Last day of March. Starting tomorrow, I can say, “I’m going home next month.” That will be good. I’m not miserable or anything, but I’ve just had my fill for now. I’m feeling stagnant. I need a change of scenery. But I’ll be off to my village on Thursday, and then back on the weekend, then next week my colleague Steve will be arriving in Mali. I may go to Mopti that weekend or Ngouma, but in any case, I’ll be moving around, doing things.
Yesterday was a good cultural integration day. I worked for a little bit in the morning with Ramata, went to the internet, then ate lunch with Ramata. A couple hours later, Ashley came over, and the three of us (Ramata, Ashley and I) started walking over to my jewelry friend Fatimata’s house. We crossed her en route. She was all dolled up in her finest, a flowing white boubou and big gold jewelry, looking even more beautiful than she usually is. Apparently there had been a wedding.
She walked the rest of the way back with us, instantly greeting Ashley in that warm way only Fatimata knows how to do. And the bits of Fulfulde I had learned were already coming in useful. I could already talk to her more.
When we got to her house, she ushered us into her bedroom, then brought us food on her finest plates and gave us ice water out of little tea cups. We were indeed the guests of honor. The four of us plus her little sister or someone hung out in there for a while, speaking a mix of English, French, and Fulfulde, but generally making ourselves understood. Fatimata is a riot. She just sat around in her bra for most of the time, totally casual. Then at one point, she went over to her little armoire and pulled out a vial of something, and before we knew it, she was sticking her fingers in Ashley’s armpits, rubbing this fragrant paste in there. Then it was my turn. I don’t know if we smelled bad or she just wanted to show us the stuff. In some way or another, she explained that she puts this stuff on everyday, otherwise she doesn’t smell good. It was fairly hilarious, this beautiful Malian woman in her bra sticking her fingers in the armpits of a woman she’d just met. In line with her usual generosity, she gave Ashley a woven pot cover, since Ashley’s Malian last name is Sankare and apparently the Sankares have been making such pot covers for as long as anyone can remember.
After hanging out a while longer, we got up to go home. I’m going to try to start going to her house more often, since she has such good vibes and she forces me to speak Fulfulde.
On our way back home, we took a swing through the market, and I bought some white eyelet lace fabric to make a sundress. Ashley had to go to work, but Ramata and I brought it over to my tailor. Hopefully he’ll understand my drawing, but he’s been pretty good before.
At sundown, I hopped on my moto and went up to the highway to buy some sheep meat. I think I’m pretty anemic here, and I was craving meat. I went to the butcher that Dave knows, who also speaks Tommo-So. We conducted the entire transaction in a combination of Tommo and Fulfulde. (“I don't like fat.” “Okay, do you want bones?” “Yes, some bones are okay.”) I took the little pile of meat, wrapped in brown paper, over to Ashley’s house to share. We ate it all (save for the rogue fat bits), then headed to our favorite restaurant for our obligatory salad and plantains. Finally, we rounded off the meal with a bottle of cold, delicious yogurt. It was one of the more satisfying meals I can remember.
I finished my chef book yesterday and am now reading “Monique and the Mango Rains”, written by an ex- Mali Peace Corps volunteer. It’s a compelling story, well written, and captures the feel of Mali really well. So if any of you wonder what village life is like, it would be a good book to read.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Camels in the desert heat
I spent a rather long time in the market yesterday. A couple hours, at least, which, given the intensity of the surroundings, is quite a while. Ashley came over to my house looking frazzled around 11. It was her first time in Douentza market, and she did it alone to get to my house. Luckily, I had just made some ice water in my new pitcher, so she could cool down. The plan was to go out together and see the animals, as mentioned yesterday.
We left shortly thereafter, and I surprised myself with how well I had gotten to know the Douentza market. “This is the kola nut corner, this is where you can find Fulani wedding blankets, this boutique always has plastic products, even on non-market day,” etc. We went fabric shopping a little bit too. She wanted to get a couple wrap skirts and I’m on the hunt from white eyelet to make a sun dress. The day before, she’d lent me a really good Fulfulde book, which I started pouring through. I felt vindicated, since already, I could carry on small conversations in the market. I’m of the impression that people give you better prices when you speak their language.
I didn’t find quite what I was looking for, but Ashley got a couple of fabrics. As we were leaving a cloth boutique, we ran into Nicolas and his friend David, he apparently had swung by my house to drop off my (Dave’s) tortilla pan. We went the rest of it together.
We stopped at Ashley’s house to eat a little bit before going to the animal market. Then as a treat afterwards, we introduced Nicolas to the Phenomenal Yogurt. He had the initial reaction that most do: wordless bliss. When he finally spoke, he said, “To think of all that time I wasted not drinking this yogurt.” My thoughts exactly.
David split off from the rest of us, since he had something else to do. Nicolas grabbed his moto and went ahead of us with a random little Malian kid towards the animal market. When we got close, I could make out the sandy silhouettes of camels in the distance. I pointed them out to Ashley, but she couldn’t see them yet. Finally, she saw the group of 12 or so camels seated across the sandy field and got positively giddy. And I thought I got happy about camels.
We walked up to them and examined them, looking like permanently smiling furry dinosaurs or a flock of mammalian flamingos when seated. I explained their floppy lips, their squishy feet, and their impressive chest callous that keeps their body off the hot sand when lying down. She wanted to ride one, but didn’t have her camera, so maybe we’ll go back next week. Also notable at the animal market was a bull with the largest horns I had ever seen in my life. Each one had to be between 2 and 3 feet long. Not a bull you want to make mad.
I wanted to find a mortar and pestle in the market, but after scouring the back alleys, calabash row, the bean corner, to no avail, I gave up and went home. I took another bucket bath and lay around in front of the fan making Fulfulde flashcards for the rest of the afternoon.
In the evening, I joined Ashley and we went to get salads at our usual restaurant (where they make the Phenomenal Yogurt, the PY, if you will). I got mine with fried plantains and a little bit of beans. Delicious, nutritious, and filling.
Last night, I thought I would try and even out the temperature inside and outside of my room before bed by closing the door and cranking the AC for a while. When it got to feeling like an ice cave, I looked at my new thermometer. 87 degrees. I opened the door to go to the bathroom and I was hit with a hot blast of air, meaning it had to be at least 90 degrees at 11PM at night. In the desert. Which, by further deduction, means it must be 100 plus during the day. Ah yes, I will be glad to go home.
We left shortly thereafter, and I surprised myself with how well I had gotten to know the Douentza market. “This is the kola nut corner, this is where you can find Fulani wedding blankets, this boutique always has plastic products, even on non-market day,” etc. We went fabric shopping a little bit too. She wanted to get a couple wrap skirts and I’m on the hunt from white eyelet to make a sun dress. The day before, she’d lent me a really good Fulfulde book, which I started pouring through. I felt vindicated, since already, I could carry on small conversations in the market. I’m of the impression that people give you better prices when you speak their language.
I didn’t find quite what I was looking for, but Ashley got a couple of fabrics. As we were leaving a cloth boutique, we ran into Nicolas and his friend David, he apparently had swung by my house to drop off my (Dave’s) tortilla pan. We went the rest of it together.
We stopped at Ashley’s house to eat a little bit before going to the animal market. Then as a treat afterwards, we introduced Nicolas to the Phenomenal Yogurt. He had the initial reaction that most do: wordless bliss. When he finally spoke, he said, “To think of all that time I wasted not drinking this yogurt.” My thoughts exactly.
David split off from the rest of us, since he had something else to do. Nicolas grabbed his moto and went ahead of us with a random little Malian kid towards the animal market. When we got close, I could make out the sandy silhouettes of camels in the distance. I pointed them out to Ashley, but she couldn’t see them yet. Finally, she saw the group of 12 or so camels seated across the sandy field and got positively giddy. And I thought I got happy about camels.
We walked up to them and examined them, looking like permanently smiling furry dinosaurs or a flock of mammalian flamingos when seated. I explained their floppy lips, their squishy feet, and their impressive chest callous that keeps their body off the hot sand when lying down. She wanted to ride one, but didn’t have her camera, so maybe we’ll go back next week. Also notable at the animal market was a bull with the largest horns I had ever seen in my life. Each one had to be between 2 and 3 feet long. Not a bull you want to make mad.
I wanted to find a mortar and pestle in the market, but after scouring the back alleys, calabash row, the bean corner, to no avail, I gave up and went home. I took another bucket bath and lay around in front of the fan making Fulfulde flashcards for the rest of the afternoon.
In the evening, I joined Ashley and we went to get salads at our usual restaurant (where they make the Phenomenal Yogurt, the PY, if you will). I got mine with fried plantains and a little bit of beans. Delicious, nutritious, and filling.
Last night, I thought I would try and even out the temperature inside and outside of my room before bed by closing the door and cranking the AC for a while. When it got to feeling like an ice cave, I looked at my new thermometer. 87 degrees. I opened the door to go to the bathroom and I was hit with a hot blast of air, meaning it had to be at least 90 degrees at 11PM at night. In the desert. Which, by further deduction, means it must be 100 plus during the day. Ah yes, I will be glad to go home.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Taco night
Taco night was a success last night. We showed up at Nicolas’s house around 7:30, and I promptly got to work chopping vegetables for the salsa. Shortly after we arrived, a Malian man came over, whom Nicolas appeared to know. It took me a second to realize that something was a little off with him.
It turns out, he’s deaf and Dogon, a combination my Dutch linguist friend will be excited to learn about. He stayed over and ate with the three of us, a French guy with some English, an American girl with some French, and me bridging the two. Despite communication gaps, we all had a very fun dinner, full of laughter, gestures, and of course, tacos.
Reading this book makes me want to do nothing but cook. But it is also a cruel tease, as it talks about braised quail with steamed brussel sprouts and whipped potatoes and all sorts of other delicacies I can’t find here. At the very least, it’s making me excited to go home.
Yesterday was full of small victories (the most that you can hope for here, since, on the whole, Mali always wins). For starters, I finally brought my bucket-and-pitcher scheme into fruition. I had always been frustrated by having to go out and brush my teeth at the common spigot outside in the morning and not having any place to wash my hands in my room. So I decided to get a pitcher, a bucket and a cup: Mali’s modern answer to the old chamber pot system (minus using them for the bathroom). It has proved terrific so far.
Second, my flashlight stopped working, so I went to the boutique to get a new one. The guy there doesn’t speak hardly any French, so I had to Fulfulde my way through it, and I still managed to bargain him down from 1000 with no batteries included to 1000 with batteries. Plus five for Laura.
I know I had more small victories, but they elude me now. In any case, it was positive.
Bureima, Ramata’s brother, came into town yesterday evening, so I got the news on the Ondom Piri, the festival that will be happening in the village. Apparently it starts on Tuesday, and then dancing goes on every 2 or 3 days for approximately two Dogon weeks (10 days). Unfortunately for filming, most of the dancing happens at night, except on the final day, but I will want to be back in Douentza and in cell phone network then, since my colleague will be arriving in Mali. Ramata is planning on going Tuesday, then Oumar and I will go out on Thursday for a couple of nights of millet beer, feasting (on millet?) and dancing, coming back on Saturday. It will be my last time spending the night there.
I will go out, of course, one more time at the beginning of May to electrify the school. The estimates I got from the electrician in Sevare are as follows:
Solar panel 175,000 ($350)
Battery 120,000 ($240)
Converter 60,000 ($120)
That comes to 255,000, or about $510. Add to that the cost of renting a car to get everything there, which will be nearly $200, the cost of 6 light fixtures, 6 fans, and wiring, and then the cost of an electrician to mount the whole thing, and I should be right about on budget of $1000. I’m going to get a second estimate from an electrician in Douentza to compare, but I’m feeling very positive.
Market day is tomorrow, and Ashley wants to go see the animal market and see the camels. I actually haven’t graced the animal market yet myself (despite being quite the animal husbandsman), so it should be fun, albeit intense. Lots and lots of camels. I do love livestock.
It turns out, he’s deaf and Dogon, a combination my Dutch linguist friend will be excited to learn about. He stayed over and ate with the three of us, a French guy with some English, an American girl with some French, and me bridging the two. Despite communication gaps, we all had a very fun dinner, full of laughter, gestures, and of course, tacos.
Reading this book makes me want to do nothing but cook. But it is also a cruel tease, as it talks about braised quail with steamed brussel sprouts and whipped potatoes and all sorts of other delicacies I can’t find here. At the very least, it’s making me excited to go home.
Yesterday was full of small victories (the most that you can hope for here, since, on the whole, Mali always wins). For starters, I finally brought my bucket-and-pitcher scheme into fruition. I had always been frustrated by having to go out and brush my teeth at the common spigot outside in the morning and not having any place to wash my hands in my room. So I decided to get a pitcher, a bucket and a cup: Mali’s modern answer to the old chamber pot system (minus using them for the bathroom). It has proved terrific so far.
Second, my flashlight stopped working, so I went to the boutique to get a new one. The guy there doesn’t speak hardly any French, so I had to Fulfulde my way through it, and I still managed to bargain him down from 1000 with no batteries included to 1000 with batteries. Plus five for Laura.
I know I had more small victories, but they elude me now. In any case, it was positive.
Bureima, Ramata’s brother, came into town yesterday evening, so I got the news on the Ondom Piri, the festival that will be happening in the village. Apparently it starts on Tuesday, and then dancing goes on every 2 or 3 days for approximately two Dogon weeks (10 days). Unfortunately for filming, most of the dancing happens at night, except on the final day, but I will want to be back in Douentza and in cell phone network then, since my colleague will be arriving in Mali. Ramata is planning on going Tuesday, then Oumar and I will go out on Thursday for a couple of nights of millet beer, feasting (on millet?) and dancing, coming back on Saturday. It will be my last time spending the night there.
I will go out, of course, one more time at the beginning of May to electrify the school. The estimates I got from the electrician in Sevare are as follows:
Solar panel 175,000 ($350)
Battery 120,000 ($240)
Converter 60,000 ($120)
That comes to 255,000, or about $510. Add to that the cost of renting a car to get everything there, which will be nearly $200, the cost of 6 light fixtures, 6 fans, and wiring, and then the cost of an electrician to mount the whole thing, and I should be right about on budget of $1000. I’m going to get a second estimate from an electrician in Douentza to compare, but I’m feeling very positive.
Market day is tomorrow, and Ashley wants to go see the animal market and see the camels. I actually haven’t graced the animal market yet myself (despite being quite the animal husbandsman), so it should be fun, albeit intense. Lots and lots of camels. I do love livestock.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Cheffery and the like.
First things first—I am feeling better, so no worries about my stomach condition.
We went to the Tango on my birthday night, me, Dave, Oumar, Nicolas and Antony, who got into town. I only drank half a beer and passed it off, not wanting to push my luck with my stomach. Luckily, the Tango had the grapefruit soda I adore—the first time I’d seen it in Douentza! We had a bunch of greasy street food brought in (sheep meat, which is wonderful, much better than beef, beans, and fries) and had a feast. I went back fairly early and went to bed.
Yesterday, I hung out with Ramata a bit, since it had been a while, and went over to Dave’s house to make some curry fried rice for lunch. It turned out okay. Could’ve been more flavorful, but it didn’t taste like Mali, so it was a good change of pace. Ashley and I hung out for a bit in the afternoon, and I read and did some work in the evening.
Before dinner, my leather-worker friend Fatimata came over, just to say hi, even though we speak none of the same languages. I’m making an effort to pick up a bit of Fulfulde. I can greet like it’s my job now, and say things like “This is pretty”, “Fulfulde is nice”, “It’s hard”, etc. She also taught me (even though I instantly forgot) how to count to 10 in Tamasheq, a Berber language spoken in Northern Mali and other Saharan countries. It’s the language spoken by the Tuaregs, the only Malians that ever seem to make it into Western news. I may start going over to her house to learn a bit of both, just for fun. I also love to watch her work.
Today, Ramata and I hit up the market early for produce and meat. It was my first time venturing into the butchery section of the market. I’d bought raw meat from isolated butchers, but never in the thick of it, the sounds of hacking ringing off all the walls in their enclosed courtyard. The vegetarian in me would’ve been horrified, but it was kind of need seeing all these guys with machetes chopping away at hunks of (presumably) beef. I bought a kilo of filet mignon for $3.50 and went on my way.
Ashley and I went over to the Norwegians’ house before lunch to use their meat grinder. It’s taco night tonight at Nicolas’s. Katie, the missionary woman, was sweet as usual. You couldn’t find a nicer woman. She’s in the midst of making a short movie of the story of the Good Samaritan in Fulfulde and set in a Fulani village. I read the script, and it should be cute.
I ate lunch at Ashley’s house, then worked on double checking some plant specimens and inputting their names into my spreadsheet. It’s interesting to take a little trip into botany every now and again. Otherwise, I’ve been reading my book about becoming a chef (The Making of a Chef: Mastering Heat at the Culinary Institute of America). It makes me miss having a kitchen.
We went to the Tango on my birthday night, me, Dave, Oumar, Nicolas and Antony, who got into town. I only drank half a beer and passed it off, not wanting to push my luck with my stomach. Luckily, the Tango had the grapefruit soda I adore—the first time I’d seen it in Douentza! We had a bunch of greasy street food brought in (sheep meat, which is wonderful, much better than beef, beans, and fries) and had a feast. I went back fairly early and went to bed.
Yesterday, I hung out with Ramata a bit, since it had been a while, and went over to Dave’s house to make some curry fried rice for lunch. It turned out okay. Could’ve been more flavorful, but it didn’t taste like Mali, so it was a good change of pace. Ashley and I hung out for a bit in the afternoon, and I read and did some work in the evening.
Before dinner, my leather-worker friend Fatimata came over, just to say hi, even though we speak none of the same languages. I’m making an effort to pick up a bit of Fulfulde. I can greet like it’s my job now, and say things like “This is pretty”, “Fulfulde is nice”, “It’s hard”, etc. She also taught me (even though I instantly forgot) how to count to 10 in Tamasheq, a Berber language spoken in Northern Mali and other Saharan countries. It’s the language spoken by the Tuaregs, the only Malians that ever seem to make it into Western news. I may start going over to her house to learn a bit of both, just for fun. I also love to watch her work.
Today, Ramata and I hit up the market early for produce and meat. It was my first time venturing into the butchery section of the market. I’d bought raw meat from isolated butchers, but never in the thick of it, the sounds of hacking ringing off all the walls in their enclosed courtyard. The vegetarian in me would’ve been horrified, but it was kind of need seeing all these guys with machetes chopping away at hunks of (presumably) beef. I bought a kilo of filet mignon for $3.50 and went on my way.
Ashley and I went over to the Norwegians’ house before lunch to use their meat grinder. It’s taco night tonight at Nicolas’s. Katie, the missionary woman, was sweet as usual. You couldn’t find a nicer woman. She’s in the midst of making a short movie of the story of the Good Samaritan in Fulfulde and set in a Fulani village. I read the script, and it should be cute.
I ate lunch at Ashley’s house, then worked on double checking some plant specimens and inputting their names into my spreadsheet. It’s interesting to take a little trip into botany every now and again. Otherwise, I’ve been reading my book about becoming a chef (The Making of a Chef: Mastering Heat at the Culinary Institute of America). It makes me miss having a kitchen.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
23 in Mali
Today has been my first birthday out of country! The big 2-3. It actually sounds young to my ears. Age is just not really pertinent here, and removed from all of my peer groups from college, I just forget how many years I’ve been around. But it’s good to be young.
In a way, it just feels like another day, as birthdays are wont to do even in the US, but I opened some presents my parents sent this morning then Phil and Ashley and I made banana pancakes and punch. Unfortunately, my stomach has been plagued by some sort of microbe for the last week, which diminishes my desire for eating good things, but it’s all right. I’m self-medicating some Cipro, and since that isn’t working real well, I might self-medicate some giardia medication next. Fun fun.
Yesterday was spent just sitting around feeling gross, mainly. I wanted to get a lot of work done on the grammar, but I just didn’t have much in the way of concentration. I thought a lot about possessive constructions, though, in between playing spider solitaire, curling up in a ball, and reading the Consolation of Philosophy.
Anyhow, hopefully my stomach will clear up and I can get focused again.
In a way, it just feels like another day, as birthdays are wont to do even in the US, but I opened some presents my parents sent this morning then Phil and Ashley and I made banana pancakes and punch. Unfortunately, my stomach has been plagued by some sort of microbe for the last week, which diminishes my desire for eating good things, but it’s all right. I’m self-medicating some Cipro, and since that isn’t working real well, I might self-medicate some giardia medication next. Fun fun.
Yesterday was spent just sitting around feeling gross, mainly. I wanted to get a lot of work done on the grammar, but I just didn’t have much in the way of concentration. I thought a lot about possessive constructions, though, in between playing spider solitaire, curling up in a ball, and reading the Consolation of Philosophy.
Anyhow, hopefully my stomach will clear up and I can get focused again.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Hot season in Douentza
First off, new pictures:
Good times in Mali
After updating my blog on Saturday, I left the Peace Corps bureau to begin my quest Douentza-wards. Seydou came and met me up the road, and we went to inquire after solar panels. We stopped at a boutique that called an electrician over to discuss my plans. I told him about the school, how it was two buildings with six rooms, and I was envisioning putting in lights and fans. The estimates he gave me fit in my budget, with room to buy lights and fans too. I will summarize the information in a subsequent post (I don’t have it right in front of me).
Afterwards, we went to the bus station to figure out when buses were leaving to Douentza. I wanted to take Seydou and Minkailou out for dinner, but it turned out that the bus was supposed to come sometime in the next hour, so I couldn’t. I bought some street meat and sodas, though, that at least Seydou and I could enjoy. Just as I was waiting to get on, Minkailou showed up in a very sharp pin-striped suit. I got on the bus around 6:30, and it felt as if they had actually turned on the AC during the day (though they had shut it off come the evening). Their TV even worked, and they were playing some TV show in Bambara that people on the bus found absolutely hilarious. I, of course, had no idea what was going on.
We pulled into Douentza around 9:45, but the phone network didn’t work at all. Dave had told me to call him, since if he wasn’t at the Tango, he would come pick me up. Although I couldn’t get a hold of him, Oumar had heard I was coming in and was waiting for me as I got off the bus. We went over to the PC house and found Dave, Dan and Phil hanging out there. We stayed there for a while before I got tired and went to bed.
Yesterday was market day. We made another delicious pasta and tomato sauce lunch. Dan left in the afternoon, and Phil took me over to see Ashley’s house. It’s a nice but simple second floor apartment in a traditional Malian house. She was feeling a little under the weather (as have I lately), so she just stayed at home. I did some work in the afternoon, then Phil and I went to the freeway for dinner. Potatoes and beans, delicious and filling.
I got a lot of work done in the morning, first alone organizing some aspects of my next grammar chapter, then with Ramata, who’s on vacation now. At 12:30, I went over to the PC house for lunch. Dave left this morning for his site, but Phil and I shelled some seeds for his tree farm before going to Ashley’s to eat.
I’m just hanging in there, in a contemplative mood, getting lots of work done. It feels good.
Good times in Mali
After updating my blog on Saturday, I left the Peace Corps bureau to begin my quest Douentza-wards. Seydou came and met me up the road, and we went to inquire after solar panels. We stopped at a boutique that called an electrician over to discuss my plans. I told him about the school, how it was two buildings with six rooms, and I was envisioning putting in lights and fans. The estimates he gave me fit in my budget, with room to buy lights and fans too. I will summarize the information in a subsequent post (I don’t have it right in front of me).
Afterwards, we went to the bus station to figure out when buses were leaving to Douentza. I wanted to take Seydou and Minkailou out for dinner, but it turned out that the bus was supposed to come sometime in the next hour, so I couldn’t. I bought some street meat and sodas, though, that at least Seydou and I could enjoy. Just as I was waiting to get on, Minkailou showed up in a very sharp pin-striped suit. I got on the bus around 6:30, and it felt as if they had actually turned on the AC during the day (though they had shut it off come the evening). Their TV even worked, and they were playing some TV show in Bambara that people on the bus found absolutely hilarious. I, of course, had no idea what was going on.
We pulled into Douentza around 9:45, but the phone network didn’t work at all. Dave had told me to call him, since if he wasn’t at the Tango, he would come pick me up. Although I couldn’t get a hold of him, Oumar had heard I was coming in and was waiting for me as I got off the bus. We went over to the PC house and found Dave, Dan and Phil hanging out there. We stayed there for a while before I got tired and went to bed.
Yesterday was market day. We made another delicious pasta and tomato sauce lunch. Dan left in the afternoon, and Phil took me over to see Ashley’s house. It’s a nice but simple second floor apartment in a traditional Malian house. She was feeling a little under the weather (as have I lately), so she just stayed at home. I did some work in the afternoon, then Phil and I went to the freeway for dinner. Potatoes and beans, delicious and filling.
I got a lot of work done in the morning, first alone organizing some aspects of my next grammar chapter, then with Ramata, who’s on vacation now. At 12:30, I went over to the PC house for lunch. Dave left this morning for his site, but Phil and I shelled some seeds for his tree farm before going to Ashley’s to eat.
I’m just hanging in there, in a contemplative mood, getting lots of work done. It feels good.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Fun times in Mopti region
Despite being in constant internet access, I have been dropping the ball on updating PW. But as my departure to Douentza looms close at hand, I will give you all an update on my week.
On Tuesday morning, 10 of us set out across the fields from the Peace Corps office to the bus station. There, we all crammed into an old school station wagon: 4 in the back, 4 in the middle, 2 in the front and the driver. Dave had his little speakers, so we were playing some music, cruising along the Bandiagara road as the toobob clown car. At times, I would forget where I was, then I would look outside and see Dogon women carrying baskets on their heads or herder boys watching the car go by. Strange juxtaposition.
We got dropped off in front of the PC house in Bandiagara, a nice little apartment with flowering trees in the courtyard. There I met another 4 or 5 volunteers with whom I would share my St. Patrick’s Day festivities. After everyone greeted and got settled, half of us set off on an expedition to the swimming pool at a hotel across town.
The hotel (Cheval Blanc?) has a very unique and charming feel, with little stone igloos for rooms and a stone bottom pool that feels really natural. The French guy at the reception assured me it was “hyper propre”—hyper clean. We all could have laughed out loud, it felt so good to be in the water. Dan and I ordered some gazpacho for lunch, and we all got a beer. The rest of the crew showed up eventually, and we all stayed in the pool for probably a good 4 hours.
After we finally wrenched ourselves away, some of us went to get street food for dinner. I stuffed myself on 300 CFA worth of food—beans, rice and plantains. I was so full and tired when we went to the next hotel that I went back with another volunteer, Ryan, to take a nap at the house. We came back fresh and ready and stayed up until probably 2 in the morning. The last stop, the Auberge, was nice. We were able to put our own music on the speakers and dance and hang out until one by one, we went upstairs to sleep on the roof.
We all got fried egg sandwiches for breakfast the next morning (Wednesday), then the same clown car taxi came and picked us up to take us back to the bureau in Sevare. We hung out there for the day, then Rabayah and Susan and I went out to dinner with one of the PC bosses that evening. She and Susan had business to talk about, but Rabayah and I were just bumming a ride to Mopti off of the PC car.
We went to a well-known place called Mac’s Refuge. Mac is American, but was born to missionaries in Mali and grew up here most of his life. He opened this guest house/restaurant ten years ago that serves family style meals of various sorts every day, and he is always present for them. He’s a nice guy, but a little overbearing at times. His food was delicious, though. $10 bought a 3 course meal: first soup, then roast beef, sweet potato fries, steamed bread rolls, and salad, and finally homemade ice cream and chocolate syrup for dinner. Plus he was on his way back to the States in a couple days and was celebrating with sangria on the house. It was altogether a very pleasant meal (where I ate way more than I should have), but it dragged on a bit long.
We finally got to Mopti (where Susan and Rabayah live) around 10PM. I checked into my hotel just fine, but found that my original fan room I had requested didn’t connect to the wireless. So, darn, I had to upgrade to an AC room. I mean, I had to pay for it, but it was worth the luxury. Unfortunately, they shut off the internet a little after midnight, but I went to sleep and started my internet time again in the morning.
I spent most of Thursday lounging around on the internet, Skype-ing, e-mailing, working on my grammar, etc., until Susan came and met me at the hotel so we could go to Rabayah’s house together to make dinner.
Rabayah has a very pleasant apartment in a gardened courtyard. It’s really nice. We made spicy beans and corned beef for dinner, with this millet and peanut porridge Mac had given me for desert. Again, we all probably ate too much, but when something tastes good, you just want to keep eating it. After dinner, they escorted me back to the hotel, and I stayed on the internet again until bedtime.
I woke up during the night to the power coming and going. It was storming and raining (again?), and my AC and fan got caught up in the mix. I stayed until about noon the next day, at which point I checked out to find Susan and Rabayah.
Rabayah’s work, with women suffering from fistula, is right near my hotel, so I walked over there to find her. Unfortunately, when I got there, she wasn’t there and her phone had fallen into the toilet hole in Bandiagara. Also, none of the women spoke French and I speak no Bambara, so we were out of luck. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), there were a couple guides there hitting on me and being generally sketchy, but they helped me figure out that someone was going to take me to Rabayah’s house after she ate breakfast.
The sketchy guys left, and I was left sitting under a little shelter, shivering from the cold misty wind. The woman I was waiting for was taking forever, and I was afraid Rabayah’s was going to leave to go to lunch at her host family’s house. At one point, I tried to get up and leave and just catch a taxi to Susan’s work, but the woman I was sitting with stopped me and tried to explain to me that we would go. I wanted to tell her I was afraid Rabayah would leave, but alas.
Finally, the other woman came over, and the three of us stumbled through the mud and rain until we got to Rabayah’s house. Luckily, she was still there. She hadn’t gone to work because she was feeling a bit under the weather and it was raining (a good enough excuse not to go to work here). It turned out fine in the end, but it was sort of an ordeal at the time.
After making some more porridge, we took a taxi to her host family’s house. The taxi system is really nice in Mopti. It works rather like a bus system. The taxis run up and down the road along the river, and every fare is 150 CFA, so you don’t have to worry about getting ripped off. The road was so muddy on her host family’s street, and we were both afraid of completely wiping out in it. I slipped at one point, but only got my knee muddy.
We got to her host family’s house and sat with one young woman, Fantasila, for a while. She brought us lunch and we hung out until we decided to meet up at Susan’s place. We carefully picked our way back down the mud trap road to find another taxi, and made it there relatively uneventfully.
Susan also has a nice apartment, a spacious one on the second floor. We opened up a couple cans of Indian food she’d had sent to her and made that for dinner. Once again, we probably ate way more than we should have. We were all tired and went to sleep early, then in the morning made French toast with bissap (hibiscus) syrup. I can’t complain about how I’ve been eating.
Today, Susan and I shoved ourselves into a communal taxi-truck and went to the bank in Sevare. We didn’t even have to wait that long. Afterwards, we hit up the little grocery store that has delicious soft serve ice cream and used that to power us through the long, hot, and now muggy walk back to the Peace Corps bureau.
I got more e-mail here, including one telling me my flight itinerary was pushed up one day! Now I will be leaving on May 19th! I’m pretty excited about that. I mean, it’s only one day and I’m actually fairly happy here, but it’s still awesome, since I’ll just be chilling in Bamako then anyway.
After this, I’m going to meet Seydou and we’re going to do some research on solar panels. This thing is really happening. But I am still open to donations (the more I can raise, the better the panels will be or the more equipment I can add on!), so contact me if you would like to donate. Or find my paypal button a few posts back… then it’s back to Douentza this evening. Ashley, the new volunteer, moved in last night, so it’ll be great to have a girl up there!
All in all, it has been a very fun and eventful week. But now it’s time to go home. Apparently Oumar lost the keys to my house (just the main room, not my room), with my cats locked inside, but he sprung the lock. Now it’s time to get that changed. Always something to do in D-town.
On Tuesday morning, 10 of us set out across the fields from the Peace Corps office to the bus station. There, we all crammed into an old school station wagon: 4 in the back, 4 in the middle, 2 in the front and the driver. Dave had his little speakers, so we were playing some music, cruising along the Bandiagara road as the toobob clown car. At times, I would forget where I was, then I would look outside and see Dogon women carrying baskets on their heads or herder boys watching the car go by. Strange juxtaposition.
We got dropped off in front of the PC house in Bandiagara, a nice little apartment with flowering trees in the courtyard. There I met another 4 or 5 volunteers with whom I would share my St. Patrick’s Day festivities. After everyone greeted and got settled, half of us set off on an expedition to the swimming pool at a hotel across town.
The hotel (Cheval Blanc?) has a very unique and charming feel, with little stone igloos for rooms and a stone bottom pool that feels really natural. The French guy at the reception assured me it was “hyper propre”—hyper clean. We all could have laughed out loud, it felt so good to be in the water. Dan and I ordered some gazpacho for lunch, and we all got a beer. The rest of the crew showed up eventually, and we all stayed in the pool for probably a good 4 hours.
After we finally wrenched ourselves away, some of us went to get street food for dinner. I stuffed myself on 300 CFA worth of food—beans, rice and plantains. I was so full and tired when we went to the next hotel that I went back with another volunteer, Ryan, to take a nap at the house. We came back fresh and ready and stayed up until probably 2 in the morning. The last stop, the Auberge, was nice. We were able to put our own music on the speakers and dance and hang out until one by one, we went upstairs to sleep on the roof.
We all got fried egg sandwiches for breakfast the next morning (Wednesday), then the same clown car taxi came and picked us up to take us back to the bureau in Sevare. We hung out there for the day, then Rabayah and Susan and I went out to dinner with one of the PC bosses that evening. She and Susan had business to talk about, but Rabayah and I were just bumming a ride to Mopti off of the PC car.
We went to a well-known place called Mac’s Refuge. Mac is American, but was born to missionaries in Mali and grew up here most of his life. He opened this guest house/restaurant ten years ago that serves family style meals of various sorts every day, and he is always present for them. He’s a nice guy, but a little overbearing at times. His food was delicious, though. $10 bought a 3 course meal: first soup, then roast beef, sweet potato fries, steamed bread rolls, and salad, and finally homemade ice cream and chocolate syrup for dinner. Plus he was on his way back to the States in a couple days and was celebrating with sangria on the house. It was altogether a very pleasant meal (where I ate way more than I should have), but it dragged on a bit long.
We finally got to Mopti (where Susan and Rabayah live) around 10PM. I checked into my hotel just fine, but found that my original fan room I had requested didn’t connect to the wireless. So, darn, I had to upgrade to an AC room. I mean, I had to pay for it, but it was worth the luxury. Unfortunately, they shut off the internet a little after midnight, but I went to sleep and started my internet time again in the morning.
I spent most of Thursday lounging around on the internet, Skype-ing, e-mailing, working on my grammar, etc., until Susan came and met me at the hotel so we could go to Rabayah’s house together to make dinner.
Rabayah has a very pleasant apartment in a gardened courtyard. It’s really nice. We made spicy beans and corned beef for dinner, with this millet and peanut porridge Mac had given me for desert. Again, we all probably ate too much, but when something tastes good, you just want to keep eating it. After dinner, they escorted me back to the hotel, and I stayed on the internet again until bedtime.
I woke up during the night to the power coming and going. It was storming and raining (again?), and my AC and fan got caught up in the mix. I stayed until about noon the next day, at which point I checked out to find Susan and Rabayah.
Rabayah’s work, with women suffering from fistula, is right near my hotel, so I walked over there to find her. Unfortunately, when I got there, she wasn’t there and her phone had fallen into the toilet hole in Bandiagara. Also, none of the women spoke French and I speak no Bambara, so we were out of luck. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), there were a couple guides there hitting on me and being generally sketchy, but they helped me figure out that someone was going to take me to Rabayah’s house after she ate breakfast.
The sketchy guys left, and I was left sitting under a little shelter, shivering from the cold misty wind. The woman I was waiting for was taking forever, and I was afraid Rabayah’s was going to leave to go to lunch at her host family’s house. At one point, I tried to get up and leave and just catch a taxi to Susan’s work, but the woman I was sitting with stopped me and tried to explain to me that we would go. I wanted to tell her I was afraid Rabayah would leave, but alas.
Finally, the other woman came over, and the three of us stumbled through the mud and rain until we got to Rabayah’s house. Luckily, she was still there. She hadn’t gone to work because she was feeling a bit under the weather and it was raining (a good enough excuse not to go to work here). It turned out fine in the end, but it was sort of an ordeal at the time.
After making some more porridge, we took a taxi to her host family’s house. The taxi system is really nice in Mopti. It works rather like a bus system. The taxis run up and down the road along the river, and every fare is 150 CFA, so you don’t have to worry about getting ripped off. The road was so muddy on her host family’s street, and we were both afraid of completely wiping out in it. I slipped at one point, but only got my knee muddy.
We got to her host family’s house and sat with one young woman, Fantasila, for a while. She brought us lunch and we hung out until we decided to meet up at Susan’s place. We carefully picked our way back down the mud trap road to find another taxi, and made it there relatively uneventfully.
Susan also has a nice apartment, a spacious one on the second floor. We opened up a couple cans of Indian food she’d had sent to her and made that for dinner. Once again, we probably ate way more than we should have. We were all tired and went to sleep early, then in the morning made French toast with bissap (hibiscus) syrup. I can’t complain about how I’ve been eating.
Today, Susan and I shoved ourselves into a communal taxi-truck and went to the bank in Sevare. We didn’t even have to wait that long. Afterwards, we hit up the little grocery store that has delicious soft serve ice cream and used that to power us through the long, hot, and now muggy walk back to the Peace Corps bureau.
I got more e-mail here, including one telling me my flight itinerary was pushed up one day! Now I will be leaving on May 19th! I’m pretty excited about that. I mean, it’s only one day and I’m actually fairly happy here, but it’s still awesome, since I’ll just be chilling in Bamako then anyway.
After this, I’m going to meet Seydou and we’re going to do some research on solar panels. This thing is really happening. But I am still open to donations (the more I can raise, the better the panels will be or the more equipment I can add on!), so contact me if you would like to donate. Or find my paypal button a few posts back… then it’s back to Douentza this evening. Ashley, the new volunteer, moved in last night, so it’ll be great to have a girl up there!
All in all, it has been a very fun and eventful week. But now it’s time to go home. Apparently Oumar lost the keys to my house (just the main room, not my room), with my cats locked inside, but he sprung the lock. Now it’s time to get that changed. Always something to do in D-town.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Sevare
This afternoon around 3, Dave, Dan, and I headed up to the freeway just in time to hop on a Gana Transport bus to Sevare. It was a remarkably smooth trip. We got seats together, the bus wasn't overcrowded, and it made good time getting into town. Once we arrived, we walked probably a good couple of kilometers to the Peace Corps bureau, where I currently am. It's my first time here, and it is really quite nice. Wireless internet at least, so I can't complain. I met about three more volunteers, and Jason, the guy who was up in Douentza last week, is still hanging around to go to Bandiagara. We got good brochettes for dinner then watched Slumdog Millionaire (very good). Tomorrow we'll be off to Bandiagara, then back to Sevare/Mopti on Wednesday.
Impending voyage? TBD.
My weekend was fun and productive. I worked some more with M. le Maire, finishing up the last of the texts to transcribe, on Saturday afternoon, then that evening, I met up with Nicolas at the Tango for a beer. Hanging out with him is good, since it forces me to clean up my French, which kind of takes a beating in Mali otherwise. Though I must say, I have greatly increased my French vocabulary from working on the dictionary.
Sunday morning, M. le Maire and I started translating the texts, but as usual for a market day, people constantly came by to greet and we gave up the effort after a while. Nicolas came by and we chatted, then I got a call from Dave saying he’d gotten into town. We decided on doing a pasta lunch, so went to the market to pick up the essential produce. I spoke a lot of Tommo-So there, since it seemed that every woman selling what I needed was a Tommo.
When I got to Dave’s house, some people from his village were there. We cooked lunch for all of them, and chatted in a mixture of English (me and Dave), Fulfulde (Dave and his villagers) and Tommo-So (me and his villagers). It was fun, and they really enjoyed the food. Dave said his boss was coming up that evening and that maybe we could hitch a ride to Sevare with her the next day, since apparently there will be a shindig for St. Patty’s Day in Bandiagara, but she never ended up coming. Maybe today.
I went back home after lunch to see if M. le Maire was around, but he wasn’t, so I worked on my grammar, finishing a rough draft of the chapter I intended to get done by Tuesday. After eating dinner with M. le Maire and Ramata, I went back to Dave’s house to see if said boss came in, but she hadn’t. We got a couple of beers in any case.
This morning, I went over to see Fatimata again, since I’m getting some things made, then chatted with M. le Maire. He’ll be going back to Tedie tomorrow, and I might be going to Sevare this evening, depending on Dan and Dave’s plans. I was going to go down on Wednesday anyway, and I would like to hang out for St. Patty’s day, but if no one else is going down, I’m not going. To be determined. If the next blog entry is from Sevare, I will let you know.
Sunday morning, M. le Maire and I started translating the texts, but as usual for a market day, people constantly came by to greet and we gave up the effort after a while. Nicolas came by and we chatted, then I got a call from Dave saying he’d gotten into town. We decided on doing a pasta lunch, so went to the market to pick up the essential produce. I spoke a lot of Tommo-So there, since it seemed that every woman selling what I needed was a Tommo.
When I got to Dave’s house, some people from his village were there. We cooked lunch for all of them, and chatted in a mixture of English (me and Dave), Fulfulde (Dave and his villagers) and Tommo-So (me and his villagers). It was fun, and they really enjoyed the food. Dave said his boss was coming up that evening and that maybe we could hitch a ride to Sevare with her the next day, since apparently there will be a shindig for St. Patty’s Day in Bandiagara, but she never ended up coming. Maybe today.
I went back home after lunch to see if M. le Maire was around, but he wasn’t, so I worked on my grammar, finishing a rough draft of the chapter I intended to get done by Tuesday. After eating dinner with M. le Maire and Ramata, I went back to Dave’s house to see if said boss came in, but she hadn’t. We got a couple of beers in any case.
This morning, I went over to see Fatimata again, since I’m getting some things made, then chatted with M. le Maire. He’ll be going back to Tedie tomorrow, and I might be going to Sevare this evening, depending on Dan and Dave’s plans. I was going to go down on Wednesday anyway, and I would like to hang out for St. Patty’s day, but if no one else is going down, I’m not going. To be determined. If the next blog entry is from Sevare, I will let you know.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
A good effect of climate change?
Mid-March, already? This means I have less than 2 months left in Douentza, almost down to a month and a half… I’m trying to be as productive as possible in the time remaining while still fitting in the last bit of time to hang out with my friends here.
Yesterday, something crazy happened. It rained. It’s not supposed to rain in March, but rain it did, and fairly hard too. It started when I was leaving the internet. I was nearly laughing out loud as I drove back through the light sprinkle on my motorcycle, feeling like those raindrops were washing away months worth of dust and sweat and stress. When I got home, it started raining harder, so I hid out in my room to make sure the roof didn’t leak. (It didn’t.) It sprinkled on and off for the rest of the evening, cooling things down a bit. Unfortunately, the cool weather didn’t really last, but it was good while it was here.
Around 8, we went over to Nicolas’s house, where I cooked up a fresh tomato sauce and some nice linguini my parents sent me for my birthday. It was M. le Maire, Oumar, Nicolas and I, kind of a strange group, but it was nice nonetheless. At least the pasta was delicious (if I don’t say so myself). I think Nicolas and I might go to the Tango tonight and just relax.
This morning, after transcribing another text about traditional Dogon funeral rituals, M. le Maire and I went over to my friend Fatimata’s house, the one who gave me the necklace. She was working on some leather cushion chairs; it’s always fascinating to watch her work. She showed me some of the things she makes, but since she was busy, we didn’t stay too long.
The house M. le Maire spent a lot of time in as a young man is right around the corner, so we went to say hi to his family. We went into the first second floor room I’ve been in in Douentza, where his uncle, Ende, was staying. He is a retired high school teacher who has lived and worked all over Mali and even in Cote d’Ivoire. I sensed the same wisdom in him that I feel in M. le Maire. We talked about American politics for a while, before railing on the Malian education system. People see the social problems here, but it must be that the people in power don’t care to do anything about it, since it never changes. I can only hope that some day these people with a passion come into power and whip Mali into shape.
Yesterday, something crazy happened. It rained. It’s not supposed to rain in March, but rain it did, and fairly hard too. It started when I was leaving the internet. I was nearly laughing out loud as I drove back through the light sprinkle on my motorcycle, feeling like those raindrops were washing away months worth of dust and sweat and stress. When I got home, it started raining harder, so I hid out in my room to make sure the roof didn’t leak. (It didn’t.) It sprinkled on and off for the rest of the evening, cooling things down a bit. Unfortunately, the cool weather didn’t really last, but it was good while it was here.
Around 8, we went over to Nicolas’s house, where I cooked up a fresh tomato sauce and some nice linguini my parents sent me for my birthday. It was M. le Maire, Oumar, Nicolas and I, kind of a strange group, but it was nice nonetheless. At least the pasta was delicious (if I don’t say so myself). I think Nicolas and I might go to the Tango tonight and just relax.
This morning, after transcribing another text about traditional Dogon funeral rituals, M. le Maire and I went over to my friend Fatimata’s house, the one who gave me the necklace. She was working on some leather cushion chairs; it’s always fascinating to watch her work. She showed me some of the things she makes, but since she was busy, we didn’t stay too long.
The house M. le Maire spent a lot of time in as a young man is right around the corner, so we went to say hi to his family. We went into the first second floor room I’ve been in in Douentza, where his uncle, Ende, was staying. He is a retired high school teacher who has lived and worked all over Mali and even in Cote d’Ivoire. I sensed the same wisdom in him that I feel in M. le Maire. We talked about American politics for a while, before railing on the Malian education system. People see the social problems here, but it must be that the people in power don’t care to do anything about it, since it never changes. I can only hope that some day these people with a passion come into power and whip Mali into shape.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Farewell to friends
All of my friends (save Nicolas) have gone their separate ways now. Yesterday morning, I got up at 7:30 and drove Dave the 25 kilometers to his village, Dimba Toro. It’s a pretty drive, down the freeway towards Borko, so I’m familiar with it. It was the first “big” trip I’d taken with my new motorcycle, though, so that was fun.
He has a really nice house in the village. I guess the Peace Corps has standards: cement floor, screened doors and windows, a water filter, his own little courtyard, etc. Makes my house look like I live in a pile of mud. Because I kind of do. We walked around his village on the obligatory greeting tour. It’s a Najamba-speaking village, a dialect of Dogon close to Tommo-So, so most Najamba speakers are bilingual in Tommo. Dave doesn’t speak any Dogon, only Fulfulde, so his villagers were surprised and delighted when I could speak it. I stuck around for probably almost an hour and then drove back through an incredibly strong dusty wind to Douentza. I wish my village were so close to home.
After I scrubbed myself clean of all the road dust, I went to have a last lunch with Phil. We made grilled meat and Laughing Cow cheese sandwiches, a nice break from rice and sauce. I took him up to the spot on the road where his transport to Ngouma comes, and we waited there for almost 2 hours, sitting on a ripped palm-frond mat under a thorny tree. Eventually the overcrowded 4x4 came by and he climbed on top, ready for his 90 kilometer journey.
I went home and did some work for a while. M. le Maire got into Douentza, so we had dinner together, and then with Oumar, we split a bottle of white wine I had brought back from Bamako. I’m expanding their wine horizons, little by little. All they know here is not even wine. It’s just like rubbing alcohol with red coloring. A couple months ago, I brought back red wine, and so now they were amazed to find white wine. I tried explaining to them the differences between kinds of grapes and how there are even a lot of different kinds of reds and whites, but they didn’t totally get it. In any case, we chatted and had a pleasant evening.
When I went back into my room, there was a red blinking light on my computer where the battery symbol used to be. My battery, which had been on its last leg for a while, is officially no more. This means that my computer doesn’t work unless it’s plugged in, which is okay, but not great. And my back-up computer is a Mac that doesn’t support a lot of my work. Hence I am not in the best of spirits today. Couldn’t it have waited another 2 months?
He has a really nice house in the village. I guess the Peace Corps has standards: cement floor, screened doors and windows, a water filter, his own little courtyard, etc. Makes my house look like I live in a pile of mud. Because I kind of do. We walked around his village on the obligatory greeting tour. It’s a Najamba-speaking village, a dialect of Dogon close to Tommo-So, so most Najamba speakers are bilingual in Tommo. Dave doesn’t speak any Dogon, only Fulfulde, so his villagers were surprised and delighted when I could speak it. I stuck around for probably almost an hour and then drove back through an incredibly strong dusty wind to Douentza. I wish my village were so close to home.
After I scrubbed myself clean of all the road dust, I went to have a last lunch with Phil. We made grilled meat and Laughing Cow cheese sandwiches, a nice break from rice and sauce. I took him up to the spot on the road where his transport to Ngouma comes, and we waited there for almost 2 hours, sitting on a ripped palm-frond mat under a thorny tree. Eventually the overcrowded 4x4 came by and he climbed on top, ready for his 90 kilometer journey.
I went home and did some work for a while. M. le Maire got into Douentza, so we had dinner together, and then with Oumar, we split a bottle of white wine I had brought back from Bamako. I’m expanding their wine horizons, little by little. All they know here is not even wine. It’s just like rubbing alcohol with red coloring. A couple months ago, I brought back red wine, and so now they were amazed to find white wine. I tried explaining to them the differences between kinds of grapes and how there are even a lot of different kinds of reds and whites, but they didn’t totally get it. In any case, we chatted and had a pleasant evening.
When I went back into my room, there was a red blinking light on my computer where the battery symbol used to be. My battery, which had been on its last leg for a while, is officially no more. This means that my computer doesn’t work unless it’s plugged in, which is okay, but not great. And my back-up computer is a Mac that doesn’t support a lot of my work. Hence I am not in the best of spirits today. Couldn’t it have waited another 2 months?
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Comings and goings
Saturday night, Jeremy didn’t come in until almost 1am. Everyone was tired out, so people turned in early, and I waited up, listening to music and playing Solitaire until I got his call. We had an ice cold beer at the Tango, then went home and crashed. I slept better that night than I think I have for weeks.
Sunday was International Women’s Day and Monday Maouloud, the Prophet Mohammed’s Birthday, so because of these two holidays, official business such as the market was kind of messed up this weekend. It appears that a movement was made to have the market on Saturday instead of Sunday, so Saturday was more crowded in town than usual. But then most of the people didn’t get the memo, and there was still a market on Sunday. Jeremy tried to just turn around and leave for Timbuktu on Sunday, so I took him up to the freeway to wait for transportation.
We decided to go to one of the campements, the “hotels”, in Douentza for a nice dinner (or at least as nice as it gets in Douentza). Dave’s friend Jason got back from Timbuktu that afternoon and Dan left for his village, so it was the five of us. Around 7pm, right when we were about to leave, I got a text from Jeremy asking if I wanted to join him for a beer. Apparently he’d been sitting around all day and still hadn’t found transportation. I instantly hopped on my moto to go up and try to find him at the Tango, but when I got there, Brahima, the bartender, told me he’d just left. I cruised the highway for a while looking for him, but to no avail. To make matters worse, the cell phone service has been terrible lately, so I literally tried calling 50 times and could not get through to him. I’d told Dave and company to meet me at the Tango so we could go to dinner, so finally I went back there, and Brahima told me Dave and everyone had just passed by and left. Luckily, I caught up with them just fine.
Mid-way through our meal, I got a call from Salif saying Jeremy had gone to my house and they were now in the market. I covered up my couscous, got back on my moto, and drove into town to pick him up. He came back and joined us for dinner, then we went to the Tango for a couple beers afterwards.
Monday morning rolled around, and I woke up at 7am to see off Hala and Adam and also Salif, he was heading back to Bamako. I was exhausted. Once they were on their way, I went back to bed until 11am, probably the latest I’ve ever slept in Mali. Jeremy and I sat around reading most of the afternoon, until he decided to try the transport game again. I dropped him off around 3 and told me to call or text me if he needed anything. I didn’t hear from him until the evening, when apparently he’d gotten in a car to go.
I did some work on my grammar, read my book (The General and His Labyrinth), and listened to some music. Dave came over in the evening, and we got dinner then watched Interview with the Vampire. We got a message from Phil saying he was coming into town, so Dave went back to the house to wait for him and I got some more bedtime reading done.
I was going to drive Dave to his village today, but apparently now he wants to go tomorrow. I’ll probably see Phil and Dave for lunch, and maybe do some work with M. Guindo in the afternoon. I go to Mopti in about a week to spend a couple of nights with wireless internet and a shower. Being in seclusion there, I will probably be able to get a lot of work done on the grammar. I’m hoping M. le Maire will be coming from the village this week so we can work on a text, but we’ll see, I guess.
Sunday was International Women’s Day and Monday Maouloud, the Prophet Mohammed’s Birthday, so because of these two holidays, official business such as the market was kind of messed up this weekend. It appears that a movement was made to have the market on Saturday instead of Sunday, so Saturday was more crowded in town than usual. But then most of the people didn’t get the memo, and there was still a market on Sunday. Jeremy tried to just turn around and leave for Timbuktu on Sunday, so I took him up to the freeway to wait for transportation.
We decided to go to one of the campements, the “hotels”, in Douentza for a nice dinner (or at least as nice as it gets in Douentza). Dave’s friend Jason got back from Timbuktu that afternoon and Dan left for his village, so it was the five of us. Around 7pm, right when we were about to leave, I got a text from Jeremy asking if I wanted to join him for a beer. Apparently he’d been sitting around all day and still hadn’t found transportation. I instantly hopped on my moto to go up and try to find him at the Tango, but when I got there, Brahima, the bartender, told me he’d just left. I cruised the highway for a while looking for him, but to no avail. To make matters worse, the cell phone service has been terrible lately, so I literally tried calling 50 times and could not get through to him. I’d told Dave and company to meet me at the Tango so we could go to dinner, so finally I went back there, and Brahima told me Dave and everyone had just passed by and left. Luckily, I caught up with them just fine.
Mid-way through our meal, I got a call from Salif saying Jeremy had gone to my house and they were now in the market. I covered up my couscous, got back on my moto, and drove into town to pick him up. He came back and joined us for dinner, then we went to the Tango for a couple beers afterwards.
Monday morning rolled around, and I woke up at 7am to see off Hala and Adam and also Salif, he was heading back to Bamako. I was exhausted. Once they were on their way, I went back to bed until 11am, probably the latest I’ve ever slept in Mali. Jeremy and I sat around reading most of the afternoon, until he decided to try the transport game again. I dropped him off around 3 and told me to call or text me if he needed anything. I didn’t hear from him until the evening, when apparently he’d gotten in a car to go.
I did some work on my grammar, read my book (The General and His Labyrinth), and listened to some music. Dave came over in the evening, and we got dinner then watched Interview with the Vampire. We got a message from Phil saying he was coming into town, so Dave went back to the house to wait for him and I got some more bedtime reading done.
I was going to drive Dave to his village today, but apparently now he wants to go tomorrow. I’ll probably see Phil and Dave for lunch, and maybe do some work with M. Guindo in the afternoon. I go to Mopti in about a week to spend a couple of nights with wireless internet and a shower. Being in seclusion there, I will probably be able to get a lot of work done on the grammar. I’m hoping M. le Maire will be coming from the village this week so we can work on a text, but we’ll see, I guess.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
BBQ party
Yesterday, we sat around all day in my AC watching movies. Hala and I watched Wall-E in the morning, then after lunch Adam joined us for The Big Lebowski, as did Dan and Dave partway through the movie. After that was done, no one wanted to move, so we just stayed in and watched Mean Girls. At that point, it was 8PM, and we needed to report to Nicolas’s house for said barbecue.
Nicolas and I did most of the work preparing the kebabs, and Dave kept his eye on those that were cooking. They were pretty good—meat (probably beef), onions, and tomatoes, grilled over hot coals. Nicolas made fries and had beer and soda there, so altogether it was quite the feast. We just hung out, Dave and Dan, me, Hala and Adam, Nicolas and his friend David (Malian), and Oumar showed up at the end, speaking in a mix of languages, Nicolas doing his best in English, Dave attempting to speak French. It was a lot of fun.
We went home around 11:30 and I had the best night’s sleep ever. I did not want to get up this morning. But M. Guindo was going to come over at 10, so I needed to haul myself out of bed and make sure Hala and Adam were doing okay.
Adam and I went to the market to get breakfast makings. Since Hala came, we’ve been cutting up fresh fruit (papaya, mango, banana) and mixing it with fresh yogurt. Delicious. We also picked up some green peppers and tomatoes to try and make stuffed peppers for lunch. The ladies selling them spoke Tommo-So, which is always a lot of fun at the market. The other day a Tommo-speaking woman from my commune gave me free onions since I could speak Dogon. The numbers always mess me up, though, since the base unit of currency is the equivalent of 5 francs. So I asked how much some bananas were, and she told me ‘40’, and I’m thinking, “Forty francs? No way.” Then I remembered that really it’s 40 x 5, so 200.
We’re also going to try and make banana ice cream today. They were selling vials of banana flavoring at the store this morning, and I picked up some fresh bananas, so we’ll see how that goes.
On the Phil’s health front, apparently he has typhoid and a bone infection of the ribs and shoulder. Poor guy. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do just yet, but hopefully he’ll be fine.
I guess Jeremy is coming through Douentza tonight on his way up to Timbuktu, so we’ll have quite a full house here.
Nicolas and I did most of the work preparing the kebabs, and Dave kept his eye on those that were cooking. They were pretty good—meat (probably beef), onions, and tomatoes, grilled over hot coals. Nicolas made fries and had beer and soda there, so altogether it was quite the feast. We just hung out, Dave and Dan, me, Hala and Adam, Nicolas and his friend David (Malian), and Oumar showed up at the end, speaking in a mix of languages, Nicolas doing his best in English, Dave attempting to speak French. It was a lot of fun.
We went home around 11:30 and I had the best night’s sleep ever. I did not want to get up this morning. But M. Guindo was going to come over at 10, so I needed to haul myself out of bed and make sure Hala and Adam were doing okay.
Adam and I went to the market to get breakfast makings. Since Hala came, we’ve been cutting up fresh fruit (papaya, mango, banana) and mixing it with fresh yogurt. Delicious. We also picked up some green peppers and tomatoes to try and make stuffed peppers for lunch. The ladies selling them spoke Tommo-So, which is always a lot of fun at the market. The other day a Tommo-speaking woman from my commune gave me free onions since I could speak Dogon. The numbers always mess me up, though, since the base unit of currency is the equivalent of 5 francs. So I asked how much some bananas were, and she told me ‘40’, and I’m thinking, “Forty francs? No way.” Then I remembered that really it’s 40 x 5, so 200.
We’re also going to try and make banana ice cream today. They were selling vials of banana flavoring at the store this morning, and I picked up some fresh bananas, so we’ll see how that goes.
On the Phil’s health front, apparently he has typhoid and a bone infection of the ribs and shoulder. Poor guy. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do just yet, but hopefully he’ll be fine.
I guess Jeremy is coming through Douentza tonight on his way up to Timbuktu, so we’ll have quite a full house here.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Guests galore
Phil remained (and possibly remains?) sick. I ate dinner on my own Tuesday night, then made three trips between my house and his, bringing him meds or food. Good thing I have my motorcycle. Yesterday evening, he left for Sevare to go to the doctor there, so hopefully he’ll get a real diagnosis and get better.
But to backtrack, I worked with M. Guindo on Wednesday morning, looking at the semantics of various adjectives. For instance, /ɛ̀lɛ̀lú/ can mean both ‘sweet’ and ‘sharp’, and then is used in all sorts of expressions like /kùù ɛ́lɛ́lú/ ‘good luck’ (literally ‘sweet head’), /àŋà ɛ́lɛ́lú/ ‘a liar, someone who says whatever he wants’ (literally ‘sweet mouth’), or /nììndɛ̀ ɛ́lɛ́lú/ ‘a woman who gets fat and happy after marriage’ (literally ‘sweet tongue’).
I was just about to head over to Phil’s after that, when I got a call from Hala and Adam, the two tourists I’d met in Bamako and again on the bus to Douentza. They had gotten into town after a trip to Timbuktu and were waiting at the freeway. I hopped on my motorcycle and went to meet Phil, then together we went down to meet them and had lunch.
Afterwards, we took their stuff back to my house, then hung out for a while. That evening, Dave and Dan came back into town too with some guy they’d met at the softball tournament, Jason. Jason is on his way to Timbuktu today. After dinner in the market, Hala and Adam went back to my house to sleep and the rest of us went out to the Tango for beers. Unfortunately, they ran out of beers, so we went back to the Peace Corps house and hung out on the roof until I decided it was time for bed.
Yesterday, we decided we would make a delicious pasta lunch. It’s still the heart of tomato season and Dave’s garden has a lot of basil in it, so we set to work. We made a fresh, chunky tomato sauce with green pepper in it, along with some pasta, then sprinkled fresh basil and parmesan cheese Dave’s parents had sent to him. It tasted like America. Or Italy. In any case, it didn’t taste like Mali, so that was a nice change of pace.
We spent the rest of the day hanging out at the Peace Corps house, playing ladder ball, etc. I finished paying for my motorcycle registration around 3, then we decided to bring beers back to the house at night and drink them there. We probably looked like pretty big bums, buying a lot of little beers, since they had run out of the big ones, but there were a lot of us. We hung out long into the night and all just crashed on the roof, where a nice cool breeze made for good sleeping.
Tonight we’re going over to Nicolas’s house for a barbecue. There’s been a lot of fun hanging out lately, so the days are flying by. Just a little over 2 months until I leave Douentza.
But to backtrack, I worked with M. Guindo on Wednesday morning, looking at the semantics of various adjectives. For instance, /ɛ̀lɛ̀lú/ can mean both ‘sweet’ and ‘sharp’, and then is used in all sorts of expressions like /kùù ɛ́lɛ́lú/ ‘good luck’ (literally ‘sweet head’), /àŋà ɛ́lɛ́lú/ ‘a liar, someone who says whatever he wants’ (literally ‘sweet mouth’), or /nììndɛ̀ ɛ́lɛ́lú/ ‘a woman who gets fat and happy after marriage’ (literally ‘sweet tongue’).
I was just about to head over to Phil’s after that, when I got a call from Hala and Adam, the two tourists I’d met in Bamako and again on the bus to Douentza. They had gotten into town after a trip to Timbuktu and were waiting at the freeway. I hopped on my motorcycle and went to meet Phil, then together we went down to meet them and had lunch.
Afterwards, we took their stuff back to my house, then hung out for a while. That evening, Dave and Dan came back into town too with some guy they’d met at the softball tournament, Jason. Jason is on his way to Timbuktu today. After dinner in the market, Hala and Adam went back to my house to sleep and the rest of us went out to the Tango for beers. Unfortunately, they ran out of beers, so we went back to the Peace Corps house and hung out on the roof until I decided it was time for bed.
Yesterday, we decided we would make a delicious pasta lunch. It’s still the heart of tomato season and Dave’s garden has a lot of basil in it, so we set to work. We made a fresh, chunky tomato sauce with green pepper in it, along with some pasta, then sprinkled fresh basil and parmesan cheese Dave’s parents had sent to him. It tasted like America. Or Italy. In any case, it didn’t taste like Mali, so that was a nice change of pace.
We spent the rest of the day hanging out at the Peace Corps house, playing ladder ball, etc. I finished paying for my motorcycle registration around 3, then we decided to bring beers back to the house at night and drink them there. We probably looked like pretty big bums, buying a lot of little beers, since they had run out of the big ones, but there were a lot of us. We hung out long into the night and all just crashed on the roof, where a nice cool breeze made for good sleeping.
Tonight we’re going over to Nicolas’s house for a barbecue. There’s been a lot of fun hanging out lately, so the days are flying by. Just a little over 2 months until I leave Douentza.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Bureaucracy for a raging feminist
You can’t go long here without Malian bureaucracy (and the easy ways to get around it) strike you. Especially when it comes to dealing with the police or other officials. When I went back to register my motorcycle yesterday, I pulled out my license that I’d bought for 2009, and this very unhelpful guy is like, “Where’s your license for 2008?” I’m trying to ask him why in the world I would have a license for 2008 when it’s 2009 right now and I was following the rules.
A more helpful man explained to me that this cheap registration measure only applied to those motorcycles bought before November 2008 as an incentive to get people with old motorcycles to register them. But conveniently, there was a guy there selling 2008 licenses, and the man signed and dated it October 2008. It just cost me another 6000 to buy the old license. Still, it would be better than paying 200 bucks for the legitimate registration.
Now that I had the new license, Oumar and I had to go back and make new photocopies, then wait for the man in charge to have him take down my motorcycle information. That all passed relatively smoothly, but then when it came to having to pay for the plates or something, everything came grinding to a halt. One man was filling out all of the papers, and there were at least two dozen men waiting to have their papers filled out. People were getting agitated. It was already 5 o’ clock, and everyone (including if not especially the people working) wanted to go home.
Deferential treatment kind of makes me feel uncomfortable, but for once, it was nice. A police officer insisted they get this nice young lady done by the end of the day, and I didn’t complain. I paid my 4000 and was on my way. Unfortunately, I have to go back tomorrow afternoon and pay the rest, since the lady who takes that money wasn’t there anymore.
In the evening, Phil and I went up to the highway for dinner. There, I got in an argument with a man probably looking to be our guide (but who quickly abandoned those ideas, since we said we lived there) over women’s equality. It started out with the motorcycle, as usual. About how my motorcycle is too much for women, about how I should buy a scooter instead. That turned into him telling me how “Westerners think that men and women are the same,” to which I replied, “Yes, because we are.” He went on to explain to me how no, we weren’t equal, and this was evidenced by the fact that out of 45 presidents of the US, the most advanced country on earth, not one has been a woman. This means that men and women aren’t equal. I countered with the fact that out of 44 American presidents, not one was black, so does that mean that black people and white people aren’t equal? He saw my point. I told him he’d insulted me, and he gave me all of his apologies, saying that all he meant was that he thought I would look pretty on a scooter. I told him I had no need for beauty, only for power. He left for an appointment.
I get so riled up. I know I shouldn’t be so argumentative, but I can’t be complacent either. He said he enjoyed talking to me and that next time he would know not to say something like that to a foreigner. Food for thought, I guess.
I did some work on my grammar after dinner, finished reading The Five People You Meet in Heaven, washed some underwear in a bucket, then went to bed.
Phil apparently might have a lung infection. This is what his doctor told him on the phone from Bamako. He’s started taking antibiotics and will hopefully be better soon. If that’s what the problem is. In any case, he’ll be around here until he gets better.
A more helpful man explained to me that this cheap registration measure only applied to those motorcycles bought before November 2008 as an incentive to get people with old motorcycles to register them. But conveniently, there was a guy there selling 2008 licenses, and the man signed and dated it October 2008. It just cost me another 6000 to buy the old license. Still, it would be better than paying 200 bucks for the legitimate registration.
Now that I had the new license, Oumar and I had to go back and make new photocopies, then wait for the man in charge to have him take down my motorcycle information. That all passed relatively smoothly, but then when it came to having to pay for the plates or something, everything came grinding to a halt. One man was filling out all of the papers, and there were at least two dozen men waiting to have their papers filled out. People were getting agitated. It was already 5 o’ clock, and everyone (including if not especially the people working) wanted to go home.
Deferential treatment kind of makes me feel uncomfortable, but for once, it was nice. A police officer insisted they get this nice young lady done by the end of the day, and I didn’t complain. I paid my 4000 and was on my way. Unfortunately, I have to go back tomorrow afternoon and pay the rest, since the lady who takes that money wasn’t there anymore.
In the evening, Phil and I went up to the highway for dinner. There, I got in an argument with a man probably looking to be our guide (but who quickly abandoned those ideas, since we said we lived there) over women’s equality. It started out with the motorcycle, as usual. About how my motorcycle is too much for women, about how I should buy a scooter instead. That turned into him telling me how “Westerners think that men and women are the same,” to which I replied, “Yes, because we are.” He went on to explain to me how no, we weren’t equal, and this was evidenced by the fact that out of 45 presidents of the US, the most advanced country on earth, not one has been a woman. This means that men and women aren’t equal. I countered with the fact that out of 44 American presidents, not one was black, so does that mean that black people and white people aren’t equal? He saw my point. I told him he’d insulted me, and he gave me all of his apologies, saying that all he meant was that he thought I would look pretty on a scooter. I told him I had no need for beauty, only for power. He left for an appointment.
I get so riled up. I know I shouldn’t be so argumentative, but I can’t be complacent either. He said he enjoyed talking to me and that next time he would know not to say something like that to a foreigner. Food for thought, I guess.
I did some work on my grammar after dinner, finished reading The Five People You Meet in Heaven, washed some underwear in a bucket, then went to bed.
Phil apparently might have a lung infection. This is what his doctor told him on the phone from Bamako. He’s started taking antibiotics and will hopefully be better soon. If that’s what the problem is. In any case, he’ll be around here until he gets better.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Complicated feelings
Market day passed uneventfully, tons of strangers in the courtyard, as usual. I did some work in the morning, finishing up the barebones of the grammar chapter I’m working on. Phil and I met in the market for lunch, then went to his house to escape the public sphere of my courtyard.
There, I made a calendar for the rest of my time here—80 days left. That was both a scary and exciting realization. I’ve been having very mixed feelings lately. So often here, I’m really happy. Yes, it’s hot and I’m far from home and I’m missing the little things we take for granted in the US, but I’m in control of my life here in a way I probably will never be again for at least a very long time. I’m paid to set my own schedule, do my own work, and I’m paid enough to not have to worry about money. I have a motorcycle that I feel free as a bird on, cats, a ram, a house and good friends. I only have two months left and that’s not a lot of time to get the rest of this work done. But at the same time, I only have two months left, and then I get to go home and see my family and friends and Kevin and start a sustainable life in LA that I won’t have to leave in a year. And life will be easy. But it will also be much more financially difficult. So I’m torn.
But enough soul searching. I worked a bit more in the evening, then went over and kicked Phil awake so we could get dinner. I’m taking advantage of the fresh produce while it lasts, so I got a big salad with some fried plantains on it. Delicious. Phil and I chatted a bit after dinner, then it was bed time. I finished my book and slept quite well.
Phil and I went out to the Tango with Nicolas on Saturday night, and he was telling me about how the police have been registering all of the motorcycles in the city lately. I’d not registered my motorcycle when I bought it, since it was incredibly expensive, but I guess they reduced the price to get people to actually do it. Therefore, this morning, Oumar and I went over to the Malian DMV-equivalent to try to get this done.
There was a huge crowd of Malian men with their motorcycles, then me, the white girl in a Dogon skirt. One guy asked me if I had an ID card when I showed him my passport, and I was like, “How in the world would I have a Malian ID card when I’m an American?” Anyhow, he sent us back to the market to make a photocopy of my visa and moto license (vignette).
I was short on time this morning, though, since M. Guindo was going to come over to do some work at 10. Oumar and I decided to go back in the afternoon.
Right on time, M. Guindo came over and we got some work done. I’m always a bit wary of working with him, a) because he’s less introspective about his language and has a hard time explaining differences to me and b) because I think his dialect is more different (in small ways) than anyone is willing to admit, so I’m never sure if what he’s giving me fits in with the rest of my data. But I filled in most of the holes in my grammar chapter, so after writing up the analysis and double checking a couple of things with Ramata, that will be done.
I saw M. le Maire yesterday, since he was passing through Douentza. Now it’s election season here, so his mayor campaign will be keeping him busy. He said he could come for a few days around the 11th, though, which is good. In the meantime, I have enough to keep me busy here.
I went to Phil’s house for what was to be our last lunch before he went back to Ngouma, but unfortunately, he’s sick with a fever, and thus will be here a couple more days recovering. He’ll probably be leaving on Wednesday now, which is when Dave is planning on being back. Who knows when the new girl will get here. It’s good to have friends around, though.
There, I made a calendar for the rest of my time here—80 days left. That was both a scary and exciting realization. I’ve been having very mixed feelings lately. So often here, I’m really happy. Yes, it’s hot and I’m far from home and I’m missing the little things we take for granted in the US, but I’m in control of my life here in a way I probably will never be again for at least a very long time. I’m paid to set my own schedule, do my own work, and I’m paid enough to not have to worry about money. I have a motorcycle that I feel free as a bird on, cats, a ram, a house and good friends. I only have two months left and that’s not a lot of time to get the rest of this work done. But at the same time, I only have two months left, and then I get to go home and see my family and friends and Kevin and start a sustainable life in LA that I won’t have to leave in a year. And life will be easy. But it will also be much more financially difficult. So I’m torn.
But enough soul searching. I worked a bit more in the evening, then went over and kicked Phil awake so we could get dinner. I’m taking advantage of the fresh produce while it lasts, so I got a big salad with some fried plantains on it. Delicious. Phil and I chatted a bit after dinner, then it was bed time. I finished my book and slept quite well.
Phil and I went out to the Tango with Nicolas on Saturday night, and he was telling me about how the police have been registering all of the motorcycles in the city lately. I’d not registered my motorcycle when I bought it, since it was incredibly expensive, but I guess they reduced the price to get people to actually do it. Therefore, this morning, Oumar and I went over to the Malian DMV-equivalent to try to get this done.
There was a huge crowd of Malian men with their motorcycles, then me, the white girl in a Dogon skirt. One guy asked me if I had an ID card when I showed him my passport, and I was like, “How in the world would I have a Malian ID card when I’m an American?” Anyhow, he sent us back to the market to make a photocopy of my visa and moto license (vignette).
I was short on time this morning, though, since M. Guindo was going to come over to do some work at 10. Oumar and I decided to go back in the afternoon.
Right on time, M. Guindo came over and we got some work done. I’m always a bit wary of working with him, a) because he’s less introspective about his language and has a hard time explaining differences to me and b) because I think his dialect is more different (in small ways) than anyone is willing to admit, so I’m never sure if what he’s giving me fits in with the rest of my data. But I filled in most of the holes in my grammar chapter, so after writing up the analysis and double checking a couple of things with Ramata, that will be done.
I saw M. le Maire yesterday, since he was passing through Douentza. Now it’s election season here, so his mayor campaign will be keeping him busy. He said he could come for a few days around the 11th, though, which is good. In the meantime, I have enough to keep me busy here.
I went to Phil’s house for what was to be our last lunch before he went back to Ngouma, but unfortunately, he’s sick with a fever, and thus will be here a couple more days recovering. He’ll probably be leaving on Wednesday now, which is when Dave is planning on being back. Who knows when the new girl will get here. It’s good to have friends around, though.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
