreed with him that all we want for her is the best and to see her doing something that fits her character, since that is surely not one of a subservient housewife.
It is sometimes hard for me to both share my opinions and present my culture and to not interfere or meddle in Mali’s business. I’ve been inducted into the family, but I will never be an integral part of it.
Sami and Pili are proceeding very nicely in their litter training. They know that sand is where they are to pee, so they use the make-shift litter box in my room and pee outside the door of the main house. Pili got confused yesterday and peed in a little spot of sand that was in the house, but that’s an understandable mistake. They’re eating well—milk, dried fish, and table scraps—and sleep peacefully in their basket at night.
Oumar had gone up to Boni a couple of days ago, and he brought back a bag full of delicious carrots today. I’ve spent all morning crunching on those and a cane of sugar that M. le Maire bought at the market.
I’ve been inducted into the Ouologuem family affairs. M. le Maire told me just a little while ago, “Now that we’re family, you can be part of the family discussions,” and proceeded to tell me how Ramata had told him last night that she wants to train for the police force. Her father was not particularly jazzed about this idea, not only because of the physical danger but also because it is still a society where being a female police officer would be hard. Like any good father, he doesn’t want to see his daughter face hardship. I told him I understood that completely, but that also if anyone could be a female police officer, it was Ramata, with her strength of character and ability to stand up to anyone and anything. He nodded thoughtfully and told me how he had particularly raised her at his side, never raising a hand against her (unlike his other children). She is kind of his pet or his protégée. I didn’t want to voice my own opinions too strongly, namely that if Ramata wanted to be a police officer, she has the strength to and should do it. But I agreed with him that all we want for her is the best and to see her doing something that fits her character, since that is surely not one of a subservient housewife.
It is sometimes hard for me to both share my opinions and present my culture and to not interfere or meddle in Mali’s business. I’ve been inducted into the family, but I will never be an integral part of it.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Of presidents and pancakes
For all of you who commented on the gender of calico cats (a fact that I had heard), you will feel vindicated to know that Sami (formerly Samba) is indeed a girl. The people at the house just told me it was it was a boy and I never looked again. I checked it out though, and there are definitely girl parts. So now I have little sisters, who are acclimating quite nicely to life in the house. I’ve taken on the role of their mother; they come crying to be picked up when I enter the room and fall asleep in my lap while I’m working. At night, I put them in their little mosquito net enclosure and they sleep peacefully. Except that yesterday morning, I let them out while I went to brush my teeth, and both of them peed on my bed. Potty training has started today. They’re doing a good job of peeing in the sand outside of the door when we’re in the big room of the house, and I’m going to try to fashion them a little box for my room.
It was fun having Dave and Phil over. We got a big feast of a couple chickens and beans and bread. Dave’s gone to Bamako, but I went over to their house the next day and made banana pancakes with Phil. We hung out all day, and he just watched movies on my computer while I was working. In the afternoon, we went over to someone’s house with a TV and watched the inauguration, all voiced over into French. If you really concentrated, though, you could hear the original English. It was really surreal watching all of the footage of the US while sitting in this dirt-floored thatched shack with a bunch of Malians. A ton of people were there watching, and we were all quite moved. M. le Maire keeps declaring that Obama is the president of the world. There is so much Obama hype here. I wondered what it must have been like watching the inauguration speech as a Malian, as Obama gave messages to “poor countries” and “Muslim countries,” but everyone seemed cheery.
It’ll be a couple of weeks hanging out by myself (or with Nicolas) now, since Dave will be in Bamako for 2 weeks and Phil went to his village for 2 or 3 weeks. I’m feeling really busy with all of this work now, but it should be done in about 2 weeks (perfect timing). I’m not sure how long M. le Maire will be able to stay, though—probably until Sunday. Then I’ll need to go back to the village once more to fill in some words and hopefully get him back for another week before heading to Bamako myself.
I now officially have less than 4 months until I come home.
A message from Sami: lkeeeeeeexxDDA.
It was fun having Dave and Phil over. We got a big feast of a couple chickens and beans and bread. Dave’s gone to Bamako, but I went over to their house the next day and made banana pancakes with Phil. We hung out all day, and he just watched movies on my computer while I was working. In the afternoon, we went over to someone’s house with a TV and watched the inauguration, all voiced over into French. If you really concentrated, though, you could hear the original English. It was really surreal watching all of the footage of the US while sitting in this dirt-floored thatched shack with a bunch of Malians. A ton of people were there watching, and we were all quite moved. M. le Maire keeps declaring that Obama is the president of the world. There is so much Obama hype here. I wondered what it must have been like watching the inauguration speech as a Malian, as Obama gave messages to “poor countries” and “Muslim countries,” but everyone seemed cheery.
It’ll be a couple of weeks hanging out by myself (or with Nicolas) now, since Dave will be in Bamako for 2 weeks and Phil went to his village for 2 or 3 weeks. I’m feeling really busy with all of this work now, but it should be done in about 2 weeks (perfect timing). I’m not sure how long M. le Maire will be able to stay, though—probably until Sunday. Then I’ll need to go back to the village once more to fill in some words and hopefully get him back for another week before heading to Bamako myself.
I now officially have less than 4 months until I come home.
A message from Sami: lkeeeeeeexxDDA.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Itty bitty kitty committee
My life is once again full of little scraps of life. Last night, my kitten quest was satisfied. Ramata’s friend Sidiki heard about some family that had kittens and didn’t want them, so we went over to investigate. Sure enough, back hidden behind a mattress and some crates were 4 or 5 kittens that ran for cover as soon as we came in. I managed to scoop up one, a little girl kitten, but since I was looking for a male (easier to fix here), I let her go and we said we’d come back later when the kittens had calmed down. An hour or two later, we went back again, and somehow I managed to scoop up the same little kitten. At that point, I figured I was probably meant to have her if she was the one I kept catching. She’s adorable—mostly white with a little calico coloring around her forehead and ears. I named her Pili [pìlǐy], meaning ‘little white one’ in Tommo-So. I’d caught a glimpse of a beautiful little calico kitten, who I figured was male, so I said I’d come back again later on and try to take him to. I figured Pili could use a friend.
I wrapped up her tiny body in my scarf and carried her home. She was quite calm all the way, only crying when we got to the house. We got her some disgusting meat scraps (fat, stomach, etc.) and curdled milk at the market. I don’t think she knows how to eat too well yet, but she licked the milk off of my finger with her sandpaper tongue. Curiously enough, she really enjoyed the pasta we were eating for dinner, so we gave her a small dish of that.
After dinner, Sidiki and I went back for a third time to the house across the neighborhood. I guess his friend Safiatum lives there, a nice young woman, probably 19 years old. She told me I was welcome to come by at any time, and I think she meant it. Apparently the mother was back behind the crates with the kittens this time, so to my dismay, they chased her out with a broom (she shot out like a rocket, tail puffed to the highest degree) and scared out the kittens. My intuition was right, and the little calico was a boy. I fell in love and decided to take him too.
He was more scared on the way back, digging his little claws through my shirt and into my chest. When we got him home, he pretty much went and hid instantly until he found his sister. I named him Samba, the name of an adorable little kid in the village.
I took them into my room last night, where the promptly went and hid under my bookshelf, huddled together for warmth and security. I’d created a little house for them under a mosquito net, but they did not want to come out of hiding. Finally, I just went to bed. Once the lights were out, though, their pathetic mewing started up. I would shine the flashlight on them and they would stop, staring at me with their worried little eyes (Pili always looks kind of concerned). Then I would turn it off and they’d start up again. Eventually they came out and started to romp on a piece of bubble wrap (luckily without popping anything—that’s the last thing they needed) and I let them in to my mosquito net to sleep with me. They curled up their little bodies against my leg and fell asleep. They only peed on my sheets twice, but since they’re little kittens, not only was it a very small amount but it also didn’t smell too bad.
They’re getting more confident today. They sat in the armchair behind M. le Maire as we worked today, alternately napping and wrestling with one another. They’re just too adorable. As I write this, Pili is asleep on my stomach and Samba at my hip. Their soft little bodies are just what I need to give me courage.
Other than the kittens, things are going well here. I finished the rough draft of the dictionary on Friday night, and now I’m in the process of revising. I need to make sure that I have the pronunciation right for everything and that the words themselves are correct. In addition to that, I’m trying to jot down any cultural information about various words to make the dictionary more interesting. It’s slow going and I’m sure there will always be mistakes, but the progress is considerable. Two weeks and I hope to have this thing done.
Dave and Phil are coming over for dinner tonight. I think one of these days I’ll clean out the inside room of the house that has the couches and chairs in it so we can have movie nights in there. With all this work now, though, I don’t know when I’ll have time for that.
I wrapped up her tiny body in my scarf and carried her home. She was quite calm all the way, only crying when we got to the house. We got her some disgusting meat scraps (fat, stomach, etc.) and curdled milk at the market. I don’t think she knows how to eat too well yet, but she licked the milk off of my finger with her sandpaper tongue. Curiously enough, she really enjoyed the pasta we were eating for dinner, so we gave her a small dish of that.
After dinner, Sidiki and I went back for a third time to the house across the neighborhood. I guess his friend Safiatum lives there, a nice young woman, probably 19 years old. She told me I was welcome to come by at any time, and I think she meant it. Apparently the mother was back behind the crates with the kittens this time, so to my dismay, they chased her out with a broom (she shot out like a rocket, tail puffed to the highest degree) and scared out the kittens. My intuition was right, and the little calico was a boy. I fell in love and decided to take him too.
He was more scared on the way back, digging his little claws through my shirt and into my chest. When we got him home, he pretty much went and hid instantly until he found his sister. I named him Samba, the name of an adorable little kid in the village.
I took them into my room last night, where the promptly went and hid under my bookshelf, huddled together for warmth and security. I’d created a little house for them under a mosquito net, but they did not want to come out of hiding. Finally, I just went to bed. Once the lights were out, though, their pathetic mewing started up. I would shine the flashlight on them and they would stop, staring at me with their worried little eyes (Pili always looks kind of concerned). Then I would turn it off and they’d start up again. Eventually they came out and started to romp on a piece of bubble wrap (luckily without popping anything—that’s the last thing they needed) and I let them in to my mosquito net to sleep with me. They curled up their little bodies against my leg and fell asleep. They only peed on my sheets twice, but since they’re little kittens, not only was it a very small amount but it also didn’t smell too bad.
They’re getting more confident today. They sat in the armchair behind M. le Maire as we worked today, alternately napping and wrestling with one another. They’re just too adorable. As I write this, Pili is asleep on my stomach and Samba at my hip. Their soft little bodies are just what I need to give me courage.
Other than the kittens, things are going well here. I finished the rough draft of the dictionary on Friday night, and now I’m in the process of revising. I need to make sure that I have the pronunciation right for everything and that the words themselves are correct. In addition to that, I’m trying to jot down any cultural information about various words to make the dictionary more interesting. It’s slow going and I’m sure there will always be mistakes, but the progress is considerable. Two weeks and I hope to have this thing done.
Dave and Phil are coming over for dinner tonight. I think one of these days I’ll clean out the inside room of the house that has the couches and chairs in it so we can have movie nights in there. With all this work now, though, I don’t know when I’ll have time for that.
Friday, January 16, 2009
My his little soul rest in peace
I wish I had nothing new to report, but unfortunately I have terrible new. Bean died. This morning, we found him dead, strangled with his own rope. I think he got tangled up with Boubou’s rope, and since it was the middle of the night, no one found him until it was too late. When I came out and Ramata told me, I turned right around and went in my room to cry for a good fifteen minutes. He was so young. The mom is devastated and keeps baaing. I’m so full of regret, since last night, I thought, “Maybe I should untie him and let him move around tonight,” but I didn’t, and now it’s too late. I am totally devastated.
Everyone else is pretty down too, though they’re used to it. Oumar says we’ll sell the mom on Sunday and use the money to buy a young sheep that’s been weaned, since now he’s grown attached to the process of coming and feeding the sheep. He moved his own young ram into the courtyard around noon, but the mom doesn’t like it very much and keeps butting it; it’s not her baby, after all.
I’m on the look-out for a kitten now to make me feel better, but I’m afraid that will just die on me too. Here I go and get a little lamb to make me happy and keep me company, and it dies a violent death. Life kind of sucks today.
Everyone else is pretty down too, though they’re used to it. Oumar says we’ll sell the mom on Sunday and use the money to buy a young sheep that’s been weaned, since now he’s grown attached to the process of coming and feeding the sheep. He moved his own young ram into the courtyard around noon, but the mom doesn’t like it very much and keeps butting it; it’s not her baby, after all.
I’m on the look-out for a kitten now to make me feel better, but I’m afraid that will just die on me too. Here I go and get a little lamb to make me happy and keep me company, and it dies a violent death. Life kind of sucks today.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Dictionary speed demon
It seems that I have finally found a routine again. Yesterday morning, M. le Maire and I sat down to finish this dictionary once and for all (and by that I mean it will always be a work in progress). We worked for probably 6 hours yesterday, filling in about 400 words. Last night, I calculated that at that rate, I will have completed the first run-through of the dictionary in three days time. To celebrate that occasion, I’m going to make myself the outfit I’ve been wanting to make for the last couple of months. I haven’t had an outfit tailored since the beginning of October, so it’s high time.
It’s gotten very cold here. Yesterday morning was freezing, probably about 50. (For those of you in cold climates, I realize that this doesn’t seem bad, but the air here is dry as a bone, and when a breeze picks up, it feels quite chilly indeed.)
My battle with the mouse continues. I’ve named him Warren to make him more tolerable, but he’s destined for death anyway. I set up a mouse trap last night, but the little bugger refuses to go onto it. I’m gonna have to find something more convincing than a peanut to tempt him with. He’s taken up residence in my suitcase, which is rather inconvenient for me when I need to get things out of it. I’m also contemplating getting a kitten, a) because I like kittens and b) because of the mouse problem. We shall see.
Other than that, I have nothing new to report. The sheep and I are in good health, and having a routine makes the time pass faster.
It’s gotten very cold here. Yesterday morning was freezing, probably about 50. (For those of you in cold climates, I realize that this doesn’t seem bad, but the air here is dry as a bone, and when a breeze picks up, it feels quite chilly indeed.)
My battle with the mouse continues. I’ve named him Warren to make him more tolerable, but he’s destined for death anyway. I set up a mouse trap last night, but the little bugger refuses to go onto it. I’m gonna have to find something more convincing than a peanut to tempt him with. He’s taken up residence in my suitcase, which is rather inconvenient for me when I need to get things out of it. I’m also contemplating getting a kitten, a) because I like kittens and b) because of the mouse problem. We shall see.
Other than that, I have nothing new to report. The sheep and I are in good health, and having a routine makes the time pass faster.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Friends and colleagues have returned
My Peace Corps friends finally got up to Douentza yesterday evening. Antony and Dave were there, plus a girl Chelsea (?) based in Sikasso and a friend of hers who is visiting for a month. Oumar and I went over to Tango Tango (now called the Mankante) to have a few beers. It was a strange mix of languages at the table, French, English, Fulfulde and Bamana. Everyone could talk to everyone in at least one of the languages. Later on, a volunteer with the French equivalent of the Peace Corps came over. His is Nicolas and he’ll be here for 2 years. He and I talked a lot, since the other don’t speak a lot of French and he doesn’t speak a lot of English. Another friend to add to my list.
Oumar went and got M. le Maire from the base of the cliff today. This evening, I think we’ll resume work on the dictionary. I have about 75% of the words, so I just need to find the other 25% and then double check everything. I hope to have both the dictionary and the fourth chapter of my grammar done by mid-February; I think it’s a very achievable goal.
Not much else to report. I heard Boubou (the big sheep) crying like a madwoman this morning around 7AM, so I went outside and found that Bean had wandered away again. He was just out in the street hanging out with some other sheep, so I hauled him back in and tethered him as punishment. Both he and Boubou are fattening up quite nicely and seem relatively pleased with their lot.
Oumar went and got M. le Maire from the base of the cliff today. This evening, I think we’ll resume work on the dictionary. I have about 75% of the words, so I just need to find the other 25% and then double check everything. I hope to have both the dictionary and the fourth chapter of my grammar done by mid-February; I think it’s a very achievable goal.
Not much else to report. I heard Boubou (the big sheep) crying like a madwoman this morning around 7AM, so I went outside and found that Bean had wandered away again. He was just out in the street hanging out with some other sheep, so I hauled him back in and tethered him as punishment. Both he and Boubou are fattening up quite nicely and seem relatively pleased with their lot.
Monday, January 12, 2009
I've got plenty of time to fill
I have been enjoying life back in civilization. It’s rather lonely here, but I make do. I’ve gotten a fair amount of work done in the last couple days, working on a paper Jeff sent me and making some small recordings with Ramata. Starting last night, I decided it would be a good use of my time to sit down with Ramata for an hour every evening and start editing the dictionary. I can understand her pronunciation much better than anyone else’s, so I can quickly go through and verify the words I’d found with her father or her M. Guindo. Tomorrow M. le Maire should get here, so I can simultaneously be filling in the sections of the dictionary I don’t have yet and editing those sections that I do. That way, this whole thing should be done in just two or three weeks.
Other than working, I’ve put together an entire jigsaw puzzle in under 24 hours (someone have too much alone time?), cleaned my room, had a somewhat epic battle with the mouse that used to live in Kevin’s suitcase, made some fresh-squeezed orange juice, washed some underwear in a bucket, and listened to music. Dave was going to come up to Douentza yesterday, but I guess he’s having too much fun in Sevare. Maybe he’ll come up today. It would be nice to have some company.
I got the sheep back in the courtyard again, too. I’m a little disappointed in Hamidou. I gave him 5000 francs to take care of the sheep while I was gone, but they don’t look good. According to Oumar, they weren’t getting very much to eat, even though the money I gave was more than enough for sheep food. I gave Bean a bath yesterday, but then the poor little guy spent the rest of the afternoon shivering. It is quite cold here. He’s beginning to grow some little horns. Ah, they grow up so fast.
Other than working, I’ve put together an entire jigsaw puzzle in under 24 hours (someone have too much alone time?), cleaned my room, had a somewhat epic battle with the mouse that used to live in Kevin’s suitcase, made some fresh-squeezed orange juice, washed some underwear in a bucket, and listened to music. Dave was going to come up to Douentza yesterday, but I guess he’s having too much fun in Sevare. Maybe he’ll come up today. It would be nice to have some company.
I got the sheep back in the courtyard again, too. I’m a little disappointed in Hamidou. I gave him 5000 francs to take care of the sheep while I was gone, but they don’t look good. According to Oumar, they weren’t getting very much to eat, even though the money I gave was more than enough for sheep food. I gave Bean a bath yesterday, but then the poor little guy spent the rest of the afternoon shivering. It is quite cold here. He’s beginning to grow some little horns. Ah, they grow up so fast.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
A productive village trip? What?
I’ve done my village duty and am now off the hook for the next month! As far as village trips go, this one was pretty smooth and productive. Before I get into that, check the last post, which I wasn’t able to post a few days ago because for some reason the internet wasn’t working at the radio.
Thursday morning, Oumar and I were on the road by 7:30. As usual, the motorcycle trip was half exhilarating, half terrifying. Driving in sand is such a nightmare. The motorcycle swerves left and right, trying to find traction, but Oumar is a good driver and can keep control with his feet. The worst thing you can do in sand is panic, because then you lose concentration and control and you’re bound to fall over. I kept thinking, “Il faut poser l’esprit, il faut poser l’esprit” (You have to place [calm] your mind).
We left the motorcycle at the base of the cliff, then hiked our way up. It wasn’t too hot, so the whole trip was nearly pleasant. The village felt almost deserted when we got there around 11; the kids were at school, the women were in their houses preparing lunch, and there was some meeting at the town hall that claimed all of the men. Little by little, people began trickling in, greeting me with their usual joy and exuberance. Ramata’s mother called out to me from over by her house, and when I went over to greet her, she gave me a big hug and kept holding my hand. She ushered me into her house where M. le Maire was eating a delicious lunch of millet paste with a couple other people. I sat down and joined them, scraping off handfuls of paste and dipping it into a viscous baobab leaf sauce. Really, it’s not that bad, I just don’t know how they eat it every day at every meal.
Luck was on our side this trip, because Ramata’s grandmother had brewed a huge vat of millet beer. Like good Dogons, we spent most of the day sitting in my house chatting over beer with M. le Maire and the director and Oumar and whoever else wandered in. Millet beer is great. The only ingredients are millet and water, but somehow it tastes rather sweet. It probably is only 3-5% alcohol, so you can drink a lot and feel fine. Oumar doesn’t speak any Dogon, so he and M. le Maire chatted in Fulfulde a lot while I just enjoyed the company.
Ramata’s mother prepared food for us the whole time, bringing us meals of rice or pasta at the oddest times of the day. 10:30 am? Is this lunch? Breakfast? No one, not even she, had any idea. We just ate when there was food and drank when there was beer.
It was market day, so we went at the approach of evening with Bureima and his friend. Evening is when things really pick up at the market here, unlike Douentza. It’s when all the young people come out and flirt and enjoy each other’s company. Other than company, there’s not much to find at the market of Tedie. Oumar and I left them there to their devices and went back to eat some dinner. They stumbled by later, completely drunk off of millet beer and in good spirits. Maybe they talked to pretty girls.
That evening, sitting outside under the brightest moon I’d ever seen, I had this strange sensation. It was familiar, uncomfortable, but I couldn’t place it for a second. Then I realized, “Oh yeah, this is what it feels like to be cold!” There was a breeze whipping up there that cut right through your clothes. I bundled up in my light jacket and Kevin’s turban and a long sleeve shirt, but still sat there shivering. Truth be told, it was probably only about 60, but after non-stop heat, even 70 would feel cold.
As usual, Ramata’s mother came over around 8 and wanted to chat. Sometimes our communication works great, sometimes it’s a wreck. Always it’s tiring and a little bit frustrating. So around 9, I decided I’d had enough and just went to bed, where I slept snug under my flannel sheet.
The next day was remarkably productive. While I usually go with a plan of words to find and then can find no one to work with, the people I needed (Bureima and Ramata’s mother) were quite at my disposition. I started out the morning learning gun vocabulary. I learned a lot of English words that way too. Bureima does a fair amount of hunting (though there’s not a lot of game left, just some birds), so he brought over his modern gun that takes cartridges and an old fashioned musket that takes gun powder and bullets (rocks). I got lots of pictures of rifle mechanism, learning what was the cock, the flint, the trigger, the gunpowder chamber, etc.
Then from the extreme stereotype of masculinity, I moved to the stereotype of femininity as Ramata’s mother brought over a little plastic bucket of all of her jewelry. These were probably the bulk of her wealth and her prized possessions. One by one, she showed them to me and told me their names while I took pictures. Beautiful necklaces of agate beads and some silver bracelets and earrings. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable asking her to show me these things before, being so precious, but now I feel she’s taken me on as a daughter and I can ask her just about anything.
All of this was achieved before noon! That was all I had planned for the village, figuring it would take me a whole day to track down, but the mission was accomplished before lunch. Thus, the afternoon passed slowly and lazily as everyone in the village went about their business. Bureima chatted for a while and M. le Maire brought more millet beer.
Looking at all the villagers, this time for some reason it really struck me how poor they are. Maybe it was Bureima that did it, dressed in completely torn and dirty clothing, but that’s just about all they own. The director’s little 3 year old, Samba, stood out from the other children in his clean blue jean overalls that actually fit, though he too has the distended Buddha-belly of malnutrition. And yet despite this poverty, people are so full of joy, and that’s why often you don’t notice it. As sad as it is, that’s how life is for them, so I guess they don’t waste any time mourning it.
I’d brought some little gifts with me from Ghana for the people I’m closest to. I gave Ramata’s mother a bead bracelet and a strip of woven cloth to the chief, who was quite pleased. He held out his wrist and proudly displayed the $10 watch I’d given him in August; I guess it was the first time he’d worn it, since he doesn’t know how to tell time, but for the duration of my stay this time, he and that watch were inseparable. To M. le Maire, I gave a carving of the Ashanti symbol for wisdom. He was really touched and taken by it, turning it in his hands, admiring it, saying, “Really, this is a great souvenir, something we can’t get here. Without wisdom, life is nothing. I should take this with me when we discuss conflicts as a reminder that wisdom is essential.” I gave another symbol to the director, one representing that we can always learn from our mistakes, and he too was pleased.
It was another cold night, another night of struggling through Tommo-So conversation with Ramata’s mother. It was a relief to both of us when Bureima came over and could translate a bit. She asked if Kevin would take another wife in the US, and I said that no, where we are, you can go to jail for having two wives. She asked, “But aren’t there a lot of women?” and I told her it was half and half, one man for one woman. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but people here claim there are a lot more women than men, so for all the women to be taken care of, men need to take multiple wives. I don’t know if all the boys die or leave the country or if it’s just an excuse or what. I think maybe the younger generations are beginning to see here, though, that multiple wives and a zillion kids just leads to a lot of problems as opposed to a lot of happiness. Maybe someday it will change.
Again, I went to bed early and slept great, except for hearing the little scrambling of a mouse somewhere in my ceiling. Ramata’s mother prepared some delicious beans for breakfast to give us strength for the walk back. I tried to give her 1000 francs ($2) for having cooked for us, but she refused, saying either that just like she prepares food for Ramata, she prepares food for me, or that because I prepare food for Ramata in Douentza, she can prepare food for me there. Either way, I told her it was very nice, and told her in Tommo-So, “Neegay, u mi naa-n.” “Now, you are my mother.”
As I was saying my goodbyes, I feel as though I sounded like Yoda, but I don’t know if that’s because my Tommo-So is bad or because direct translations of Tommo-So just sound silly in English. For instance, I wanted to tell the chief I was very happy to see him, which in Tommo-So translates to something like, “Having seen you, my heart is sweet.” They always just laugh amiably, repeat what I said, and shake my hand. We all smile and I go on my way.
Since tomorrow is Douentza’s market day, the path back was full of women carrying piles of sacks on their head. It’s 45 kilometers one way, and they do it all by foot. Oumar told me that everything they have on their heads might sell for 1000 francs (remember, $2), yet they walk 90 kilometers for it. Given, in the local currency, that might be more the equivalent of $10, but would you walk 90 kilometers for ten bucks? I sure wouldn’t.
I was grateful coming back for everything I have. I was grateful for my health, for being 22 and not having kids, for being from a wealthy country. Two days in the village feels like a month, but I can check out after 2 days and return to my electricity. The villagers are lucky if they ever get to check out.
Thursday morning, Oumar and I were on the road by 7:30. As usual, the motorcycle trip was half exhilarating, half terrifying. Driving in sand is such a nightmare. The motorcycle swerves left and right, trying to find traction, but Oumar is a good driver and can keep control with his feet. The worst thing you can do in sand is panic, because then you lose concentration and control and you’re bound to fall over. I kept thinking, “Il faut poser l’esprit, il faut poser l’esprit” (You have to place [calm] your mind).
We left the motorcycle at the base of the cliff, then hiked our way up. It wasn’t too hot, so the whole trip was nearly pleasant. The village felt almost deserted when we got there around 11; the kids were at school, the women were in their houses preparing lunch, and there was some meeting at the town hall that claimed all of the men. Little by little, people began trickling in, greeting me with their usual joy and exuberance. Ramata’s mother called out to me from over by her house, and when I went over to greet her, she gave me a big hug and kept holding my hand. She ushered me into her house where M. le Maire was eating a delicious lunch of millet paste with a couple other people. I sat down and joined them, scraping off handfuls of paste and dipping it into a viscous baobab leaf sauce. Really, it’s not that bad, I just don’t know how they eat it every day at every meal.
Luck was on our side this trip, because Ramata’s grandmother had brewed a huge vat of millet beer. Like good Dogons, we spent most of the day sitting in my house chatting over beer with M. le Maire and the director and Oumar and whoever else wandered in. Millet beer is great. The only ingredients are millet and water, but somehow it tastes rather sweet. It probably is only 3-5% alcohol, so you can drink a lot and feel fine. Oumar doesn’t speak any Dogon, so he and M. le Maire chatted in Fulfulde a lot while I just enjoyed the company.
Ramata’s mother prepared food for us the whole time, bringing us meals of rice or pasta at the oddest times of the day. 10:30 am? Is this lunch? Breakfast? No one, not even she, had any idea. We just ate when there was food and drank when there was beer.
It was market day, so we went at the approach of evening with Bureima and his friend. Evening is when things really pick up at the market here, unlike Douentza. It’s when all the young people come out and flirt and enjoy each other’s company. Other than company, there’s not much to find at the market of Tedie. Oumar and I left them there to their devices and went back to eat some dinner. They stumbled by later, completely drunk off of millet beer and in good spirits. Maybe they talked to pretty girls.
That evening, sitting outside under the brightest moon I’d ever seen, I had this strange sensation. It was familiar, uncomfortable, but I couldn’t place it for a second. Then I realized, “Oh yeah, this is what it feels like to be cold!” There was a breeze whipping up there that cut right through your clothes. I bundled up in my light jacket and Kevin’s turban and a long sleeve shirt, but still sat there shivering. Truth be told, it was probably only about 60, but after non-stop heat, even 70 would feel cold.
As usual, Ramata’s mother came over around 8 and wanted to chat. Sometimes our communication works great, sometimes it’s a wreck. Always it’s tiring and a little bit frustrating. So around 9, I decided I’d had enough and just went to bed, where I slept snug under my flannel sheet.
The next day was remarkably productive. While I usually go with a plan of words to find and then can find no one to work with, the people I needed (Bureima and Ramata’s mother) were quite at my disposition. I started out the morning learning gun vocabulary. I learned a lot of English words that way too. Bureima does a fair amount of hunting (though there’s not a lot of game left, just some birds), so he brought over his modern gun that takes cartridges and an old fashioned musket that takes gun powder and bullets (rocks). I got lots of pictures of rifle mechanism, learning what was the cock, the flint, the trigger, the gunpowder chamber, etc.
Then from the extreme stereotype of masculinity, I moved to the stereotype of femininity as Ramata’s mother brought over a little plastic bucket of all of her jewelry. These were probably the bulk of her wealth and her prized possessions. One by one, she showed them to me and told me their names while I took pictures. Beautiful necklaces of agate beads and some silver bracelets and earrings. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable asking her to show me these things before, being so precious, but now I feel she’s taken me on as a daughter and I can ask her just about anything.
All of this was achieved before noon! That was all I had planned for the village, figuring it would take me a whole day to track down, but the mission was accomplished before lunch. Thus, the afternoon passed slowly and lazily as everyone in the village went about their business. Bureima chatted for a while and M. le Maire brought more millet beer.
Looking at all the villagers, this time for some reason it really struck me how poor they are. Maybe it was Bureima that did it, dressed in completely torn and dirty clothing, but that’s just about all they own. The director’s little 3 year old, Samba, stood out from the other children in his clean blue jean overalls that actually fit, though he too has the distended Buddha-belly of malnutrition. And yet despite this poverty, people are so full of joy, and that’s why often you don’t notice it. As sad as it is, that’s how life is for them, so I guess they don’t waste any time mourning it.
I’d brought some little gifts with me from Ghana for the people I’m closest to. I gave Ramata’s mother a bead bracelet and a strip of woven cloth to the chief, who was quite pleased. He held out his wrist and proudly displayed the $10 watch I’d given him in August; I guess it was the first time he’d worn it, since he doesn’t know how to tell time, but for the duration of my stay this time, he and that watch were inseparable. To M. le Maire, I gave a carving of the Ashanti symbol for wisdom. He was really touched and taken by it, turning it in his hands, admiring it, saying, “Really, this is a great souvenir, something we can’t get here. Without wisdom, life is nothing. I should take this with me when we discuss conflicts as a reminder that wisdom is essential.” I gave another symbol to the director, one representing that we can always learn from our mistakes, and he too was pleased.
It was another cold night, another night of struggling through Tommo-So conversation with Ramata’s mother. It was a relief to both of us when Bureima came over and could translate a bit. She asked if Kevin would take another wife in the US, and I said that no, where we are, you can go to jail for having two wives. She asked, “But aren’t there a lot of women?” and I told her it was half and half, one man for one woman. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but people here claim there are a lot more women than men, so for all the women to be taken care of, men need to take multiple wives. I don’t know if all the boys die or leave the country or if it’s just an excuse or what. I think maybe the younger generations are beginning to see here, though, that multiple wives and a zillion kids just leads to a lot of problems as opposed to a lot of happiness. Maybe someday it will change.
Again, I went to bed early and slept great, except for hearing the little scrambling of a mouse somewhere in my ceiling. Ramata’s mother prepared some delicious beans for breakfast to give us strength for the walk back. I tried to give her 1000 francs ($2) for having cooked for us, but she refused, saying either that just like she prepares food for Ramata, she prepares food for me, or that because I prepare food for Ramata in Douentza, she can prepare food for me there. Either way, I told her it was very nice, and told her in Tommo-So, “Neegay, u mi naa-n.” “Now, you are my mother.”
As I was saying my goodbyes, I feel as though I sounded like Yoda, but I don’t know if that’s because my Tommo-So is bad or because direct translations of Tommo-So just sound silly in English. For instance, I wanted to tell the chief I was very happy to see him, which in Tommo-So translates to something like, “Having seen you, my heart is sweet.” They always just laugh amiably, repeat what I said, and shake my hand. We all smile and I go on my way.
Since tomorrow is Douentza’s market day, the path back was full of women carrying piles of sacks on their head. It’s 45 kilometers one way, and they do it all by foot. Oumar told me that everything they have on their heads might sell for 1000 francs (remember, $2), yet they walk 90 kilometers for it. Given, in the local currency, that might be more the equivalent of $10, but would you walk 90 kilometers for ten bucks? I sure wouldn’t.
I was grateful coming back for everything I have. I was grateful for my health, for being 22 and not having kids, for being from a wealthy country. Two days in the village feels like a month, but I can check out after 2 days and return to my electricity. The villagers are lucky if they ever get to check out.
Back to Douentza (belated)
I have returned alone to Douentza. I think I made a good decision to travel alone in the daytime yesterday. That way, not only could I read and stare out the window for hours, but I also had some time to just think and process this change I’m going through right now. I haven’t really had alone time for two months, and while I would gladly trade it in to have Kevin back here, it’s nice to be introspective and realize that I am strong and that not only can I do this, but I will and I will enjoy it too.
The trip went smoothly, by Malian standards. It left an hour late, but I had a seat, there was only one person in the aisle, and we made good time. I think one thing that made the trip so pleasant was that their stereo system didn’t work, so they couldn’t blast terrible music the whole time. I could actually listen to my iPod at a reasonable volume, instead of having to drawn out hours of monotonous music. Don’t get me wrong, Mali has some great music. But a lot of it sounds the same, or they just play the same tape, loudly, for hours. This gets old. This makes me bitter.
It is strange being back in Douentza without Kevin. He just became such a part of my life here. Especially my room, which I had only moved into a day before I went to Bamako to get him. It feels awfully lonely now, but it will get better. Once I get into a work routine, I will have something carrying me through the days, all heading towards the goal of finishing this dictionary by the next time I go to Bamako in mid-February.
Tomorrow, Oumar and I are going to the village, just for two nights. I don’t really accomplish any work there, so I just go to greet the people and keep up relations. I’ll also try to get some vocabulary and pictures for the dictionary that I have trouble getting in Douentza. I’ve decided to go once a month from now until April and spend the rest of my time hard at work in Douentza, where I actually accomplish things. The next time I go, in February, I’ll tie up any loose ends on the dictionary, in March I want to draw a map of the village and the area, and in April I will say my goodbyes. May is just too hot and miserable to live in a mud house, and I’ll be busy with preparations to go home anyway. Also in March, I want to take a two or three day trip around the Tommo-speaking area to get some 100 word lists to compare for dialect differences. It’ll just be the tip of the iceberg of dialectology, but it’s a start.
The sheep are living with Hamidou’s family’s sheep right now. I think I’ll get them back into my courtyard, which is sort of selfish of me, because they probably like being with other sheep, but they bring a small amount of joy into my life, so I want them here. Apparently the mother got diarrhea, but hopefully she’ll be okay. Oumar says they’re doing well otherwise. Ah, the joys of owning livestock.
The trip went smoothly, by Malian standards. It left an hour late, but I had a seat, there was only one person in the aisle, and we made good time. I think one thing that made the trip so pleasant was that their stereo system didn’t work, so they couldn’t blast terrible music the whole time. I could actually listen to my iPod at a reasonable volume, instead of having to drawn out hours of monotonous music. Don’t get me wrong, Mali has some great music. But a lot of it sounds the same, or they just play the same tape, loudly, for hours. This gets old. This makes me bitter.
It is strange being back in Douentza without Kevin. He just became such a part of my life here. Especially my room, which I had only moved into a day before I went to Bamako to get him. It feels awfully lonely now, but it will get better. Once I get into a work routine, I will have something carrying me through the days, all heading towards the goal of finishing this dictionary by the next time I go to Bamako in mid-February.
Tomorrow, Oumar and I are going to the village, just for two nights. I don’t really accomplish any work there, so I just go to greet the people and keep up relations. I’ll also try to get some vocabulary and pictures for the dictionary that I have trouble getting in Douentza. I’ve decided to go once a month from now until April and spend the rest of my time hard at work in Douentza, where I actually accomplish things. The next time I go, in February, I’ll tie up any loose ends on the dictionary, in March I want to draw a map of the village and the area, and in April I will say my goodbyes. May is just too hot and miserable to live in a mud house, and I’ll be busy with preparations to go home anyway. Also in March, I want to take a two or three day trip around the Tommo-speaking area to get some 100 word lists to compare for dialect differences. It’ll just be the tip of the iceberg of dialectology, but it’s a start.
The sheep are living with Hamidou’s family’s sheep right now. I think I’ll get them back into my courtyard, which is sort of selfish of me, because they probably like being with other sheep, but they bring a small amount of joy into my life, so I want them here. Apparently the mother got diarrhea, but hopefully she’ll be okay. Oumar says they’re doing well otherwise. Ah, the joys of owning livestock.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Back to brousse tomorrow
This stay in Bamako is almost over. Tomorrow morning, I will head out to Douentza on the morning bus. All of these options I had for traveling with people (Jeremy yesterday evening, Dave and Braxton tomorrow evening), and here I am deciding to go alone. See, here is my thought process. I don't have anything to do here tomorrow, and if I take the morning bus, not only will I not have to try to sleep when I obviously can't (then sleep in my own bed!), but also I will be able to read and write with the daylight. I've perfected the art of sitting and staring at nothing for hours (the village is great for honing this skill), so I might as well have some light to do it in.
Yesterday, I went over to Niarela and met up with Dave and his family for lunch. Jeremy, my Fulbright friend, was also randomly hanging out at the same hotel/restaurant Le Campagnard, so we could touch base about our travel plans. Dave's parents and sister were really nice and paid for everyone's lunch at a patisserie. I also met another Peace Corps person, a young woman named Jenny who's been here for 2 and a half years based around Bamako.
After lunch, Dave's family wanted to do some souvenir shopping, so I went back to Rosemary's house. She has a beautiful Skype with webcam set up. For the first time in 3 months, I saw my parents. While not in person, it was still quite nice.
I made a big salad for dinner, then went out and got a beer with a lot of PC kids. I didn't want to keep Rosemary and her family up, so I came back before they went to bed. I certainly don't want to be an imposing house guest in any way, since they're already kind enough to be putting me up.
This morning, Rosemary and I set off to the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique et Technologique (CNRST -- the Malians inherited the love of abbreviations from the French) to renew our research authorizations. Well, I actually never had one of my own, but rather am on Jeff's, but I went to see if I could renew it somehow. I apparently needed three passport photos, which I didn't have, so they told me it would just be easier to get some pictures of Jeff and to come renew his in February. Shows how important the piece of paper is in the meantime. Rosemary got hers no problem, though. The woman working there was Bambara and insulted me (jokingly?) a lot about being Dogon, so much that I thought she should be Songhay! The ethnic cousinhood is always interesting here.
Afterwards, we went back to the same patisserie and had breakfast with Jeremy, who was also trying to get his authorization, then back to Rosemary's for lunch.
I decided I should go to the bank so long as I was in Bamako, so I grabbed a taxi and headed across town to the BNDA after lunch. My plan was to meet up with Dave afterwards and have him take me to this infamous "spice lady" in Niarela, but when I walked into the bank, my hopes were dashed. I took a number, only to find it was over 100 people away from the number they were currently calling. Some people got fed up and I moved up about 40 people, but it still took 2 hours to get my money. Everyone was getting fed up. We were all comrades in Operation Bank Misery. To make matters worse, I'd told the taxi driver to wait and then take me to Niarela afterwards, and I couldn't leave the bank to tell him either to wait or go since they'd closed the door to the outside (the bank would be closing after we got through). So finally after 2 hours, I went back outside, and the driver was there but fed up, and I was fed up, so I just paid him a bunch and went back to Rosemary's house.
That's when I decided to leave tomorrow morning, so I got my bus tickets, and I've been hanging out ever since. I'm enjoying the last bit of CNN and decent internet I'll be getting in a while.
And for those of you who are wondering, Kevin got home just fine, so that's a relief for me.
Next post from Douentza!
PS Those of you who want snail mail from me (postcards, letters, doodles) should send me your addresses. I will have plenty of time to write.
Yesterday, I went over to Niarela and met up with Dave and his family for lunch. Jeremy, my Fulbright friend, was also randomly hanging out at the same hotel/restaurant Le Campagnard, so we could touch base about our travel plans. Dave's parents and sister were really nice and paid for everyone's lunch at a patisserie. I also met another Peace Corps person, a young woman named Jenny who's been here for 2 and a half years based around Bamako.
After lunch, Dave's family wanted to do some souvenir shopping, so I went back to Rosemary's house. She has a beautiful Skype with webcam set up. For the first time in 3 months, I saw my parents. While not in person, it was still quite nice.
I made a big salad for dinner, then went out and got a beer with a lot of PC kids. I didn't want to keep Rosemary and her family up, so I came back before they went to bed. I certainly don't want to be an imposing house guest in any way, since they're already kind enough to be putting me up.
This morning, Rosemary and I set off to the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique et Technologique (CNRST -- the Malians inherited the love of abbreviations from the French) to renew our research authorizations. Well, I actually never had one of my own, but rather am on Jeff's, but I went to see if I could renew it somehow. I apparently needed three passport photos, which I didn't have, so they told me it would just be easier to get some pictures of Jeff and to come renew his in February. Shows how important the piece of paper is in the meantime. Rosemary got hers no problem, though. The woman working there was Bambara and insulted me (jokingly?) a lot about being Dogon, so much that I thought she should be Songhay! The ethnic cousinhood is always interesting here.
Afterwards, we went back to the same patisserie and had breakfast with Jeremy, who was also trying to get his authorization, then back to Rosemary's for lunch.
I decided I should go to the bank so long as I was in Bamako, so I grabbed a taxi and headed across town to the BNDA after lunch. My plan was to meet up with Dave afterwards and have him take me to this infamous "spice lady" in Niarela, but when I walked into the bank, my hopes were dashed. I took a number, only to find it was over 100 people away from the number they were currently calling. Some people got fed up and I moved up about 40 people, but it still took 2 hours to get my money. Everyone was getting fed up. We were all comrades in Operation Bank Misery. To make matters worse, I'd told the taxi driver to wait and then take me to Niarela afterwards, and I couldn't leave the bank to tell him either to wait or go since they'd closed the door to the outside (the bank would be closing after we got through). So finally after 2 hours, I went back outside, and the driver was there but fed up, and I was fed up, so I just paid him a bunch and went back to Rosemary's house.
That's when I decided to leave tomorrow morning, so I got my bus tickets, and I've been hanging out ever since. I'm enjoying the last bit of CNN and decent internet I'll be getting in a while.
And for those of you who are wondering, Kevin got home just fine, so that's a relief for me.
Next post from Douentza!
PS Those of you who want snail mail from me (postcards, letters, doodles) should send me your addresses. I will have plenty of time to write.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Alone again
Middle of the night last night, I dropped Kevin off at the airport, and I now I carry on on my own. It feels rather empty, but I'll get through. I've set up a very rigorous work regime for myself for the last few months. I figure if I stay busy, it'll hurt less.
This morning, after a lonely breakfast, I moved into Rosemary's house for the next three nights. It'll be nice to have some company for moral support during these few hard days. We walked from her house to Azar Libre Service grocery store with her 9-year-old son Hamed in the late afternoon. His youthful energy also is a nice distraction from my sadness. I made mac n' cheese for him and me for dinner. It felt good to cook, especially some comfort food like mac n' cheese.
One day at a time. It'll get better.
This morning, after a lonely breakfast, I moved into Rosemary's house for the next three nights. It'll be nice to have some company for moral support during these few hard days. We walked from her house to Azar Libre Service grocery store with her 9-year-old son Hamed in the late afternoon. His youthful energy also is a nice distraction from my sadness. I made mac n' cheese for him and me for dinner. It felt good to cook, especially some comfort food like mac n' cheese.
One day at a time. It'll get better.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Happy 2009!
Welcome to the 2009 version of Pangolin Watch! It’s not actually a different version. Just now the date reads 2009. But no matter.
We’ve just been hanging out in Bamako, enjoying the fast wireless internet and decent food. Tuesday night, we went to check out a restaurant/bar called the Crazy Horse, a strangely red- and white-themed place with plastic tables and chairs with a hidden Indian menu. The Indian food didn’t taste very Indian, despite the restaurant being owned by Indians, but we had a margarita and some stir fry-esque food.
The next day for lunch, we went to the Broadway Café and melted in ecstasy at the taste of their cheeseburgers. To boot, I had a delicious mint chocolate milk shake and Kevin had a Coke float. They were playing some great new top 40 hits on their slightly ambient speakers, setting the mood just right.
In the late afternoon, we went up to a local market not far from the hotel so I could try to find some fun clothes for New Year’s partying. We took a taxi up the hill and he dropped us off, instructing us to penetrate the market via a dimly lit alleyway. The market was a maze of little stalls selling all sorts of clothing and shoes, light filtering in through the tarp and tin roof covering the whole place. It was like an oversized child’s fort, only full of second hand clothes. Despite all that, it was remarkably not overwhelming. We weren’t swarmed by hawkers, just a few people calling out to have us look at their stuff. I was in the mood to bargain, so I got myself a little dress for 15 bucks and some funky pointy shoes, silver with some multi-colored straps across the toe.
After successfully completing the market mission, we went back to the hotel to hang out until festivities time. We had agreed to meet the other Fulbrighters at a place called the Harlem City Bar, run by Brandon (whom I had never met)’s landlord. It was nice to see Jeremy and Paul and Marie again, and I got to meet Brandon, but the vibe was kind of off. Everyone was speaking in French, even though Marie and Kevin don’t really speak any French, and it was lots of talk of Senegalese politics. I’m okay with going local, but when I get together with my American friends here, I just want to be American. Marie didn’t seem to be feeling it either.
We got some beer, but once that began wearing off, I suggested we move the party to a club called No Stress, where Dave had told me the Bamako Peace Corps kids were going. We couldn't really rile the troops, so Kevin and I headed off solo to start the party alone. After all, midnight was fast approaching.
No Stress is the club above Amandine, the restaurant I always used to hang out at when I stayed at SIL. Amandine was crawling with people. There wasn’t a table to be found. We finally busted inside and ordered a couple drinks directly from their bar and just stood outside drinking them. The club itself apparently wouldn’t open until midnight, which seemed kind of like the climax of the night to me. But what do I know?
After paying a hefty $50 to get Kevin and me in, we found ourselves upstairs in a club as swanky as an LA one. Couches, full bar, strobe-lit dance floor… midnight passed uneventfully. Kevin was in the bathroom, I think. But then the music started up, playing all of the best hip hop you could expect in the States, and we danced the night away. At one point, they played this thumping song about Obama, accompanied by a video with pictures of him (“Obama obama obama obama obama”). A non-ironic song about the American president in a hip hop club in Mali on New Year’s. Rather surreal.
The others never did come to join us. They showed up while we were waiting in line, but then they never came up. No matter, we had a great time. It was a fun way to ring in the new year.
Kevin leaves late tomorrow night. I’m dreading it, but now I’m in the home stretch. 2009 is the year I come home. Thanks to everyone who made 2008 such a good year for me.
We’ve just been hanging out in Bamako, enjoying the fast wireless internet and decent food. Tuesday night, we went to check out a restaurant/bar called the Crazy Horse, a strangely red- and white-themed place with plastic tables and chairs with a hidden Indian menu. The Indian food didn’t taste very Indian, despite the restaurant being owned by Indians, but we had a margarita and some stir fry-esque food.
The next day for lunch, we went to the Broadway Café and melted in ecstasy at the taste of their cheeseburgers. To boot, I had a delicious mint chocolate milk shake and Kevin had a Coke float. They were playing some great new top 40 hits on their slightly ambient speakers, setting the mood just right.
In the late afternoon, we went up to a local market not far from the hotel so I could try to find some fun clothes for New Year’s partying. We took a taxi up the hill and he dropped us off, instructing us to penetrate the market via a dimly lit alleyway. The market was a maze of little stalls selling all sorts of clothing and shoes, light filtering in through the tarp and tin roof covering the whole place. It was like an oversized child’s fort, only full of second hand clothes. Despite all that, it was remarkably not overwhelming. We weren’t swarmed by hawkers, just a few people calling out to have us look at their stuff. I was in the mood to bargain, so I got myself a little dress for 15 bucks and some funky pointy shoes, silver with some multi-colored straps across the toe.
After successfully completing the market mission, we went back to the hotel to hang out until festivities time. We had agreed to meet the other Fulbrighters at a place called the Harlem City Bar, run by Brandon (whom I had never met)’s landlord. It was nice to see Jeremy and Paul and Marie again, and I got to meet Brandon, but the vibe was kind of off. Everyone was speaking in French, even though Marie and Kevin don’t really speak any French, and it was lots of talk of Senegalese politics. I’m okay with going local, but when I get together with my American friends here, I just want to be American. Marie didn’t seem to be feeling it either.
We got some beer, but once that began wearing off, I suggested we move the party to a club called No Stress, where Dave had told me the Bamako Peace Corps kids were going. We couldn't really rile the troops, so Kevin and I headed off solo to start the party alone. After all, midnight was fast approaching.
No Stress is the club above Amandine, the restaurant I always used to hang out at when I stayed at SIL. Amandine was crawling with people. There wasn’t a table to be found. We finally busted inside and ordered a couple drinks directly from their bar and just stood outside drinking them. The club itself apparently wouldn’t open until midnight, which seemed kind of like the climax of the night to me. But what do I know?
After paying a hefty $50 to get Kevin and me in, we found ourselves upstairs in a club as swanky as an LA one. Couches, full bar, strobe-lit dance floor… midnight passed uneventfully. Kevin was in the bathroom, I think. But then the music started up, playing all of the best hip hop you could expect in the States, and we danced the night away. At one point, they played this thumping song about Obama, accompanied by a video with pictures of him (“Obama obama obama obama obama”). A non-ironic song about the American president in a hip hop club in Mali on New Year’s. Rather surreal.
The others never did come to join us. They showed up while we were waiting in line, but then they never came up. No matter, we had a great time. It was a fun way to ring in the new year.
Kevin leaves late tomorrow night. I’m dreading it, but now I’m in the home stretch. 2009 is the year I come home. Thanks to everyone who made 2008 such a good year for me.
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