Waiting for my parents
Trip Start
Sep 18, 2005
1
15
Trip End
Oct 08, 2007
Bamako, Mali
Saturday, January 27, 2007
In December, invited to Christmas in Dogon country, I hesitated to go where 20 something volunteers would congregate for four days in two missionary houses in the village of Sangha. It turned out to be an incredible trip, with hiking trips every day, good food, millet beer, watching traditional dances, and the dama/damala game (sacred/not sacred). One girl was not so lucky and the Dogon asked 50,000 CFA for her trespass on dama space, or she would die in "3 days . . . or 3 months." I and two friends of mine also walked on a white spot where millet cream had been poured, dama, but we managed to convince the kids it was an accident and they didn't need to tell anyone. Holidays with other PCVs can bring alot of crazy partying, but there are also special moments when you're happy to be in the company of others who make the best out of difficult and lonely times. On Christmas Eve we sat singing Christmas carols, those with the best voices huddled around a hymnal that one volunteer brought with him, while the rest of us tried our best to remember at least the first verse of old favorites. Later a villager overheard us and invited the singers to come perform at the church on the Christmas morning. I stayed behind, lying on the ground with a few friends working on a puzzle of the last supper in Technicolor that was also missing quite a few pieces. I was resting my legs after our all-day hike the day before, where we saw villages along cliffs, and women carrying 25-liter containers of millet beer on their heads up a steep climb without even spilling - unbelievable considering I had been using my hands to jump from one stone to the next. How these villagers from below carry their merchandise (and sometimes a moto!) up the cliff every 5 days for market day, I have no idea. I remember I had hoped Dogon country would be a disappointment after all the tourism hype it gets. And we did have awkward moments when we were all gaping at the hogon, the oldest man in the village, as the guide talked about his importance to the village, and feeling like we were treating these people like animals in a zoo. Certainly there are lots of nassara coming in and out, and I'm not sure I would like such a touristy site. But with the architecture, the views from the cliff tops, the dancing, the traditional beliefs and secrets that have been kept - though Dogon is not the "untouched civilization" some may think it to be, and we joked often with the PCVs from Sangha, "Are those traditional Dogon David Beckham jerseys the kids are wearing? Is that the traditional office of tourism? Traditional Coupe Decale music?" - Dogon country is amazing, so worth the trip that it's the first stop for my parents and me.
After an awful trip back up to Gao due to the huge amount of people traveling for the approaching Muslim holiday, Tabaski, I started hanging out with a newly formed ex-pat community. There were the French volunteers, Italian NGO workers, Cuban doctors, and us, Americans. We spent quite a bit of time together over the holidays, speaking a creole of languages and joking about cultural differences ("Il y a du bon manger americain?"). Besides hanging with other white people, there was time spent with Songhai on Tabaski, a big holiday at my host family. Nick, the volunteer who lived with my family before I came, spent the day with Aminta, Ahmadou, Souleyman, Mahmadou, and I. The boys killed three sheep for just the six of us. Of course, much of the meat is given away to others who can't afford to kill a sheep, but we ate meat until I couldn't even look at it anymore. My brothers' favorite part was the colon, which they emptied and put right on the grill. "A ga kan!" (It's sweet!) I declined, but helped myself later to some heart, which I find to be the best meat possible, the other parts often being too tough or fatty, liver being too gritty. But I wasn't that picky, just relaxed and joked with my host family, drank many rounds of tea until Ahmadou was absolutely giddy, and had a great time.
As soon as the holidays were over I had much work to do for my "Coupe Hawa Awatta," girls 14 and under basketball tournament. Despite a slow start on opening day with few people showing up because of Friday (when they go to mosque), by the second match of the day, at least a couple hundred of people had shown up and everyone seemed caught up in the momentum of the event. Over the five days of the tournament, the girls played admirably, this being their first time ever playing real matches. In their glowingly new uniforms, the girls showed impressive skills on the court; their gait off the court was proud. My favorite players were some 11 or 12 year olds, who were probably a foot shorter that some of the older girls (who were probably not 14 but you can't prove anything since no one here seems to take much note of their birth date) yet still played aggressive defense and even scored. One girl, little Hawa (her coach's name is also Hawa) won best player and her team won first place, 25,000 CFA and 12 pairs of basketball shoes. The tournament was everything I had hoped for with hundreds (maybe 500) showing up for the final, people talking about it on the radio and really getting caught up in girls basketball fever. But most importantly, after the tournament, one of the former basketball players and now an older woman took up coaching at one of the centers where new girls have been recruited. More players? Women getting involved in coaching? A town excited over girls basketball? What more could I ask for?
Now that the excitement of the event has died down, I am back to the drawing board, trying to figure out what I need to be doing in the World Education/Ambassador Girls' Scholarship Program grand scheme of things. If only I wasn't so distracted by questions of my future, triggered by the approach of the end of service for the stage group before mine. Soon it will be me in November, and then what will I do? I spend time on facebook, looking at classmates from high school and wondering how my career compares to theirs - a very petty exercise considering my ambitions are so different. I have no desire to be a nurse or a business consultant, and I'm not ready to enter a PhD program. When I'm linked into this first-world competitive arena, I feel like my past two years mean zilch and I haven't amounted to much. But when I step away, I chastise myself. How dare you belittle this experience! Those people will never understand the things that I have come to understand by living in Chad in Mali. And as responsibilities increase, there's less of a chance for them to do things like travel in West Africa and learn new languages. I should let myself be 23 and move to France for no other reason than wanting to speak "real" French, learn about a new culture, and meet new people, or move to Mauritius or Trinidad or Brazil or Martinique . . . but all in all be young and free. Oh, if it were only for my college loans . . .
But for now, my financial worries flee! The parents arrive tonight!
