A Day in the Life
Today was a good day. The best part was when I grossed out an “upper-class” Malian, in Madoubougou to help give a training, by eating with my hand. But the day was full of notable events: an especially funny hour of hanging out at my friend’s house in village; watching Fousseynou give a pregnant-women’s-health training (despite the fact that so few people showed up); seeing my first real, live strike; and finally having a meeting with the leaders of my women’s group to start their literacy class-the money for the trainings part of the grinder project finally arrived, and classes start Tuesday. (Thank you to all of those who have contributed to the actual grinder portion of the project- very much appreciated. For those who missed what I’m talking about, please see the entry below this one to read about the project.)
When I went to the school this morning, I had the intention of just giving back a 6th grade science book to the teacher and then being on my way. But as is usually the case, I ended up b.s.’in’ with the teachers for a few minutes, and then it was time for the morning bell. Since I usually don’t ever go over to the school until their 10am recess, I don’t think I’ve ever been there this early in the morning. In fact, lately the 8am “bell” (they actually just hit an old car wheel with another piece of scrap iron) has been acting as my alarm.:) The point is that I’m not sure if what I witnessed next happens everyday or not. What happened was that every class all lined up in nice straight, evenly spaced rows, somewhat military like. They then proceeded to do a very military-like “I-shout-out-commands-you-do-what-I-say” routine, followed by marching up to and relatively neatly encircling the Malian flag. (The flag pole is a not-so-straight cut trunk of a tree, but the whole setup is new this year.) As the flag was raised by a 6th grade girl, the whole elementary school sang the national anthem. It was really quite impressive, but rather funny, too. I couldn’t contain my laughter when one of the other guys who’d come to school for a sort of PTA meeting got yelled at by Fousseynou, who is the school director, for sitting down. Ha!
Incidentally, the “PTA” meeting was to tell the leaders of the Madoubougou school board (made up entirely of students’ parents and the school’s only governing board, since it is not state run or supported) that the teachers needed money to buy supplies like chalk. When the answer was “wari ko lon” (i.e. we ain’t got no money!), the teachers went on strike. Seriously. Fousseynou had been buying the chalk himself, and they’ve just been going without some of the other things they need. Fousseynou says that the school board should be able to come up with the money, but that they’re just being slow and acting like it’s not a big deal, like the teachers are being unreasonable. So the teachers are trying to use the strike to get the school board moving along- they really don’t even have anymore chalk. The school was built with the help of funds acquired through a nearby PCV about 6 years ago, so it’s a little disheartening to see them having trouble keeping it running smoothly. But I think it’s also promising that they’re trying to work it out themselves and not simply throwing in the towel, waiting for the government or some NGO to help them. Since the school hasn’t been running that long, it’s probably to be expected that they’ll have a few bumps in the road along the way to complete sustainability. I also think that it’s the first strike I’ve actually attended. And in that sense it was kind of a let down- no signs and no angry crowd. Just me and the 4 teachers sitting outside of the school while the students sat doing nothing in school and the parents all went about their day without most even knowing and the rest not caring much about the strike.
It was as we were sitting outside of the school that Ousman Campo, a Malian development worker with a World Bank program reaching out to rural villages in Mali, drove up. He had told the village he’d be here today but hadn’t specified the hour. So when he got here at 1030ish everyone was out in their fields, meaning only 6 people ended up being around for the training that Fousseynou gave on women’s reproductive health. But it seemed effective for those present and Fousseynou later said he’ll give the training again for those that missed out today. Sitting through the training was cool just because understanding most everything being said helped to boost my confidence in my Bambara. It was cheating a little since everyone was speaking more clearly then they do in usual conversation and since the training mostly involved vocabulary I know pretty well. But I can’t let that stop me from feeling good about it.:)
After the training, Campo and I had lunch at Fousseynou’s place. Since Campo works for an NGO as a relatively well-paid extension agent, he is one of the few Malians that one could really call “middle-“ or even “upper-class”- certainly upper-class in relation to anyone living in Madoubougou. The point is that, like most well-educated and/or wealthy Malians, he has adopted many “western” customs, especially when it comes time to eat. He laughed when I told him that I eat toh practically everyday and didn’t quite know what to think when I told him that I actually liked it. Fousseynou’s wife had made couscous with peanut sauce- a pretty decent step up from toh. She even knew enough about Campo to bring him a spoon to eat with. So Campo takes the spoon and then offers it to me, saying in French, something to the effect of, “here, let’s eat with spoons.” (Whether it’s just because they’re so used to speaking French or because they feel that Bambara is beneath them, Malians like Campo often continue to speak to me in French even after I tell them I can’t. In this case I felt that the use of French to say what he was saying was definitely to emphasize the status symbol of the spoon.) I fully intended to eat with my hand as I always do in Madoubougou, but before I could even really respond to Campo, Fousseynou said, “No, Balla (that’s me) has become an African. He always eats with his hand.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I’ll eat with my hand. I always do.”
I don’t think he really believed me, watching me somewhat suspiciously as Fousseynou and I washed our hands. But as the 3 of us dug into our respective spots of the communal bowl, Campo kept watching me, finally saying, with a somewhat disgusted tone, “Well, he really does eat like you. He has become one of you.” I thought it was hilarious!
Later in the afternoon, I headed over to the 5th/6th grade teacher’s house to discuss the environmental education classes I’ve started- that’s another story, but I’ve only done one class session so far. Anyways, he wasn’t home, but his wife, Tene was sitting over at their neighbors’ place. So I went and sat down to chat with her, Vieux, and Vieux’s wife, Hauoa. Hauoa recently had a baby. She had told me a few days earlier that I had to buy her some fabric so that she could tie the new baby to her back (the way all Malian women carry their babies, of course). So as I was sitting down she asked, “Where’s that fabric? You said you were going to get me some.” Before I could give much of a response, Tene chimed in, “Don’t buy her anything. That’s not your baby. His father is right here (pointing to Vieux). Why would you buy her that fabric? She has too many kids. That one (pointing to the middle of their 3 children) isn’t even 2 years old and now she has a little brother. Is that good? Don’t buy this woman anything. You see her husband sitting here? If you buy her anything, her husband will think she likes you and will fight you. He’s crazy. He won’t even ask about it. He’ll just kill you.” On and on Tene went. Even after the rest of us had more or less moved on to other topics, she kept on. “See how this one (the middle child) wants to be carried still? But there’s her little brother. Don’t buy this woman anything.” I couldn’t stop laughing. When she finally did move on, she started telling me she was going to come to America with me when I go back. No matter that she doesn’t have a passport or visa- I can just tell the boarder patrol that she’s “with me,” and it’ll be all good. I said that wouldn’t work, but that I’d just put her in my suitcase. You probably had to be there to really understand the hilarity of it all, but man was it funny.
Finally, after supper Fousseynou and I met with the leaders of the Women’s Association to discuss the last few things before their literacy and bookkeeping class starts on Tuesday. We got it all figured out, and I’m mostly just happy that it is all finally working out. The women seem excited about it, too, which is cool. It would’ve been nice to get it started during the slight lull in workload they had in between corn harvest and the sorghum that just started, but it just didn’t work out. And as many of the women pointed out, their work is never really over. It’s as good of a time as any to start now.
note: I wrote this a few days ago. The class started with only a few minor glitches and has gone well these last 2 days. I hope to have lots of good news to tell you about it soon… Happy Thanksgiving!
When I went to the school this morning, I had the intention of just giving back a 6th grade science book to the teacher and then being on my way. But as is usually the case, I ended up b.s.’in’ with the teachers for a few minutes, and then it was time for the morning bell. Since I usually don’t ever go over to the school until their 10am recess, I don’t think I’ve ever been there this early in the morning. In fact, lately the 8am “bell” (they actually just hit an old car wheel with another piece of scrap iron) has been acting as my alarm.:) The point is that I’m not sure if what I witnessed next happens everyday or not. What happened was that every class all lined up in nice straight, evenly spaced rows, somewhat military like. They then proceeded to do a very military-like “I-shout-out-commands-you-do-what-I-say” routine, followed by marching up to and relatively neatly encircling the Malian flag. (The flag pole is a not-so-straight cut trunk of a tree, but the whole setup is new this year.) As the flag was raised by a 6th grade girl, the whole elementary school sang the national anthem. It was really quite impressive, but rather funny, too. I couldn’t contain my laughter when one of the other guys who’d come to school for a sort of PTA meeting got yelled at by Fousseynou, who is the school director, for sitting down. Ha!
Incidentally, the “PTA” meeting was to tell the leaders of the Madoubougou school board (made up entirely of students’ parents and the school’s only governing board, since it is not state run or supported) that the teachers needed money to buy supplies like chalk. When the answer was “wari ko lon” (i.e. we ain’t got no money!), the teachers went on strike. Seriously. Fousseynou had been buying the chalk himself, and they’ve just been going without some of the other things they need. Fousseynou says that the school board should be able to come up with the money, but that they’re just being slow and acting like it’s not a big deal, like the teachers are being unreasonable. So the teachers are trying to use the strike to get the school board moving along- they really don’t even have anymore chalk. The school was built with the help of funds acquired through a nearby PCV about 6 years ago, so it’s a little disheartening to see them having trouble keeping it running smoothly. But I think it’s also promising that they’re trying to work it out themselves and not simply throwing in the towel, waiting for the government or some NGO to help them. Since the school hasn’t been running that long, it’s probably to be expected that they’ll have a few bumps in the road along the way to complete sustainability. I also think that it’s the first strike I’ve actually attended. And in that sense it was kind of a let down- no signs and no angry crowd. Just me and the 4 teachers sitting outside of the school while the students sat doing nothing in school and the parents all went about their day without most even knowing and the rest not caring much about the strike.
It was as we were sitting outside of the school that Ousman Campo, a Malian development worker with a World Bank program reaching out to rural villages in Mali, drove up. He had told the village he’d be here today but hadn’t specified the hour. So when he got here at 1030ish everyone was out in their fields, meaning only 6 people ended up being around for the training that Fousseynou gave on women’s reproductive health. But it seemed effective for those present and Fousseynou later said he’ll give the training again for those that missed out today. Sitting through the training was cool just because understanding most everything being said helped to boost my confidence in my Bambara. It was cheating a little since everyone was speaking more clearly then they do in usual conversation and since the training mostly involved vocabulary I know pretty well. But I can’t let that stop me from feeling good about it.:)
After the training, Campo and I had lunch at Fousseynou’s place. Since Campo works for an NGO as a relatively well-paid extension agent, he is one of the few Malians that one could really call “middle-“ or even “upper-class”- certainly upper-class in relation to anyone living in Madoubougou. The point is that, like most well-educated and/or wealthy Malians, he has adopted many “western” customs, especially when it comes time to eat. He laughed when I told him that I eat toh practically everyday and didn’t quite know what to think when I told him that I actually liked it. Fousseynou’s wife had made couscous with peanut sauce- a pretty decent step up from toh. She even knew enough about Campo to bring him a spoon to eat with. So Campo takes the spoon and then offers it to me, saying in French, something to the effect of, “here, let’s eat with spoons.” (Whether it’s just because they’re so used to speaking French or because they feel that Bambara is beneath them, Malians like Campo often continue to speak to me in French even after I tell them I can’t. In this case I felt that the use of French to say what he was saying was definitely to emphasize the status symbol of the spoon.) I fully intended to eat with my hand as I always do in Madoubougou, but before I could even really respond to Campo, Fousseynou said, “No, Balla (that’s me) has become an African. He always eats with his hand.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I’ll eat with my hand. I always do.”
I don’t think he really believed me, watching me somewhat suspiciously as Fousseynou and I washed our hands. But as the 3 of us dug into our respective spots of the communal bowl, Campo kept watching me, finally saying, with a somewhat disgusted tone, “Well, he really does eat like you. He has become one of you.” I thought it was hilarious!
Later in the afternoon, I headed over to the 5th/6th grade teacher’s house to discuss the environmental education classes I’ve started- that’s another story, but I’ve only done one class session so far. Anyways, he wasn’t home, but his wife, Tene was sitting over at their neighbors’ place. So I went and sat down to chat with her, Vieux, and Vieux’s wife, Hauoa. Hauoa recently had a baby. She had told me a few days earlier that I had to buy her some fabric so that she could tie the new baby to her back (the way all Malian women carry their babies, of course). So as I was sitting down she asked, “Where’s that fabric? You said you were going to get me some.” Before I could give much of a response, Tene chimed in, “Don’t buy her anything. That’s not your baby. His father is right here (pointing to Vieux). Why would you buy her that fabric? She has too many kids. That one (pointing to the middle of their 3 children) isn’t even 2 years old and now she has a little brother. Is that good? Don’t buy this woman anything. You see her husband sitting here? If you buy her anything, her husband will think she likes you and will fight you. He’s crazy. He won’t even ask about it. He’ll just kill you.” On and on Tene went. Even after the rest of us had more or less moved on to other topics, she kept on. “See how this one (the middle child) wants to be carried still? But there’s her little brother. Don’t buy this woman anything.” I couldn’t stop laughing. When she finally did move on, she started telling me she was going to come to America with me when I go back. No matter that she doesn’t have a passport or visa- I can just tell the boarder patrol that she’s “with me,” and it’ll be all good. I said that wouldn’t work, but that I’d just put her in my suitcase. You probably had to be there to really understand the hilarity of it all, but man was it funny.
Finally, after supper Fousseynou and I met with the leaders of the Women’s Association to discuss the last few things before their literacy and bookkeeping class starts on Tuesday. We got it all figured out, and I’m mostly just happy that it is all finally working out. The women seem excited about it, too, which is cool. It would’ve been nice to get it started during the slight lull in workload they had in between corn harvest and the sorghum that just started, but it just didn’t work out. And as many of the women pointed out, their work is never really over. It’s as good of a time as any to start now.
note: I wrote this a few days ago. The class started with only a few minor glitches and has gone well these last 2 days. I hope to have lots of good news to tell you about it soon… Happy Thanksgiving!
posted by Rob McCann at 6:11 PM
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