First Day on the Job

Yesterday was my first official day at work. I woke up excited to make a great first impression – well, not quite a FIRST impression, since I’d met my homologue, Madame Koumaré, and my other coworker, Keita (a recent college grad who is interning at the CRPA), several times already. But nonetheless, I left early and biked across town to my office, allowing myself enough time to change into a red-and-gold Malian outfit that I’d just picked up from the tailor’s a couple days ago. I sat down at my desk at 8 am and helped Keita install a printer to the computer that we share. I felt pretty good about being able to assist him with that (he’s only been learning how to use computers for the past year). At 8:30, my homologue came out of her office and told me that we were going to go visit the Chambre, which is another artisan organization that I’ll be closely working with while I’m here. She hopped on her moto and told me to follow on my bike. If I had known how far across the city the Chambre bureau is from my service I would have definitely changed back into my pants. But, unfortunately, I found myself biking full-speed (her moto can really fly) in my new skirt, trying my best not to rip it in half or flash anyone as I zoomed by (I had it hiked up past my knees – pretty scandalous). At one point I lost one of my flip flops and had to stop and run down the street after it. Luckily, a Malian who was biking a ways behind me saw it and grabbed it for me, so I didn’t have to run too far in my constricting skirt while wearing one shoe. After the 20-minute bike ride, we arrived at the Chambre – sweaty, dehydrated and dirty. I met countless presidents, representatives and members of various artisan associations. I stumbled over my French and Bambara words and tried to stop sweating so much. An hour later, I found myself in a conference room with the same group of people, and they began to hold a meeting. I still don’t know what that meeting was really about – all I know is that I was stuck in a stale room with broken ceiling fans (the electricity wasn’t working for whatever reason) for hours, straining to understand any of the French they were spouting off. And, despite my best efforts, I hadn’t stopped sweating and was still dehydrated. After two hours of baking in this room, my body and mind began to shut down. I tried my hardest to stay awake, but the room was too hot and my brain was getting tired from trying to interpret the meeting. The meeting was running about an hour and a half behind schedule, so we had our first break at 11:30 rather than at 10. My homologue asked me if I was too tired to continue – what a great first impression! I tried to explain that I was too hot; she seemed sympathetic. I felt so stupid giving excuses, though, because I know that she’s fasting right now (we’re in the middle of Ramadan) and was probably feeling much weaker and thirstier than me. The agenda stated that the meeting was supposed to end at 3 (no break for lunch – Ramadan again), but my homologue let me leave at 1 so I could go home for lunch and call it a day. (I’m only supposed to be at my service for a few hours a day – I’m not required to put in eight hours or anything.) I found out today that the meeting actually went until after 5 pm. But, thankfully, I did bike home a little after 1 (by this time I didn’t care that I was still wearing my nice new Malian outfit) and ate some of the best watermelon I’ve ever tasted. What a day! And that was only Day 1 of the next two years...oh well, as we like to say over here, “That’s Africa!”