The last couple of days have been filled with culinary adventures. On Thursday, Phil and I decided to try and make ice cream. We got all of the necessary ingredients—powdered milk, sugar, vanilla flavoring, rock salt, ice—then set to making it work. I was a little unsure of powdered milk in place of real milk or cream, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. We mixed up a batter and poured it into a couple of clear plastic bags, making sure not to fill them too much so there would be ample surface area. Then these we placed in a small cooler with crushed ice and rock salt.
Then we shook it. We shook it hard. We shook it until our clothes were spattered with salty water and our arms were sore. But when we opened it up, lo and behold, our concoction had frozen into what tasted legitimately like ice cream. We quickly ate it up and made the second batch.
This discovery gives Douentza a whole new leg up. I mean, you can’t even get ice cream in Sevare, you have to go all the way to Bamako. But now? Now ice cream can happen with less money and a bit more work right here in our own courtyards. It was a beautiful moment.
We hung out the rest of the afternoon, playing ladder ball and listening to music. We ate some delicious beans and chege (crushed manioc) for dinner, then I went home. I had kind of a sinus headache and it was hot, so I took a Nyquil and got 10 delicious hours of sleep.
I woke up the next morning to Phil bringing over a kilo of a raw meat to put in the fridge. It was sheep burger day. I showered then spent the morning working on my grammar (having insights about adjectives), then at noon, I packed up the meat and went to Phil’s house.
We drove over to where the Norwegian missionaries live, since apparently they have a meat grinder. I hadn’t seen Katie (the woman) in quite some time, but when we pulled into their compound, she came and greeted us warmly, ushering us into her backyard for water and cake. They have a very nice house, and they need it with four little kids and living here for 8 y ears. Everything is screened in with electricity and running water and homey furnishings. She fed us chocolate cake and coffee cake that tasted amazing. We chatted for a while, and I met her husband, whom I hadn’t met before. Then we asked her about her meat grinder for sheep burgers and she just laughed and showed us inside.
When I pulled out the bag of meat, both she and her cook (a Dogon woman) were like, “Sheep meat, eh? That is filet mignon right there.” I was a bit surprised. They were skeptical about making burgers with filet mignon meat, so we decided to cover all of our bases and grind half of it and make kebabs out of the other half. I guess Phil forgot to ask his butcher that morning what animal the meat was from, but hey, 4 dollars for 2.2 pounds of filet mignon ain’t half bad.
After grinding it, we went back to Phil’s house to finish out the mission. This is when we noticed that his grill we were intending to use had a very wide mesh, good for grilling whole legs of things but bad for grilling burgers. Phil disappeared for a while, so I marinated the kebab pieces, then he reappeared touting a large piece of chain-link fence that apparently his neighbors gave him. We laid it on top of the other grill, but still it seemed a bit wide still. I tried putting the burger on two kebab skewers on top of the metal mess, but it didn’t seem to be grilling all that well over the wood fire.
Finally, we got out the tortilla pan and just put it over the fire, cooking both burgers and the two kebabs all at once. We put the burgers on some bread with slices of tomatoes and sure enough, they were delicious. They weren’t made of sheep, but they were burgers, and they tasted great. I was so full I didn’t even taste the kebabs; Phil ate them both.
After gorging ourselves on a kilo of meat, we went for a hike, across some empty millet fields and up onto some nearby rocks. It was a nice walk, but I was incredibly thirsty by the time we got back since we didn’t bring any water.
We went back to my house then and we both worked on a computer: me on my grammar and Phil on his great American novel. We went to the market around 9:30 for a dinner of salad and fried plantains and fresh yogurt that cost less than a dollar. I’m going to miss that.
And now it’s the last day of February. Hard to believe. Tomorrow is March, and that’s only two calendar months away from when I come home. Time is going quickly now.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Home sweet home
I made it back to Douentza last night, and for once, the trip was borderline pleasant. I said my goodbyes to Rosemary and her family and made it to the bus station at 7:30 when they told me to be there. To my delight, they took my bags, put them in the bus, and told me I could just get in, as opposed to having to go through the mess of calling out the names of passengers just to board.
Of course the AC wasn’t on, but I’ve learned not to expect that these days. Thankfully, they weren’t blasting loud music either, though. When we pulled up to the bus station in Segou, I looked out the window and saw some young white people that looked familiar. I realized it was the two tourists I’d talked to for a while at the Campagnard after writing my blog entry. They ended up getting on my bus to go to Sevare, so we chatted for a while. I even had the seat next to me empty for most of the ride—amazing.
We got to Sevare around seven, and there my tourist friends got off and Phil got on to come up to Douentza, so we chatted the whole way back. When we got to my house, Ramata was in the courtyard to say hi, and the kittens were scampering everywhere. I can’t believe how big they’ve already gotten. I can’t hold both of them in one hand anymore. But they seem healthy and happy, so I can’t ask for more.
Phil and I went to the market to eat some dinner around 10:30 or 11, then I went back and went to sleep. Unfortunately, it’s already getting kind of hot. I woke up at 3 in the morning contemplating how I would make it through hot season, deciding instead of getting slapped with an electricity bill at the end of the month for using AC, I would set aside 1000 CFA (2 dollars) a day. That would be much more doable.
It feels really good to be back. I mean, it was also nice being in Bamako, but here is really home now. Driving my motorcycle feels good, as does playing with my kittens and seeing my friends. I’m looking forward to these last couple months to just get work done at my own place and enjoy the environs I’ll soon be leaving.
Of course the AC wasn’t on, but I’ve learned not to expect that these days. Thankfully, they weren’t blasting loud music either, though. When we pulled up to the bus station in Segou, I looked out the window and saw some young white people that looked familiar. I realized it was the two tourists I’d talked to for a while at the Campagnard after writing my blog entry. They ended up getting on my bus to go to Sevare, so we chatted for a while. I even had the seat next to me empty for most of the ride—amazing.
We got to Sevare around seven, and there my tourist friends got off and Phil got on to come up to Douentza, so we chatted the whole way back. When we got to my house, Ramata was in the courtyard to say hi, and the kittens were scampering everywhere. I can’t believe how big they’ve already gotten. I can’t hold both of them in one hand anymore. But they seem healthy and happy, so I can’t ask for more.
Phil and I went to the market to eat some dinner around 10:30 or 11, then I went back and went to sleep. Unfortunately, it’s already getting kind of hot. I woke up at 3 in the morning contemplating how I would make it through hot season, deciding instead of getting slapped with an electricity bill at the end of the month for using AC, I would set aside 1000 CFA (2 dollars) a day. That would be much more doable.
It feels really good to be back. I mean, it was also nice being in Bamako, but here is really home now. Driving my motorcycle feels good, as does playing with my kittens and seeing my friends. I’m looking forward to these last couple months to just get work done at my own place and enjoy the environs I’ll soon be leaving.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Penultimate Bamako trip over
Tomorrow morning, it's back home to Douentza. I hope the bus trip isn't totally hot and unbearable, since the weather does seem to be getting hotter. As it stands now, I won't be back here until I leave Douentza for good--probably May 8th when Jeff gets to Mali. In the meantime, I am planning on two short trips to Sevare to get some wireless internet and 24/7 AC. I bought my very own webcam today to facilitate Skype-ing even when not at Rosemary's (but with internet fast enough, so that pretty much rules Douentza out).
I had to run a lot of errands today. First, Rosemary, Mohammed and I went to the embassy to cash checks and eat lunch (I had a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake). We ran into Spencer there, and he joined us for lunch. On the way to the embassy, though, there appeared to be some hideous problem on one of Bamako's two bridges crossing the river, so traffic was horrendous. The clutch went out in our taxi and we had to get out and find another one. An hour later, we finally got there and got our business done.
After that, Rosemary and I went to the cyber cafe to print some forms, then I went off to get my bus tickets, picked up something for Ramata, then went back to the see the linguists only to find no one there with a computer, then finished off my errands with a trip to the grocery store. I really wanted to buy my kitties a real litter box, but they didn't sell them. So I bought a box of kitten food instead. It was exhausting running around, but I was glad to be productive.
I'm ready to go back to Douentza. Bamako is nice and all, but I want to see my kittens and drive my motorcycle. I'm also anxious to not overstay my welcome here. I really only intended to stay with Rosemary for 4 nights or so, but then I got sick and the hotel I was thinking about was way more expensive than anticipated, so here I am, a week later. I don't think she minds, but I just don't want to intrude.
That's all until Douentza! Wish me luck on the bus.
I had to run a lot of errands today. First, Rosemary, Mohammed and I went to the embassy to cash checks and eat lunch (I had a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake). We ran into Spencer there, and he joined us for lunch. On the way to the embassy, though, there appeared to be some hideous problem on one of Bamako's two bridges crossing the river, so traffic was horrendous. The clutch went out in our taxi and we had to get out and find another one. An hour later, we finally got there and got our business done.
After that, Rosemary and I went to the cyber cafe to print some forms, then I went off to get my bus tickets, picked up something for Ramata, then went back to the see the linguists only to find no one there with a computer, then finished off my errands with a trip to the grocery store. I really wanted to buy my kitties a real litter box, but they didn't sell them. So I bought a box of kitten food instead. It was exhausting running around, but I was glad to be productive.
I'm ready to go back to Douentza. Bamako is nice and all, but I want to see my kittens and drive my motorcycle. I'm also anxious to not overstay my welcome here. I really only intended to stay with Rosemary for 4 nights or so, but then I got sick and the hotel I was thinking about was way more expensive than anticipated, so here I am, a week later. I don't think she minds, but I just don't want to intrude.
That's all until Douentza! Wish me luck on the bus.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Functional button and good health
As the title implies, the donate button (located in the post below) is now functional. I don't know what was wrong with it, but Kevin figured it out, and now it works.
For the second part of the title, yes, my health seems to have returned. I did my three days of anti-malarials and anti-biotics and now I'm back to normal. With this health in hand, I will return to Douentza Wednesday morning.
Sunday night, I finished the first version of my dictionary. It felt incredibly good. I'm sure there will be mistakes to correct and information to update, but it is a functional dictionary where there wasn't one before!
I went to visit the linguists at the Institut des Langues today and told them about the dictionary. They were thrilled and couldn't wait to get their hands on it. Just that made the work worth it.
Tomorrow I have a few last errands to run, and then I'll hit the road. Then no more Bamako for me until I go home!
For the second part of the title, yes, my health seems to have returned. I did my three days of anti-malarials and anti-biotics and now I'm back to normal. With this health in hand, I will return to Douentza Wednesday morning.
Sunday night, I finished the first version of my dictionary. It felt incredibly good. I'm sure there will be mistakes to correct and information to update, but it is a functional dictionary where there wasn't one before!
I went to visit the linguists at the Institut des Langues today and told them about the dictionary. They were thrilled and couldn't wait to get their hands on it. Just that made the work worth it.
Tomorrow I have a few last errands to run, and then I'll hit the road. Then no more Bamako for me until I go home!
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Want to help educate the children of Tongo-Tongo?
A month and a half ago, I was sitting in my courtyard in Douentza with the elementary school director from Tongo-Tongo. He had to come to town for some official business and just dropped by to say hi. Our conversation turned to the state of education in Mali, which is, in a word, dismal. Schools were only opened in every village as little as ten years ago. If I had been born in Mali, I would not have received even an elementary school education if my parents didn’t have the means to send me to a big town. Even now to get a school or any needed supplies, you have to make a demand to the government that will probably be turned down three, four, fives times, if it’s even accepted at all.
That’s how Tongo-Tongo got its elementary school. M. le Maire proposed the school and was turned down five times before the government agreed to build it. And now the school director has beseeched the government as well, this time for a solar panel, since the school has no electricity. Needless to say, he was turned down.
This got me thinking: if I could give the village this solar panel for their school as a final thank you for all they have done for me, that would not only show my appreciation but would also help their children succeed, the only way the village will begin to pull itself out of poverty. Rather than give a few people a watch or a small monetary donation, I think it would be much better to give a gift that can help the village as a whole, especially its children.
However, I can’t accomplish this on my own. From my research, it seems that a good solar panel (that can power not only lights but fans and TVs and other equipment) costs anywhere between 500-1000 US dollars. My budget is only about $200. I’m not normally one to do this, but I am looking to see if anyone would be able to make a donation to help me get this solar panel for Tongo-Tongo’s elementary school.
My goal is $1000, which will cover the cost of a good solar panel and the transportation costs (almost $200) to get it there. Solar panels are widely used in Mali, and with great success. There’s certainly no shortage of sun. Cloudy days usually only occur during the rainy season, and no classes meet then anyway so the kids can work the fields. Aside from the start-up capital needed to purchase the panel, there are no costs of running it afterward (assuming no major repairs are needed, and I’ve never heard of anything of the sort). They are readily available, even in Douentza, though I will make my purchase in Sevare, where there is a wider selection and lower prices.
So what will this do for the kids? Look at these pictures. The kids who aren’t immediately next to the windows are studying in terrible lighting. And in the evenings, the teachers are preparing by flashlight or lamplight in the dirt room next to mine. In April and May, still school months, temperatures are consistently above 100 degrees, and the students are sitting in a concrete room with 100 other kids. Even simple fans to move around the air, I have to believe that the children would learn better. Currently the school doesn’t even have an overhead projector because there’s no electricity. Their materials are limited to a blackboard and battery-operated radios.
Do these solar panels really have the power for more than lights? Well, I don’t have official statistics, but my co-worker Kirill lived and worked in a guest house in Songho, whose lights, electricity, fans, refrigerators, and air conditioning were all powered by solar energy. Solar panels could meet all of an elementary school’s needs.
This village has done so much for me, housing me for free, sharing their time and language with me, showing me nothing but kindness. Rather than leaving money or small individual gifts that are quickly unaccounted for or frittered away, I believe this solar panel has to potential to benefit the village in the long term. Even small contributions can help. So if you want to help out (and please don’t feel obligated to), let me know, and I’ll tell you what to do next. I’ll probably have my parents collect the funds and wire me the sum all at once.
If you have any suggestions or ideas, please let me know. I have next to no experience fund raising, and I don’t mean to turn my blog into a request for money, but I was really taken with this idea. Check out the photos of the village (I know the middle school looks even worse, but that is way out of my budget), send me ideas, and let me know if you’re willing to help. Thanks in advance!
That’s how Tongo-Tongo got its elementary school. M. le Maire proposed the school and was turned down five times before the government agreed to build it. And now the school director has beseeched the government as well, this time for a solar panel, since the school has no electricity. Needless to say, he was turned down.
This got me thinking: if I could give the village this solar panel for their school as a final thank you for all they have done for me, that would not only show my appreciation but would also help their children succeed, the only way the village will begin to pull itself out of poverty. Rather than give a few people a watch or a small monetary donation, I think it would be much better to give a gift that can help the village as a whole, especially its children.
However, I can’t accomplish this on my own. From my research, it seems that a good solar panel (that can power not only lights but fans and TVs and other equipment) costs anywhere between 500-1000 US dollars. My budget is only about $200. I’m not normally one to do this, but I am looking to see if anyone would be able to make a donation to help me get this solar panel for Tongo-Tongo’s elementary school.
My goal is $1000, which will cover the cost of a good solar panel and the transportation costs (almost $200) to get it there. Solar panels are widely used in Mali, and with great success. There’s certainly no shortage of sun. Cloudy days usually only occur during the rainy season, and no classes meet then anyway so the kids can work the fields. Aside from the start-up capital needed to purchase the panel, there are no costs of running it afterward (assuming no major repairs are needed, and I’ve never heard of anything of the sort). They are readily available, even in Douentza, though I will make my purchase in Sevare, where there is a wider selection and lower prices.
So what will this do for the kids? Look at these pictures. The kids who aren’t immediately next to the windows are studying in terrible lighting. And in the evenings, the teachers are preparing by flashlight or lamplight in the dirt room next to mine. In April and May, still school months, temperatures are consistently above 100 degrees, and the students are sitting in a concrete room with 100 other kids. Even simple fans to move around the air, I have to believe that the children would learn better. Currently the school doesn’t even have an overhead projector because there’s no electricity. Their materials are limited to a blackboard and battery-operated radios.
Do these solar panels really have the power for more than lights? Well, I don’t have official statistics, but my co-worker Kirill lived and worked in a guest house in Songho, whose lights, electricity, fans, refrigerators, and air conditioning were all powered by solar energy. Solar panels could meet all of an elementary school’s needs.
This village has done so much for me, housing me for free, sharing their time and language with me, showing me nothing but kindness. Rather than leaving money or small individual gifts that are quickly unaccounted for or frittered away, I believe this solar panel has to potential to benefit the village in the long term. Even small contributions can help. So if you want to help out (and please don’t feel obligated to), let me know, and I’ll tell you what to do next. I’ll probably have my parents collect the funds and wire me the sum all at once.
If you have any suggestions or ideas, please let me know. I have next to no experience fund raising, and I don’t mean to turn my blog into a request for money, but I was really taken with this idea. Check out the photos of the village (I know the middle school looks even worse, but that is way out of my budget), send me ideas, and let me know if you’re willing to help. Thanks in advance!
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Sicker, but now better?
I ended up staying at the Campagnard for about 5 hours. I ate way too much, then chatted with a Peace Corps guy and couple of tourists.
When I went back to Rosemary's house, I got a bit of work done, then realized I was feeling a bit ill. I took my temperature, and it was back up to 102. I decided that was it, it was time to go to the doctor and figure it out once and for all. This time I went by myself, since Rosemary and her husband were watching a movie and I didn't want to disturb them.
I made it back to the clinic and was ushered to the office of a different doctor. At first I was disappointed, since I'd liked the other doctor so much, but in hindsight, it's better to get a second opinion. I explained my symptoms all over again, this time including some chills, and I showed him my burn too. He didn't seem as concerned as I was hoping about the burn, but insisted I get more blood tests than the ones the day before.
The technician was great. He took two vials of blood and it barely hurt at all. While I was sitting there feverish, waiting for my results, some sketchy Libyan guy started talking to me, even though he didn't speak French or English, and he asked for my phone number. I told him I didn't have a phone, praying that no one would call me right then. He gave me his, as if I would call him so we could have great conversations. Just once, just once I would like to go to the hospital without someone trying to pick me up.
Anyhow, I got my results and took them to show the doctor. My platelets were low and my something else was up. He concluded that I probably have a bout of malaria again (even though there were no parasites), and an infection to boot. I got a prescription for anti-malarials and antibiotics (the same pharmacist wasn't there, thank god), and I went home.
I've been taking the meds for the last 24 hours now, and I'm feeling better. I still had a little fever yesterday evening, but these things don't go away instantly. The drug cocktail makes me feel a bit nauseous (not surprising), and I woke up at 4AM to dry heave last night, but hey, this time I have a real bathroom to do it in, so bring it on.
Jeremy and his brother and host family members came over in the evening yesterday to chat for a while, then I went out with Rosemary's family to Le Relax for dinner. Still feeling a bit nauseous, I just got some French onion soup that proved delicious.
In work related news, I sent Jeff the spreadsheet last night. Hurray! I'm sure there will be changes made to it between now and the indefinite future, but it's a start. And my dictionary proper is moving right along as well--down to about 100 words to edit.
When I went back to Rosemary's house, I got a bit of work done, then realized I was feeling a bit ill. I took my temperature, and it was back up to 102. I decided that was it, it was time to go to the doctor and figure it out once and for all. This time I went by myself, since Rosemary and her husband were watching a movie and I didn't want to disturb them.
I made it back to the clinic and was ushered to the office of a different doctor. At first I was disappointed, since I'd liked the other doctor so much, but in hindsight, it's better to get a second opinion. I explained my symptoms all over again, this time including some chills, and I showed him my burn too. He didn't seem as concerned as I was hoping about the burn, but insisted I get more blood tests than the ones the day before.
The technician was great. He took two vials of blood and it barely hurt at all. While I was sitting there feverish, waiting for my results, some sketchy Libyan guy started talking to me, even though he didn't speak French or English, and he asked for my phone number. I told him I didn't have a phone, praying that no one would call me right then. He gave me his, as if I would call him so we could have great conversations. Just once, just once I would like to go to the hospital without someone trying to pick me up.
Anyhow, I got my results and took them to show the doctor. My platelets were low and my something else was up. He concluded that I probably have a bout of malaria again (even though there were no parasites), and an infection to boot. I got a prescription for anti-malarials and antibiotics (the same pharmacist wasn't there, thank god), and I went home.
I've been taking the meds for the last 24 hours now, and I'm feeling better. I still had a little fever yesterday evening, but these things don't go away instantly. The drug cocktail makes me feel a bit nauseous (not surprising), and I woke up at 4AM to dry heave last night, but hey, this time I have a real bathroom to do it in, so bring it on.
Jeremy and his brother and host family members came over in the evening yesterday to chat for a while, then I went out with Rosemary's family to Le Relax for dinner. Still feeling a bit nauseous, I just got some French onion soup that proved delicious.
In work related news, I sent Jeff the spreadsheet last night. Hurray! I'm sure there will be changes made to it between now and the indefinite future, but it's a start. And my dictionary proper is moving right along as well--down to about 100 words to edit.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
New pictures (and link)
First off, check out the new pangolin link that replaced the Wikipedia one. Not that I don't love Wikipedia, but it's been up for a while, and the new site is by people who also love pangolins. So check it out.
Okay, now new photos:
Mali On My Own
More Tongo-Tongo
Okay, now new photos:
Mali On My Own
More Tongo-Tongo
Unidentifiable fevers--my favorite
It seems that travelling makes me sick. Or at least I get sick when I travel (though I’ll claim no causal connection). In any case, I’ve had a low fever (99-102 degrees) ever since I’ve gotten here. It hasn’t stopped me from getting things done, though.
But let me take it back to the beginning. After a wonderful night’s sleep on Monday night, I got up on Tuesday morning to go get my research authorization. Rosemary came with, since apparently M. Guindo, the director of the Centre National de Recherche Scientifique et Technique is her colleague. He was a charming man and got my research authorization (and by that I mean Jeff’s ) executed without any problems.
Afterwards, Rosemary and I went up to Amandine to wait for a friend of mine, a Dutch linguist named Victoria who works on Malian sign language. She’s a very bubbly and passionate person, and it’s hard to be in a bad mood around her. She came with the president of Mali’s deaf society, and she carried on almost all of the lunch conversations in both sign and English. Very impressive. She wants to mount a project to study sign languages in Dogon country, so we discussed those prospects.
After lunch, we went home and I powered through a lot of work on the dictionary. Hamed really wanted to watch a movie that evening, so we put on Willow with Rosemary’s LCD projector and watched it “big screen”. I was beginning to feel more feverish at this point, and finally took my temperature, which was over 100. I Skyped a little bit and then went to bed.
Yesterday morning, there were more errands to run. First, Rosemary and I went to the Embassy, where we both had mail waiting for us. I got three big boxes full of clothes for my villagers that took extra help to get outside and into a taxi. We went home to drop off our mail, but Mohammed wasn’t there, so we left the boxes with the neighbors and set out on foot for Amandine.
There we had another lunch date, this time with Spencer (the Fulbrighter I had yet to meet) and two Peace Corps volunteers, Tiffany and Alec. They were all extremely friendly and pleasant individuals, which made for a wonderful lunch. To top it all off, I had a banana split smothered in whipped cream. I certainly can’t find that in Douentza.
I was feeling a little feverish on the walk back and immediately hit my bed for a nap. Unfortunately, I felt no better when I got up and had a temperature of 102. That evening, I decided it was time to go to the doctor. My neck has been stiff, so I was paranoid about meningitis (though in all likelihood, the stiff neck is just due to the 12 hour bus ride).
Rosemary was kind enough to accompany me to the doctor. Neither of us had particularly high hopes for Malian clinics, but we went to the one the embassy recommended, a place called Clinique Pasteur. We were both very pleasantly surprised. The clinic was clean and nicely decorated, and the doctor, a young guy by the name of Dr. Toure, I believe, seemed very thorough and knowledgeable (and not to mention friendly—an important character trait in a doctor). I explained my symptoms (fever, fatigue, stiff neck, no problems with appetite or anything else stomach related). It turns out when he took my temperature, I no longer had a fever, but he said he’d do a blood test for malaria just to be safe. He sent me down the hall to the lab, where the technician used a nice new needle to give me a finger prick. Twenty minutes later, the technician hands me my results in a very official envelope with my name printed (as in computer printed) and everything. We took it back to the doctor, and he told me they were negative. He said the most likely cause of my fever is the heat and fatigue of working too much (which I have been doing), and prescribed me paracetamol and an anti-fatigue medicine.
He took us over to the pharmacy, where the pharmacist was sitting playing a computer game on a computer with Obama on the desktop. We got to talking about Obama, and he said something I hadn’t heard before. He said he likes and respect McCain too because he was a very gracious loser. I thought that was interesting. He spoke highly of Americans, as most people do here, which always makes you feel good. I got my medicines, and we took off. The whole visit cost me only 50 bucks (which I should get reimbursed for).
As Rosemary and I were getting into the taxi to go home, the pharmacist runs out and invites me to a party on Saturday night, “where there will be French people and we can converse”. I’m not going to go, but it was a nice invitation anyway.
I don’t know what’s up with the French and liking to drink their medicines, but my paracetamols are dissolving tablets like Alka-Seltzer, and the anti-fatigue medicine are a liquid individually packaged in little glass vials.
I colored in the picture of Moses in my Great Lawyers Coloring Book and went to bed.
This morning, I found that I still had a slight fever, though only 99.8. I took a paracetamol and set to work, finishing up the lexical spreadsheet edits. Now I just have to analyze the few problem words I recorded and I can send that off to Jeff. My dictionary is not quite at that stage, though I have less than 1000 words left. Just a day’s work.
As I was working, I decided I should check on my burn, which is taking an awfully long time to heal. Sure enough, it didn’t look real great. When Rosemary and Mohammed got back from the Embassy, she gave me some hydrogen peroxide, which sapped some of the infection out of it. I will reapply later. I was stupid to not show the wound to the doctor yesterday, but if I’m still feeling bad this evening, I’m going to go back, because the fever could be connected with the infected burn, in which case I should get some antibiotics ASAP.
In any case, I’m at Le Campagnard right now, eating a delicious pizza (after already eating a warm goat cheese toast salad) and using their wireless. It’s an expensive meal, but well worth it. Pictures will be up shortly.
But let me take it back to the beginning. After a wonderful night’s sleep on Monday night, I got up on Tuesday morning to go get my research authorization. Rosemary came with, since apparently M. Guindo, the director of the Centre National de Recherche Scientifique et Technique is her colleague. He was a charming man and got my research authorization (and by that I mean Jeff’s ) executed without any problems.
Afterwards, Rosemary and I went up to Amandine to wait for a friend of mine, a Dutch linguist named Victoria who works on Malian sign language. She’s a very bubbly and passionate person, and it’s hard to be in a bad mood around her. She came with the president of Mali’s deaf society, and she carried on almost all of the lunch conversations in both sign and English. Very impressive. She wants to mount a project to study sign languages in Dogon country, so we discussed those prospects.
After lunch, we went home and I powered through a lot of work on the dictionary. Hamed really wanted to watch a movie that evening, so we put on Willow with Rosemary’s LCD projector and watched it “big screen”. I was beginning to feel more feverish at this point, and finally took my temperature, which was over 100. I Skyped a little bit and then went to bed.
Yesterday morning, there were more errands to run. First, Rosemary and I went to the Embassy, where we both had mail waiting for us. I got three big boxes full of clothes for my villagers that took extra help to get outside and into a taxi. We went home to drop off our mail, but Mohammed wasn’t there, so we left the boxes with the neighbors and set out on foot for Amandine.
There we had another lunch date, this time with Spencer (the Fulbrighter I had yet to meet) and two Peace Corps volunteers, Tiffany and Alec. They were all extremely friendly and pleasant individuals, which made for a wonderful lunch. To top it all off, I had a banana split smothered in whipped cream. I certainly can’t find that in Douentza.
I was feeling a little feverish on the walk back and immediately hit my bed for a nap. Unfortunately, I felt no better when I got up and had a temperature of 102. That evening, I decided it was time to go to the doctor. My neck has been stiff, so I was paranoid about meningitis (though in all likelihood, the stiff neck is just due to the 12 hour bus ride).
Rosemary was kind enough to accompany me to the doctor. Neither of us had particularly high hopes for Malian clinics, but we went to the one the embassy recommended, a place called Clinique Pasteur. We were both very pleasantly surprised. The clinic was clean and nicely decorated, and the doctor, a young guy by the name of Dr. Toure, I believe, seemed very thorough and knowledgeable (and not to mention friendly—an important character trait in a doctor). I explained my symptoms (fever, fatigue, stiff neck, no problems with appetite or anything else stomach related). It turns out when he took my temperature, I no longer had a fever, but he said he’d do a blood test for malaria just to be safe. He sent me down the hall to the lab, where the technician used a nice new needle to give me a finger prick. Twenty minutes later, the technician hands me my results in a very official envelope with my name printed (as in computer printed) and everything. We took it back to the doctor, and he told me they were negative. He said the most likely cause of my fever is the heat and fatigue of working too much (which I have been doing), and prescribed me paracetamol and an anti-fatigue medicine.
He took us over to the pharmacy, where the pharmacist was sitting playing a computer game on a computer with Obama on the desktop. We got to talking about Obama, and he said something I hadn’t heard before. He said he likes and respect McCain too because he was a very gracious loser. I thought that was interesting. He spoke highly of Americans, as most people do here, which always makes you feel good. I got my medicines, and we took off. The whole visit cost me only 50 bucks (which I should get reimbursed for).
As Rosemary and I were getting into the taxi to go home, the pharmacist runs out and invites me to a party on Saturday night, “where there will be French people and we can converse”. I’m not going to go, but it was a nice invitation anyway.
I don’t know what’s up with the French and liking to drink their medicines, but my paracetamols are dissolving tablets like Alka-Seltzer, and the anti-fatigue medicine are a liquid individually packaged in little glass vials.
I colored in the picture of Moses in my Great Lawyers Coloring Book and went to bed.
This morning, I found that I still had a slight fever, though only 99.8. I took a paracetamol and set to work, finishing up the lexical spreadsheet edits. Now I just have to analyze the few problem words I recorded and I can send that off to Jeff. My dictionary is not quite at that stage, though I have less than 1000 words left. Just a day’s work.
As I was working, I decided I should check on my burn, which is taking an awfully long time to heal. Sure enough, it didn’t look real great. When Rosemary and Mohammed got back from the Embassy, she gave me some hydrogen peroxide, which sapped some of the infection out of it. I will reapply later. I was stupid to not show the wound to the doctor yesterday, but if I’m still feeling bad this evening, I’m going to go back, because the fever could be connected with the infected burn, in which case I should get some antibiotics ASAP.
In any case, I’m at Le Campagnard right now, eating a delicious pizza (after already eating a warm goat cheese toast salad) and using their wireless. It’s an expensive meal, but well worth it. Pictures will be up shortly.
Monday, February 16, 2009
In the big city
About an hour ago, I arrived safely in the modern arms of Bamako. This time, I wasn't as startled by its development. This is either because I'm used to the comings and goings or I've finally realized that Bamako just isn't developed. That being said, when I got to Rosemary's house, I took a hot shower and the whole bus ride was worth it.
The bus ride wasn't too bad. I took the Africa Tours bus, which left right out of Douentza as opposed to coming from Gao. They told me to show up at 6 AM, so at 5:30, I woke up to the sound of donkeys and roosters battling the muezzins for who was the most effective alarm clock. Salif drove me into town in the half-light of early morning, and of course, we proceeded to sit there for an hour, since no bus in Mali can actually leave on time.
At first, I was afraid it was going to be a long trip, since the bus stopped to pick up people 3 times before arriving in Sevare, regardless of the fact that there were no seats. To make matters worse, I had a mother with a two-year-old on her lap sitting next to me who would regularly spill into my space. They spoke Tommo-So, though, and while I didn't speak to them at all, I reveled in the fact of understanding some.
The bus ride went smoother from Sevare on, with fewer random stops and fewer people in the aisle. In the end, we got in about 12 hours after we left--not bad for a Malian bus ride.
Driving along the freeway in Mali, you get a very clear picture of what the social problems are. Everything few kilometers, there's a billboard against overloaded trucks, AIDS, excision, and myriad other issues. I often wonder if anyone actually does or can read them, though, if they're effective at all. Well, at least they try.
A few other tidbits from the village and Douentza. When I was there, I got my first taste of baobab fruit, "monkey bread". It's not particularly good. Hard and dry and kind of tasteless, but it felt pretty authentic eating it. Also in the village, I saw the tiniest lamb I have ever seen, a little brown and white thing scarcely bigger than my kittens (who, by the way, are back to their old chipper selves). I was able to pick it up with one hand and considered stealing it. Finally, guinea fowl always make me laugh, just from their ridiculous proportions. If you haven't seen them, do a Google image search. On my way back from the internet on Saturday, there were eight guinea fowl evely spaced up on a wall, all facing the road and all clucking furiously. I don't know what the convocation was about, but I wish I'd had my camera at that moment. It was hilarious.
Anyhow, I have many errands to run while in Bamako, which I will describe in detail tomorrow. For now, it's off to make some phone calls and go to bed.
The bus ride wasn't too bad. I took the Africa Tours bus, which left right out of Douentza as opposed to coming from Gao. They told me to show up at 6 AM, so at 5:30, I woke up to the sound of donkeys and roosters battling the muezzins for who was the most effective alarm clock. Salif drove me into town in the half-light of early morning, and of course, we proceeded to sit there for an hour, since no bus in Mali can actually leave on time.
At first, I was afraid it was going to be a long trip, since the bus stopped to pick up people 3 times before arriving in Sevare, regardless of the fact that there were no seats. To make matters worse, I had a mother with a two-year-old on her lap sitting next to me who would regularly spill into my space. They spoke Tommo-So, though, and while I didn't speak to them at all, I reveled in the fact of understanding some.
The bus ride went smoother from Sevare on, with fewer random stops and fewer people in the aisle. In the end, we got in about 12 hours after we left--not bad for a Malian bus ride.
Driving along the freeway in Mali, you get a very clear picture of what the social problems are. Everything few kilometers, there's a billboard against overloaded trucks, AIDS, excision, and myriad other issues. I often wonder if anyone actually does or can read them, though, if they're effective at all. Well, at least they try.
A few other tidbits from the village and Douentza. When I was there, I got my first taste of baobab fruit, "monkey bread". It's not particularly good. Hard and dry and kind of tasteless, but it felt pretty authentic eating it. Also in the village, I saw the tiniest lamb I have ever seen, a little brown and white thing scarcely bigger than my kittens (who, by the way, are back to their old chipper selves). I was able to pick it up with one hand and considered stealing it. Finally, guinea fowl always make me laugh, just from their ridiculous proportions. If you haven't seen them, do a Google image search. On my way back from the internet on Saturday, there were eight guinea fowl evely spaced up on a wall, all facing the road and all clucking furiously. I don't know what the convocation was about, but I wish I'd had my camera at that moment. It was hilarious.
Anyhow, I have many errands to run while in Bamako, which I will describe in detail tomorrow. For now, it's off to make some phone calls and go to bed.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Off to the big city, soon
Happy Valentine’s Day from Mali! It’s not very romantic here, let me tell you. Just another day.
This is just a quick post to say that the kitties are doing slightly better and that I probably won’t be at the internet again until I get to Bamako, insha’allah, Monday evening. Between now and then, I have a lot more dictionary editing to do, recordings to make, and bus rides to endure.
Come Bamako, there will be new photos and hopefully a dictionary to peruse.
This is just a quick post to say that the kitties are doing slightly better and that I probably won’t be at the internet again until I get to Bamako, insha’allah, Monday evening. Between now and then, I have a lot more dictionary editing to do, recordings to make, and bus rides to endure.
Come Bamako, there will be new photos and hopefully a dictionary to peruse.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Sick kitties
I’ve had better days than the ones leading up to today. Late Tuesday afternoon, I saw that my kittens were still not feeling well. Whereas before they would scamper around and nearly attack you when meal time came, now they had no interest in eating and just moped around dejectedly. I was with Phil at the time, and I decided we should go to the veterinary pharmacy down the road and see what was the matter.
I explained the situation to the man behind the counter, and he pulled out some shots they should get. His younger colleague accompanied us back to the house with them and we found the kittens. Pili was the first up. I held her while the vet went to give her the injection in her nape. At first she was fine, but then she struggled and cried so much that she freed herself from our hands and fell to the ground, the needle still in her neck, yowling and convulsing. I thought for sure she was going to die right then. The vet insisted it was okay, that the medicine was just strong, but I remained (and remain) unconvinced. She lie there in a catatonic state for a while, and even now, her back right leg doesn’t work like it used to, so she limps around. I don’t know whether she hurt her leg or she hurt her spine, but I hope it’s just the leg. Sami responded much better to the shots.
I was a mess all night, alternately blaming myself and blaming the vet (who probably doesn’t know anything about small animals, only livestock) for what happened, but generally just feeling miserable about the state of small animals in my house. Phil tried to convince me that it would be okay, that when I came back from the village, Pili would be back to normal. I tried my best to believe it.
The next morning at 7, Minkailou and I set off for Tongo-Tongo. We took his (Jeff’s) Yamaha DT that used to be with Kirill. It’s a much more powerful dirt bike than my Star. We made it to the base of the cliff in good time and found the valley carpeted with greenery—fields of onions, garlic and tobacco interspersed with overburdened papaya and banana trees. And it smelled amazing.
We got to the village around 10 AM and the usual slow trickle of villagers noticing I’m there began. Ramata’s mother brought us lunch, and afterwards M. le Maire took me on a tour of the village, showing me various things we’d discussed while working on the dictionary. We walked by two men weaving cotton cloth with an old-fashioned loom, down a little alley where women were spinning cotton thread, into a courtyard with niches built into the wall called ‘sinuge’ (see-noo-gay), and finally over to M. le Maire’s mother’s house. We ducked through the low doorway into the dark room filled to the brim with calabashes and buckets and sacks of who knows what. As soon as I was seated on the mud-brick bed, M. le Maire procured the millet beer. I was sitting in the middle of the millet beer factory, essentially.
We talked and drank and then M. le Maire’s 3-year-old daughter Jumare, the cutest kid in the world, came in and sat by me. I wasn’t sure if I was appalled or amused when M. le Maire gave Juma a small calabash of millet beer. How very Dogon.
After we left there, he showed me the new cereal bank that they’d just built and we stopped by a group of men splitting stone bricks with mallet and chisel. Our final stop was the mayor’s office, where he wrote up a birth certificate for someone, even though he’s not the mayor.
I am so impressed by M. le Maire. He constantly is working to help his village, writing petition after petition to the government for schools and other projects, working as the village doctor of sorts, taking care of his family, helping me, and doing official duties all at once. But what is most remarkable of all is his humility. The man for whom he was writing the birth certificate called him a doctor, and M. le Maire simply replied, “I’m not a doctor. I’m a farmer.”
I spent most of the afternoon after that reading ‘Three Cups of Tea’ and feeling inspired. I talked to some little kids for a while in broken Tommo-So, which was cute. The rest of the day progressed slowly until I went to bed around 9:30 and slept wonderfully.
As usual, animals like to stop in front of my door specifically to make whatever announcements they have to make. That morning, it was an over-zealous rooster who was particularly excited about it being morning. I lay in bed and dreamed of KFC.
After breakfast, M. le Maire came with the old man so we could find the last words we hadn’t found in Douentza. I love watching the old man talk, and I wish I could just pick his brain. He was born around 1920 and was already 40 when Mali gained its independence. He very nearly predates Islam in the area, which is a recent addition in Dogon country. He must know so much.
M. le Maire himself was leaving that day for a funeral in Ibisa, and all the work I have to do requires my computer now, so Minkailou and I decided to just hit the road. We left after lunch and made it to the cliff around 3. Rounding the corner, the smell of onions and garlic hits you before you even see the fields. Once on the ground, those scents mingled with the musky smell of tobacco and damp earth. On our trip back, we passed a man working in his fields who flagged us over and gave us 10 huge tomatoes, just because. As always, I am amazed by the generosity of those who have so little.
I was hoping to find my kittens bounding about playfully when I got back, but I’m afraid there was no change in their condition. Pili was still limping and neither of them were particularly energetic. Pili will eat little pieces of meat now, but Sami is still not eating. I threw my bag in my room and called Oumar to go with me to the vet, the actual vet I had heard of, not the pharmacy.
I bundled my kittens in a sweater and got on the back of the motorcycle with them. We found the place, again mainly for livestock because no one cares about small animals here, and went in. It turned out that the boss there is actually the boss of the pharmacy, so he told us we needed to go back there and try to sort it out with them first, and only if they couldn’t do anything would he intervene. Discouraged, we went back to the pharmacy, and it was the same guy there who had given my cats their shots.
I told him the cats were not better and if anything worse. He smugly told me that it was I who requested to stop the shots (which I did, it was supposed to be a series of 3, but I didn’t want him anywhere near my kittens after that), and I sort of let him have it about messing up Pili. Basically, I was a wreck, trying to keep my cool but not doing a good job of it. He assured me that it would be okay, that Pili was limping because she’s small and she fell and she’ll get better, and we need to resume the treatment. Seeing no other option, I consented and went out front to wait for the shots to be over. While fuming outside, some other guy, maybe affiliated with the vet, kept trying to talk to me about how much I liked my cats and about how he used to catch and eat cats as a kid. Thank you, sir, that makes me feel much better right now.
While pacing, I sauntered up to my motorcycle and burned the hell out of my leg on the motor. I was in the most terrible of moods when I got back to the house, feeling generally awful about my cats. Luckily, Braxton, another PCV, got into town yesterday with his family, and he invited me out for a couple beers. It was just what I needed, and by the end of the night, when Antony also showed up, I was in a perfectly fine mood.
Today, the kittens might be slightly better. Pili is still limping, but she’s eating a bit, and for the first time in days, she played a little bit. Sami is still the same, not eating, but drinking milk at least. They’re both incredibly needy and want to be next to me all the time, which is fine by me. I just wish I could make them feel better and that Mali had real vets for small animals.
I explained the situation to the man behind the counter, and he pulled out some shots they should get. His younger colleague accompanied us back to the house with them and we found the kittens. Pili was the first up. I held her while the vet went to give her the injection in her nape. At first she was fine, but then she struggled and cried so much that she freed herself from our hands and fell to the ground, the needle still in her neck, yowling and convulsing. I thought for sure she was going to die right then. The vet insisted it was okay, that the medicine was just strong, but I remained (and remain) unconvinced. She lie there in a catatonic state for a while, and even now, her back right leg doesn’t work like it used to, so she limps around. I don’t know whether she hurt her leg or she hurt her spine, but I hope it’s just the leg. Sami responded much better to the shots.
I was a mess all night, alternately blaming myself and blaming the vet (who probably doesn’t know anything about small animals, only livestock) for what happened, but generally just feeling miserable about the state of small animals in my house. Phil tried to convince me that it would be okay, that when I came back from the village, Pili would be back to normal. I tried my best to believe it.
The next morning at 7, Minkailou and I set off for Tongo-Tongo. We took his (Jeff’s) Yamaha DT that used to be with Kirill. It’s a much more powerful dirt bike than my Star. We made it to the base of the cliff in good time and found the valley carpeted with greenery—fields of onions, garlic and tobacco interspersed with overburdened papaya and banana trees. And it smelled amazing.
We got to the village around 10 AM and the usual slow trickle of villagers noticing I’m there began. Ramata’s mother brought us lunch, and afterwards M. le Maire took me on a tour of the village, showing me various things we’d discussed while working on the dictionary. We walked by two men weaving cotton cloth with an old-fashioned loom, down a little alley where women were spinning cotton thread, into a courtyard with niches built into the wall called ‘sinuge’ (see-noo-gay), and finally over to M. le Maire’s mother’s house. We ducked through the low doorway into the dark room filled to the brim with calabashes and buckets and sacks of who knows what. As soon as I was seated on the mud-brick bed, M. le Maire procured the millet beer. I was sitting in the middle of the millet beer factory, essentially.
We talked and drank and then M. le Maire’s 3-year-old daughter Jumare, the cutest kid in the world, came in and sat by me. I wasn’t sure if I was appalled or amused when M. le Maire gave Juma a small calabash of millet beer. How very Dogon.
After we left there, he showed me the new cereal bank that they’d just built and we stopped by a group of men splitting stone bricks with mallet and chisel. Our final stop was the mayor’s office, where he wrote up a birth certificate for someone, even though he’s not the mayor.
I am so impressed by M. le Maire. He constantly is working to help his village, writing petition after petition to the government for schools and other projects, working as the village doctor of sorts, taking care of his family, helping me, and doing official duties all at once. But what is most remarkable of all is his humility. The man for whom he was writing the birth certificate called him a doctor, and M. le Maire simply replied, “I’m not a doctor. I’m a farmer.”
I spent most of the afternoon after that reading ‘Three Cups of Tea’ and feeling inspired. I talked to some little kids for a while in broken Tommo-So, which was cute. The rest of the day progressed slowly until I went to bed around 9:30 and slept wonderfully.
As usual, animals like to stop in front of my door specifically to make whatever announcements they have to make. That morning, it was an over-zealous rooster who was particularly excited about it being morning. I lay in bed and dreamed of KFC.
After breakfast, M. le Maire came with the old man so we could find the last words we hadn’t found in Douentza. I love watching the old man talk, and I wish I could just pick his brain. He was born around 1920 and was already 40 when Mali gained its independence. He very nearly predates Islam in the area, which is a recent addition in Dogon country. He must know so much.
M. le Maire himself was leaving that day for a funeral in Ibisa, and all the work I have to do requires my computer now, so Minkailou and I decided to just hit the road. We left after lunch and made it to the cliff around 3. Rounding the corner, the smell of onions and garlic hits you before you even see the fields. Once on the ground, those scents mingled with the musky smell of tobacco and damp earth. On our trip back, we passed a man working in his fields who flagged us over and gave us 10 huge tomatoes, just because. As always, I am amazed by the generosity of those who have so little.
I was hoping to find my kittens bounding about playfully when I got back, but I’m afraid there was no change in their condition. Pili was still limping and neither of them were particularly energetic. Pili will eat little pieces of meat now, but Sami is still not eating. I threw my bag in my room and called Oumar to go with me to the vet, the actual vet I had heard of, not the pharmacy.
I bundled my kittens in a sweater and got on the back of the motorcycle with them. We found the place, again mainly for livestock because no one cares about small animals here, and went in. It turned out that the boss there is actually the boss of the pharmacy, so he told us we needed to go back there and try to sort it out with them first, and only if they couldn’t do anything would he intervene. Discouraged, we went back to the pharmacy, and it was the same guy there who had given my cats their shots.
I told him the cats were not better and if anything worse. He smugly told me that it was I who requested to stop the shots (which I did, it was supposed to be a series of 3, but I didn’t want him anywhere near my kittens after that), and I sort of let him have it about messing up Pili. Basically, I was a wreck, trying to keep my cool but not doing a good job of it. He assured me that it would be okay, that Pili was limping because she’s small and she fell and she’ll get better, and we need to resume the treatment. Seeing no other option, I consented and went out front to wait for the shots to be over. While fuming outside, some other guy, maybe affiliated with the vet, kept trying to talk to me about how much I liked my cats and about how he used to catch and eat cats as a kid. Thank you, sir, that makes me feel much better right now.
While pacing, I sauntered up to my motorcycle and burned the hell out of my leg on the motor. I was in the most terrible of moods when I got back to the house, feeling generally awful about my cats. Luckily, Braxton, another PCV, got into town yesterday with his family, and he invited me out for a couple beers. It was just what I needed, and by the end of the night, when Antony also showed up, I was in a perfectly fine mood.
Today, the kittens might be slightly better. Pili is still limping, but she’s eating a bit, and for the first time in days, she played a little bit. Sami is still the same, not eating, but drinking milk at least. They’re both incredibly needy and want to be next to me all the time, which is fine by me. I just wish I could make them feel better and that Mali had real vets for small animals.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Night walks
Tomorrow, I’m off to the village for a couple of days. As usual, I’m dreading it, but it’s more the overcoming the inertia of being in Douentza than actually being there. I have a game plan of what I need to do when I’m there and a good book to read, so I’ll be fine. More than anything, I don’t really want to be separated from my computer, because then I can’t make any progress editing the dictionary (even though I’m going to the village to get some words for the dictionary). Now I get anxious if I’m not working on it. It’s over half edited now, and a lot of my Bamako time will be working on it still, but I just want it to be done so I can move on to something new.
Last night after dinner, Phil and I went for a walk. We walked out of town down a path with crumbling bridges and deep sand pits, past fields that smelled remarkably like French fries, and down to the city’s water tower. The moon was full, so we didn’t even need flashlights. It was really peaceful. A cool wind was blowing and all around us a chorus of some unknown night creature beeped like a dozen time bombs waiting to go off. It was nice to go for a leisurely stroll without children screaming “toubab” at you or motorcycles nearly taking you down at every turn.
I’ll be back on Friday with stories. Hopefully good ones.
Last night after dinner, Phil and I went for a walk. We walked out of town down a path with crumbling bridges and deep sand pits, past fields that smelled remarkably like French fries, and down to the city’s water tower. The moon was full, so we didn’t even need flashlights. It was really peaceful. A cool wind was blowing and all around us a chorus of some unknown night creature beeped like a dozen time bombs waiting to go off. It was nice to go for a leisurely stroll without children screaming “toubab” at you or motorcycles nearly taking you down at every turn.
I’ll be back on Friday with stories. Hopefully good ones.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Posh corps
I had a fun weekend with the Peace Corps folk this weekend. But first, Saturday afternoon, I went over to Nicolas’s house for lunch. He cooked a delicious meal of fish with vegetables and homemade tomato sauce. Whatever his French organization is called has a really nice house (by Douentza standards). It has a kitchen with a sink and an actual bathroom! Anyhow, we hung out for a little while, then I headed off to the internet.
There, I ran into Phil, who said that Dave and Dan, the new guy, had just gotten into town, so I headed over to their house. Dan is replacing Derek, a volunteer who went home, in Boni, so he officially belongs to our Douentza crew. He’s a nice guy. His self-described interests are “rock climbing and drinking beer.” We hung out for a little bit, then I went home to get some work done before meeting up with them again for dinner and drinks. They all collectively like Oumar, so we invited him out with us for some beers.
It was extremely windy and dusty on Saturday, but luckily, it brought some cooler air with it. I was all settled in for a great night’s sleep when I woke up at 3:30 in the morning and threw up everything I’d eaten that day. Maybe the fish didn’t sit right. I felt fine afterwards and went back to sleep.
Sunday came around and I achieved some work in the morning. After lunch, I braved the market to make it to the Peace Corps house to see if they were there. (The phone network was so bad that I couldn’t get in touch with anyone.) Indeed they were, and Dave had just gotten a DVD from home that he wanted to watch, and I’m the only one with electricity or a computer (because I’m part of the Posh Corps). Consequently, we all caravanned back across the market to my house and watched Appaloosa, some old west movie with Viggo Mortensen (however you spell his name). It was surprisingly good.
We hung out for the rest of the day, drinking beer and playing ladder ball, until I went home at around 9. I wanted to get work done, but I was exhausted, and just read some of my book and went to sleep.
Dave and Dan left today to go to Senegal, but Phil’s still around. I’ll go say hi after this. I’ll probably be going to the village on Wednesday and then to Bamako on Monday. Hard to believe it’s almost the middle of February.
There, I ran into Phil, who said that Dave and Dan, the new guy, had just gotten into town, so I headed over to their house. Dan is replacing Derek, a volunteer who went home, in Boni, so he officially belongs to our Douentza crew. He’s a nice guy. His self-described interests are “rock climbing and drinking beer.” We hung out for a little bit, then I went home to get some work done before meeting up with them again for dinner and drinks. They all collectively like Oumar, so we invited him out with us for some beers.
It was extremely windy and dusty on Saturday, but luckily, it brought some cooler air with it. I was all settled in for a great night’s sleep when I woke up at 3:30 in the morning and threw up everything I’d eaten that day. Maybe the fish didn’t sit right. I felt fine afterwards and went back to sleep.
Sunday came around and I achieved some work in the morning. After lunch, I braved the market to make it to the Peace Corps house to see if they were there. (The phone network was so bad that I couldn’t get in touch with anyone.) Indeed they were, and Dave had just gotten a DVD from home that he wanted to watch, and I’m the only one with electricity or a computer (because I’m part of the Posh Corps). Consequently, we all caravanned back across the market to my house and watched Appaloosa, some old west movie with Viggo Mortensen (however you spell his name). It was surprisingly good.
We hung out for the rest of the day, drinking beer and playing ladder ball, until I went home at around 9. I wanted to get work done, but I was exhausted, and just read some of my book and went to sleep.
Dave and Dan left today to go to Senegal, but Phil’s still around. I’ll go say hi after this. I’ll probably be going to the village on Wednesday and then to Bamako on Monday. Hard to believe it’s almost the middle of February.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Back to steamy nights...
Last night, it was hot. It was hot in that way I’d forgotten about, that heat that crushes you as you lie in bed praying for sleep. And the worst part about it is that I know it’s only going to get worse. I’m still hoping that the rest of February won’t be this bad, that maybe this is a simple heat spell, but I’m losing faith in that fantasy. And then of course my kittens performed their daily morning race around my room, waking me up at 7.
The work on the dictionary is going faster now that I’ve gotten into a groove. I’m feeling more positive about it in general, taking time to feel proud of what I’ve done as opposed to beating myself up about inevitable mistakes.
The garden is looking great here. We have more things growing than I even knew about. Of course, the lettuce is in great shape and I’ve been eating all the salad I can stomach, but then we have one papaya well on its way, a few tomatoes, some little cabbages, some corn sprouts, and Oumar just planted carrots. I enjoy watching the garden—I wish I could have one when I go home. I guess when my cowry-fortune comes true and I become a “boss,” I’ll get a house with a big yard and plant all sorts of good stuff. And in the meantime, I can at least more regularly attend farmers’ markets. Mali is just one big farmers’ market.
The work on the dictionary is going faster now that I’ve gotten into a groove. I’m feeling more positive about it in general, taking time to feel proud of what I’ve done as opposed to beating myself up about inevitable mistakes.
The garden is looking great here. We have more things growing than I even knew about. Of course, the lettuce is in great shape and I’ve been eating all the salad I can stomach, but then we have one papaya well on its way, a few tomatoes, some little cabbages, some corn sprouts, and Oumar just planted carrots. I enjoy watching the garden—I wish I could have one when I go home. I guess when my cowry-fortune comes true and I become a “boss,” I’ll get a house with a big yard and plant all sorts of good stuff. And in the meantime, I can at least more regularly attend farmers’ markets. Mali is just one big farmers’ market.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Editing is a slow, painful process
As planned, Dave and I went out to dinner with his boss on Monday night. I was more physically exhausted than I could ever remember being, too tired to even take a nap, but I made myself get up and go. I’m glad I did. Mike was extremely nice and the food was the best I’ve had since I left Bamako. It was my first time eating at one of the tourist places in Douentza, and it turns out, they’re not bad. Pumpkin or squash soup, rice with some meaty sauce, fresh papaya coated in sugar and orange juice... plus Mike brought a bottle of wine. All in all, it was a great night.
I was so sore yesterday I could hardly move, and today is not a whole lot better. Since it’s just me again in Douentza, yesterday was pretty low-key. I finished my jigsaw puzzle (except for one piece in the dead center that just happens to be part of Minnesota. I think Sami carried it away somewhere), starting editing my dictionary, took a nap, and made a salad. The dictionary editing is much slower than I was expecting. It’s very tedious, but I’m looking forward to the final product.
My kittens continue to be total terrors. Like clockwork, around 7 every morning, they wake up and start tearing around my room at lightning speed, knocking things over, clawing up my mosquito net, crunching over plastic bags, etc. They are awfully cute, but we are just not on the same energy page at that time in the morning.
I was so sore yesterday I could hardly move, and today is not a whole lot better. Since it’s just me again in Douentza, yesterday was pretty low-key. I finished my jigsaw puzzle (except for one piece in the dead center that just happens to be part of Minnesota. I think Sami carried it away somewhere), starting editing my dictionary, took a nap, and made a salad. The dictionary editing is much slower than I was expecting. It’s very tedious, but I’m looking forward to the final product.
My kittens continue to be total terrors. Like clockwork, around 7 every morning, they wake up and start tearing around my room at lightning speed, knocking things over, clawing up my mosquito net, crunching over plastic bags, etc. They are awfully cute, but we are just not on the same energy page at that time in the morning.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Cliffs and salsa
This weekend ushered in February, and it ushered it in well. Saturday, I finished the elicitation for the dictionary. It was such a load off of my shoulders. That night, I bought beers for M. le Maire, Oumar and Dave, and we celebrated its completion. Market day rolled around, and I didn’t have to get out of bed at 7:20. Unfortunately, I’ve now been programmed to do that, so I woke up then anyway, but I lay in bed and didn’t worry about having to be anywhere.
In the morning, I realized I had a few more words to look for that Jeff had added after the fact, so I did that. I started to get a hankering to make salsa, so Dave and I went to the market and picked up the goods. I made two kinds—regular and mango—and that night, I shredded some chicken, mixed in taco seasoning Dave had, bought some beans and lettuce, and had a veritable taco salad. It was extremely delicious. Unfortunately, such a supply of vegetables is not going to last much longer. Once cold season is over (and it basically is), the vegetables dwindle back down to next to nothing, namely little onions (shallots) and cabbage.
This morning, M. le Maire went back to the village, so Dave and I decided to get out of Douentza and do something fun. I drove us up to a village called Bota (Mbota?), ten kilometers up the road to Timbuktu. The village is situated at the bottom of these rocky spires, the faces of which rise up at a 90 degree angle to the ground like someone just came and sliced them off. There are rocky debris fields around them, though, so we went to climb up. Dave had done it before and is quite a rock climber, so he scampered up the rocks like it was his job, leaving me wheezing and stumbling behind him.
The first part of the ascent was just a steep rocky hill, which then gave way to bigger rocks and tall grasses that were generous with their burrs. After that, it got woody and the boulders got bigger, so that much more climbing and much less walking was involved. At the end, I was frankly quite scared of falling to my death, since if you took a wrong turn and somehow fell, it was a straight drop hundreds of meters down.
But I did not fall and am here to tell about it. We climbed around a ledge on the face of the cliff where you can see all of the plains and Douentza stretching out flat and barren below you. Whereas a city in America would be distinguished from the surroundings by buildings or clear roads, you pick out Douentza because it has more trees than anywhere else—you can’t even see the buildings. I could see all the way across and onto the plateau behind Douentza, where presumably my village is located. It was a breathtaking view, quite worth the strenuous climb.
After that, we started to head back and stopped in a shady crevice for lunch: peanut butter (real Jiffy PB from the US) and banana sandwiches. After so much physical activity, it tasted delicious. I was dying of exhaustion on the way back, my legs screaming at me for doing something other than sitting around working on linguistics. On top of that, the shady side of the cliff was now the other side, so we had to stumble down a rocky slope with no shade whatsoever.
I just got back before this and took the most satisfying bucket bath of my life. The silver lining to cold season ending is that bathing is pleasant again. That’s about it, though. I guess the Peace Corps boss is in town tonight, and I get to bum along and get a free dinner. I’m not complaining.
In the morning, I realized I had a few more words to look for that Jeff had added after the fact, so I did that. I started to get a hankering to make salsa, so Dave and I went to the market and picked up the goods. I made two kinds—regular and mango—and that night, I shredded some chicken, mixed in taco seasoning Dave had, bought some beans and lettuce, and had a veritable taco salad. It was extremely delicious. Unfortunately, such a supply of vegetables is not going to last much longer. Once cold season is over (and it basically is), the vegetables dwindle back down to next to nothing, namely little onions (shallots) and cabbage.
This morning, M. le Maire went back to the village, so Dave and I decided to get out of Douentza and do something fun. I drove us up to a village called Bota (Mbota?), ten kilometers up the road to Timbuktu. The village is situated at the bottom of these rocky spires, the faces of which rise up at a 90 degree angle to the ground like someone just came and sliced them off. There are rocky debris fields around them, though, so we went to climb up. Dave had done it before and is quite a rock climber, so he scampered up the rocks like it was his job, leaving me wheezing and stumbling behind him.
The first part of the ascent was just a steep rocky hill, which then gave way to bigger rocks and tall grasses that were generous with their burrs. After that, it got woody and the boulders got bigger, so that much more climbing and much less walking was involved. At the end, I was frankly quite scared of falling to my death, since if you took a wrong turn and somehow fell, it was a straight drop hundreds of meters down.
But I did not fall and am here to tell about it. We climbed around a ledge on the face of the cliff where you can see all of the plains and Douentza stretching out flat and barren below you. Whereas a city in America would be distinguished from the surroundings by buildings or clear roads, you pick out Douentza because it has more trees than anywhere else—you can’t even see the buildings. I could see all the way across and onto the plateau behind Douentza, where presumably my village is located. It was a breathtaking view, quite worth the strenuous climb.
After that, we started to head back and stopped in a shady crevice for lunch: peanut butter (real Jiffy PB from the US) and banana sandwiches. After so much physical activity, it tasted delicious. I was dying of exhaustion on the way back, my legs screaming at me for doing something other than sitting around working on linguistics. On top of that, the shady side of the cliff was now the other side, so we had to stumble down a rocky slope with no shade whatsoever.
I just got back before this and took the most satisfying bucket bath of my life. The silver lining to cold season ending is that bathing is pleasant again. That’s about it, though. I guess the Peace Corps boss is in town tonight, and I get to bum along and get a free dinner. I’m not complaining.
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