Who's Lookin' at Me....

My Malian Family

I'm back in Tubaniso now...today was my last day in Banankoro. I actually cried as we drove away and I watched my family standing behind the car waving at me. Over the past two months, I've developed a strong connection to my family. My older mom, Wulematu, gave me about five pounds of peanuts and two cucumbers before I left. She was a bit nutty -- she laughed often and danced and sang constantly. She was fluent in French and Bambara, although I struggled to understand her French. But she was always very patient with me, and would just laugh when I didn't understand her.

(Wulematu pounding millet to create toh (a greenish-pasty food that they eat every day...tastes pretty much like dirt) ) My closest sisters, Fatumata and Aminata, stayed with me until I drove away. Aminata is the sister whom I grew closest to -- although she's only 13! I never before would've guessed that I'd have so much in common with a 13-year-old. But she is extremely mature beyond her years, and is one of the hardest workers that I've ever known. Fatumata is 17, although for the first month I was convinced she was older than me. She has a 5-month-old baby named Suri, who is adorable (and thankfully healthy).

(A family friend, Aminata and me)

(Djeneba #2 -- whom I was named after)

(Suri and me...my family loved that fact that he was so afraid of my white skin. They thought it was hilarious for me to hold him and made me do it often...)

My father, Abdulai Samake, was pensive but always happy. He didn't speak French, so I didn't get to talk to him too much. He and my other mom, Nyenemba, would shower me with benedictions every morning, afternoon and evening. He would light up anytime I came home from the market with apples for the family. My youngest sister, Salimata, was an absolute doll. Whenever she'd see me, she'd repeatedly say "Djeneba! Djeneba!"and tilt her head to one side and smile up at me. She would climb onto my lap and shrug her shoulders, looking as cute as possible. I took quite a few photos of her (it helped that she LOVED the camera -- she'd always say "Djeneba, photo!" and I could never resist). I'll hopefully post them soon! (Salimata)

I never thought I'd meet a group of siblings who looked more alike than my family -- but I've met them! I still couldn't tell some of my sisters apart -- even after two months! All my brothers and sisters are absolutely gorgeous, and they all are completely selfless and kind. They all have a wonderful glow about them, which hopefully has rubbed off on me some! Since I'm not living with a family in Segou (my landlords live in my concession, but I'm not a part of their family), I will be taking my Banankoro family name with me. So for the next two years I will be Djeneba Samake. And I am proud to say so!

Storm

I woke up to the sound of my tin door creaking open, then slapping itself against my mud hut. The trees shivered in the wind, and for the first time since I came here, I shivered too. It was still dark, but I heard my mother and sisters outside preparing for the coming storm. Using my recently acquired wisdom about Africa, I deduced that it must be about 5 a.m. I checked my watch to verify -- it was only midnight. My room lit up with the approaching lightning. The wind picked up again, and my door continued to slap my small hut awake. I resolved to wake up completely, undo my mosquito net, tiptoe around my lantern, suitcases and other items spread across my floor to my door. I wedged my metal door shut and reclosed the screen door. The only sound left was the wind through the trees (my family had finally gone to bed). The wind was rather peaceful, and I prayed that it would soothe me to sleep before the rains began. Lightning. Then thunder. Then lightning. Then thunder -- this time louder. I got up once more, undid my mosquito net, and draped a pagne over my net to prepare for the rain (somehow the rain always finds a route through my roof and onto my face). I tried to quickly fall asleep before the rain began, but the harder I tried, the more awake I became. Then the rain began to gently tap on my tin roof. I closed my eyes -- it was loud, but not unbearable. The tapping became a steady drumroll; the drumroll quickly became pounding. The storm, in an angry rage, had stumbled into my concession and began thrashing about -- waking us up by pounding on our roofs, killing the night with its lightning, shouting at us with its thunder. It tried with all its strength to break into our modest tin-roofed huts where we unsuccessfully tried to sleep. My leaky roof, mosquito net and pagne did surprisingly well. They held their own against the giant bully of a storm. This, however, did nothing to help me fall asleep. The storm's tantrum lasted three hours before it sauntered toward another village. For three hours, I listened to its tantrum. Finally, I slept.

Homologue Day

Tonight is the last night I'll be at Tubaniso before I go back to my homestay village for the next few weeks. Today was "Homologue Day," where each of our respective homologues (i.e. our counterpart organization) came to do technical training with us. My homologue is Madame Coumare, who heads up the Segou region of the CRPA (Centre Regionale de la Promotion de l'Artisanat). She is an incredible woman, and I am very excited to work with her and the CRPA. She spent two years in Russia and is a former Russian high school teacher. She is very involved in women's associations and in her community. I cannot wait until I master French so I can actually communicate freely with her, because she is very motivated to get to work. I bought fabric for my "swearing in" outfit on Monday in Bamako. We went into town, and I ate french fries, chocolate cake, and ice cream. Such a treat! Then we went to the artisan sector of town, where I negotiated with a vendor (in French...booya!) for the fabric. Once I get back to my homestay village I'll have a tailor make my outfit. I'm not sure what I'm going to make it look like yet, but I'll be sure to take pictures. I won't have Internet access for the next 18 days, so until then take care!

My "third-world" experience

Well, I just finished my one-week site visit, where I travelled to the city of Segou. Segou is a city of about 200,000 people, and it is where I'll be working/living for the next two years. Although I'd prepared myself for spending two years without running water, electricity, toilets, showers, etc., I've realized that my experience will be quite different. I'll be living in an apartment which is above my landlord's concession (where his family lives). I have running water (that's drinkable), electricity, ceiling fans in every room, a shower and a toilet. I will be working with an artisan association that heads up all the artisan activity in the whole Segou region. I have a desk w/a computer at my office (but no internet...yet). I spent the past week eating steak and pizza at hotel restaurants, taking cabs around Segou, watching the sunset over the Niger, and meeting many interesting people from all over the world who are volunteering or working in Segou. It's a big tourist town, so there are many "Tubabs" (aka foreigners) in the city. It definitely doesn't have the same small-village feel that my homestay village had. In the city, you don't greet everyone you see (unless you know them), and many people try to sell you things thinking you're a tourist. I feel lucky to get this perspective, however. It's completely different from anything I imagined. It's eerily similar to home, but at the same time it's completely different. Again, hopefully someday I'll figure out how to upload photos so you all can see what I struggle to describe! A bientot!