the road to tereli

This is the road leading from Bandiagara, across the plateau, to the descent to the base of the cliff. This is a typical view of the plateau: millet and sorghum fields are in the background.





A narrow passage as the road descends from the plateau, emerges on the cliff face. Boys hooting and hollering to herd their goats. During this time of year, children are responsible for managing the herds, mainly to keep them out of the fields and prevent them from eating the crops.





At the base of the cliff, whomping across the dunes toward Tereli.



In the afternoon, traveling along the same road in the opposite direction, heading back up to the plateau and Bandiagara. On the left, below, you can see the dunes and further in the distance the plain.

another oumar

I take it back-- there is a trash collection service in Bandiagara.

I learned it about a week ago, when the president of the community association that collects trash stopped by my house. He asked if I'd like the association to pick up my trash, "Like the Germans and the Italians," he said. 1500 CFA per month, three months paid in advance. "Do you need a trash can?" He could provide that too-- 3000 CFA. I asked him to come back the next day because I didn't have any cash on me.

He showed up at 7:30 am the next morning. I was doing yoga on the terrace-- downward dog pose or something-- wearing yoga shorts and a tank top. For Malians, that's like seeing me naked! I tried to maintain my deep breathing and, at the same time, tell him politely (in French) that this isn't a good time, can he return in an hour? (He did, while I was in the shower. Finally, he found me at home that evening.)

He returned today to deliver the trash can. He had to have it made. "Does it have a cover?" I asked. "Oui, c'est encore en train de fabriquer (Yes, it's still in the process of being fabricated)," he replied. That's Mali.

my new friend

The other day I was herding two toads out of my house. They were tiny, and I thought they had hopped in to escape the rain (but that doesn't make any sense at all, does it? I guess they just took a wrong turn.) That night, I was in bed and I saw something moving on the floor. In the dark, through the mosquito net, everything is indistinct. Then I realized that it was one of those toads. He was eating mosquitoes.

music: madou at the cheval blanc

nose-picking

Evidently, nose-picking is socially acceptable as a public practice here. (I guess it makes sense—it’s so dusty and dry here that you always have crusty boogers, and you’re itching to get ‘em out.) But I can’t get used to it. It always makes me giggle inside when someone—in the midst of a conversation, during a meeting, in mid-sentence—sticks their finger up their nose. It happens all the time. I still find it distracting.

waiting for oumar

Speaking of waiting, I’ve done a lot of waiting for Oumar. (Oumar the plumber who repairs the stove, not to be confused with Oumar the plumber who fixes the plumbing or Oumar who heads the trash-collection association.) Oumar the stove-fixer wears a striped shirt with a Roto-Rooter patch on it, evidently a uniform in a previous incarnation. The stains from grease and rust pasted on the shirt hem tell the stories of many lifetimes of wear. Oumar, a nice guy, repaired the stove when it first arrived—“I’ll be able to make coffee,” I thought, “he’s my hero!”—but declared that he needed some parts to complete the repairs. The parts are not to be found in these parts, had to be ordered from Bamako. Three weeks later (my cook is still preparing meals over a charcoal stove), after multiple phone calls and threats from Allaye that if he doesn’t show up chez moi with the diffusers he’ll haul him down to the police station, Oumar reappeared with one diffuser. It worked! I was ecstatic! I gave him money for the stove parts. And he sat down on the terrace to chat with me. “Are you married,” he asked.

Today, six days later, I’m still waiting for him to finish the repairs. Calling him for the past three days, finally he came to the office and agreed he’d be at the house this afternoon, between noon and 1pm. It’s 2:30 now. Time to buy more charcoal.

money matters

Everyone asks for money all the time. So far, it’s easier to name the people who haven’t asked me for money than to list those that have. I expressed my disappointment to a German friend, and he commiserated. Just have to get used to it. Had a long conversation with Cristina last night about it too—-what’s the best way to respond to the requests, how to manage our emotional reaction. So far I’ve just said “no,” but I think my future strategy will be to respond just as the Malians do: “oh, sorry, I can’t help you right now, today—maybe tomorrow.” Wait.

not in utah anymore

Funny how things turn out. Still running away from Utah, trying to get as much distance as possible, escaping memories I’d like to forget—- I find myself here in Mali, a semi-arid region accentuated with sandstone cliffs, immersed in a local culture shaped by social pressure and a powerful religious belief system.

the best storm ever

It hasn’t rained in over a week. Every morning, every evening, I scan the sky and wish for rain. I daydream about an encore of the best storm ever, the one that kicked off a mini wet season about two weeks ago.

I was at the Mission Culturelle, where I was participating in a meeting of local project heads. There were about 10 people around the table, the meeting had gone on for about two hours, and I noticed the wind had started to pick up. Outside, the dust in the courtyard began to swirl about and I could hear the whoosh of the wind in the trees and metal shutters banging against stone buildings. The windows and doors of the conference room were open, and the wind and dust started to blow through the room. We continued the meeting—I was facing the window and was entirely captivated by the escalating storm outside—but the man who was speaking (one of the local NGO heads) didn’t even pause to turn and look as the storm mounted and the sky grew dark outside. All of a sudden, it was upon us, everyone very quickly said their “au revoirs” and scattered. Through the conference room doorway I could see the rain—horizontal—blowing sideways down the corridor. I got up, looked out into the corridor and was rewarded with a cool blast of wind and rain. The courtyard was flooded already and the floor of the corridor too. A dog was huddled against the wall, hiding from the blowing rain, hoping no one would chase him out into the storm.

trek in pays dogon

Trek in Pays Dogon, southern circuit

dawn at Kani-Kombole

data collection

Sometimes it's difficult to describe the circumstances here without sounding negative. Often a description sounds negative, but my intent is to make an observation.

For example: Yesterday (Wednesday) I began my search for statistical data about the region-- economic and business information-- to begin to work on an analysis of the local business environment. I met with the statistical expert for the region I'm working in. He's accustomed to working with NGOs and understands the need for transparency and information-sharing. He's super smart, knows what data is available to him and how to put his hands on it.

But here's what the meeting was like: a technical assistant on the project (Malian, educated, smart, high-performing), picked me up at my house. He gave me a ride on his moto (a 125cc Yamaha) to the economist's office. We had to go across town, which means dodging mud puddles that cover more than half of the road, never knowing how deep they are. Many of them are home to some local pigs (I live in the Christian neighborhood) and piglets. I was wearing a skirt (didn't know when I got dressed that morning that I'd be riding on the back of a moto)-- but that's ok, because all of the women wear skirts 100% of the time and they always ride on the back of motos, so that's just the way it is. Honk at the sheep in the road, they scatter. Honk at the boys leading a donkey cart full of recently harvested onions, they move to the side. (We're only going about 20mph.) Stop to greet friends and family at least three times. Arrive at the office, park in the shade (phew), say hello to everyone (at least 15 people, who work in different offices in that complex, taking a break outside), the men are cooking tea over a small charcoal stove. It's served very very very strong, very hot and with lots of sugar. (It's really just the men who drink it, but they offer it to us expats and I tried it of course.)

Here's what really surprises me-- the office is a large room, empty except for a simple wooden table and three chairs. The walls are cement or stucco, were once painted blue and looks like they were yellow before that. Now they're pockmarked, stained, faded and discolored, a multi-color tie-dye tapestry of concrete, earth and paint. This guy (sorry, I can't remember his name, but I wrote it down), is tall, young (mid-20s), and arises from his chair behind the table to greet us. His cell phone is on the table, and that's all-- nothing else. We shake hands, go through the traditional ritual greetings and sit down across from him. I kept looking at the wall, amazed at the circumstances that he has to work in. (Turns out that his computer is at home.)

today was a good day

I have good days and bad days: days go bad when the psychic distress of witnessing so many people living in the dirt weighs me down. Some days I feel hopeless and helpless, feeling that it will never change. It's a complex mix of political, economic, geographic, cultural factors (and more) that keep the standard of living low.

Today however was a good day. I am very lucky to have been assigned to this project and happy to discover that the project is managed by a truly high-performing team.

This morning I attended my first staff meeting with the team-- Cristina, the project administrator and my main contact directed the meeting. Also present were two staff members, Malians, who reported on the activities accomplished in the past month, status of ongoing projects and plans for the second year (beginning October 1st). These guys get a lot done! And Cristina runs a tight ship. (And, an ongoing challenge for me, all in French-- except when I tried to explain how to link MSMEs with the appropriate finance organizations, I needed help with that).

Then we visited our new office, a good-sized building with a pretty courtyard just a half block from my house. We're moving at the end of the month, we'll have AC and internet! I won't have to walk through town to get to work in the mornings. (It is a typical village in a developing country, with goats and sheep and children dressed in rags demanding "donnes-moi un cadeau" and dusty or muddy streets and trash scattered about. No worse than anywhere else, but it makes me sad, discouraged and tired.)

Also, it rained last night, a grand storm that brought with it cooler temperatures, which seems to cheer me up. It arrived with strong wind and heavy rain, followed by a steady light rain until about 9am. I enjoy the ringing rhythm of the rain falling on my roof, corrugated metal. The temperature dropped about 20 degrees and has stayed cool all morning, grâce aux nuages! It was (and will be) a good night for sleeping!

Still no photos yet. Waiting for my laptop to arrive (ETA 3-4 weeks), or one I can borrow, I don't think the computers here at the cybercafe can handle the file sizes.

anti-negativity

Just last night I was feeling bad about starting off the blog so negatively. But I'm sticking to my commitment to always be true to my present state when I post, so that's what you get. Really,
things have been surprisingly good despite the obstacles. I don't think I wrote about that yet, the obstacles: the surprising contradiction that I have a large beautiful house with a cook and a guard but I have no furniture. (My neighbor loaned me a small table and a chair this morning, so I no longer will have to eat on the floor.) Like the fact that I'm here but my office is not. (It's moving here at the end of the month. My computer should arrive in October.)

By the way, having a cook and a guard is standard and somewhat necessary. For example, because I don't have a stove yet, the cook is using a traditional charcoal stove to prepare my meals (indoors, if it's raining). If I want to eat chicken, she purchases a live one. I may even get some chickens to keep in the garden-- mmm, fresh eggs. The guard takes care of odds and ends-- like calling the plumber to figure out why the water coming out of the tap is black, talking to the landlord about finally getting the electricity turned on, and keeping strangers from cultivating crops in my garden (Turns out that the mini millet field presently in my garden was planted by the guard next door. I told him he can use the field until the harvest).

I was writing to say that I'm not miserable. I'm ok, really, I'm just pissed off that things weren't prepared in advance, as they had agreed, and that I'm still sleeping in a mosquito tent. Now Washington has told me that I don't have a budget for furniture.

Honestly, I remain optimistic about this project and about my role in it. The needs really do fit my strengths and the professional challenges match those that I personally want to tackle. I still believe in the power of human energy and innovation. But now I'm getting impatient, I want to get started, I want to have the tools and resources I need to get the job done.

the good life

The good news is that I'm eating well and getting plenty of rest. This goes a long way toward supporting my mental health. Haven't gotten sick yet (other than minor intestinal distress, of course).

disillusioned and discouraged

Ned's right.

Yesterday I experienced my first day of disillusionment. It's been building up, I've had good days and bad-- usually alternating. One day I'll feel that I've learned a lot, got something accomplished (even if that means finding potable water-- we're talking baby steps here), have enthusiasm for advancement on the project, then the next day I'll be hot and sweaty and sticky with dust and can't imagine moving from my position, lying spreadeagle, naked, on the floor under the fan. (It's best to do this right after a shower, to take advantage of the cooling evaporative effect.)

It all culminated in Daou asking me if I can help him resolve a problem. The solution, of course, involved me giving him more money. After I've paid him in advance for a month of lessons, after I told him that the project is not giving me a budget for house furnishings, after I explained that I'm not getting paid for this... I just said no, flat out no.

Later I remembered Margaret explaining to me that in this culture no one ever says no, it's considered rude. When the guides hassle you on the street, when a kid tries to sell you a necklace, you always have to say "plus tard" or "demain" never "non." So we'll see what happens. Will he ask again? I wonder what he needs the money for anyway-- gambling debts, girlfriends, a house in the country-- is it rude to ask?

wait

It's hot here. I'm always waiting for a storm, hoping it will cool things off. That has happened once so far in the two-and-a-half weeks since I arrived. There have actually been several storms since I've been here, very exciting with strong wind and heavy rain, but only once did it cool off afterwards.

I've made friends with the local expat crowd, the Germans and the Italians, there're all terrific, especially my neighbor, Margaret, who loves to speak english. Sadly, she's leaving for an extended holiday tomorrow and won't be back until early October.

The language gap is a problem, more so than I had hoped. But I've found a tutor to work with, Daou, and I'm becoming more accustomed to the local accent, so I know will improve over time. It's just so slow. But I've learned that the keyword for my experience here is "wait." Either wait for someone or something, or wait and the problem will resolve itself. Patience, time, don't force it. It's a good lesson.

packing

Jack Sherman once told me that during his travels in India he had only one tape (back in the days of the Sony Walkman). The Rolling Stones' "Shattered" became the theme for his travels. As I sort through my old CDs (some of which have been in a box in storage since January 05), I recall the events for which these songs played as the soundtrack of my life in the past. Now I can take 100 gb of music with me to Africa, in a box the size of a pack of cigarettes. Amazing!