Today is one of those days when you look at Malians with a confused expression on your face. When you feel frustrated because you keep proclaiming that you don't understand, N ma famu.
It's just one of those days.
A lot of times, when you repeatedly can't understand what they're saying, Malians will say that you can't speak Bambara. My usual first reaction is, "Yes, I can totally do this." N be se dat! But the last three days, I don't really care. I go around telling Malians that today, I can't speak Bambara. My kungolo (head) is tired.
It's just a part of life when you're switching from three different languages a day. It's exhausting.
It's also nearing the end of Ramadan, so I'm fasting with Malians to show my solidarity with them. I went on an hour run last night with a small breakfast sandwich from the morning in my belly and ended up getting trapped in my house all night because of The Rain. The Rain has a way of trapping you. Dinner or not.
That's what happens when it downpours like that...you just get trapped wherever you are, until The Rain ceases...unless you want to venture out in the nyegen run-off/mud puddles/dirt roads turned into (almost literally) rivers and risk getting schisto.
Ninety nine percent of the time, it is impossible to not get sucked into the swamp/waste water that is left over after a downpour. The roads literally turn into rivers. Your flip flops break. Mud gets squished in your toes.
Today was/is a good day, I'm just tired and don't want to speak Bambara any more for the day. My brain was shutting down. It happens.
This morning I learned to to use one of ancient sewing machines from my women's sewing school. True to Mali, the teacher said he was coming, but didn't show up. I waited two hours and then left.
I then went to Fili Coulibaly's place, a lady who sells crocheted purses made from trash bags, and beans, other grains/etc in an alleyway in the market. I sat there and watched in amazement as she took care of her younger brother's toddler, who was strapped to her back and crying and sniffling with a cold. Every day in Mali, women multi-task, often taking care of other people's kids as well as theirs, cooking, cleaning, walking all over the village selling random items and doing all the chores of their communities and families. They work...very hard...every day.
Two kids, one is her own, and the other, a girl about 9, her brother's child, were helping Fili work.
When Fili would leave the place to go get change for a customer, the kids would take over and help the customers. Child labor is common in Mali. It sounds bad, but they need the labor force, and the kids don't have a lot to do, so they're usually somewhat happy to help.
Next, I hit up my shea service, Si Nafa. When I arrived, I did the usual rounds of greetings to the guys who hang out, sit, chat and drink tea in front of the building (I don't think they work?). I ask them in Bambara, Was their day spent in peace? How are they? How's their family? Their extended family? Their kids? And then I move on to asking each adult at my service the same questions.
When I got to Si Nafa, The Rain was coming, so people were just sitting around, under shelter, waiting for The Rain to come. The sky was blackening and the air was getting cool.
Sabou, the president of my cooperative and multi-talented guru, was sitting in her wheelchair, chatting with her friend, who sometimes visits Baba for Bambara tutoring. Although this lady and I are joking cousins, I tell her I like her people, The Samakes, because they are my former host family.
I went into one of the stores, where they store their Baobab tree candy and bogolan, and the two ladies who braid hair for a living were there, braiding hair as usual. The other lady makes bogolan and bazan (the shiny wax fabric popular for important events in Mali).
We were all chatting. I told them I had conceded and I could no longer speak Bambara. They laughed and told me that I could speak it well. Dooni dooni, as I replied.
And then they asked me if I could do a very Malian dance. It's sort of like the Malian version of the electric slide. I haven't mastered it yet, but I told them I could show them an American dance.
You see, here in Mali, you find things are popular that were popular in America, 5, 10, 20+ years ago...such as 50 Cent, Madonna, Ja Rule, full head-to-toe denim outfits, and The Macarena.
When I showed them The Macarena, they knew what I was talking about. I did a couple of rounds for them as they laughed, and that was that.
My brain shut down. I decided to call it a day and I booked it home, taking the routes with the fewest number of Malians so I could do as few greetings as possible. I like building relationships with people here, but just living here is difficult, and the language and heat is really exhausting...so today...I'm taking some deserved rest time.
We just paid a Malian muso $2 to cook us a chicken Sabou slaughtered and gave to me randomly yesterday as a gift. In a matter of 20 minutes, the chicken went from hanging by its feet, looking around at people, to a skinned and headless chicken sitting in the stage house refrigerator. So, tonight, True Blood episode 9, chicken and rest.
That's a day in the life here. For a Peace Corps volunteer.
It's just one of those days.
A lot of times, when you repeatedly can't understand what they're saying, Malians will say that you can't speak Bambara. My usual first reaction is, "Yes, I can totally do this." N be se dat! But the last three days, I don't really care. I go around telling Malians that today, I can't speak Bambara. My kungolo (head) is tired.
It's just a part of life when you're switching from three different languages a day. It's exhausting.
It's also nearing the end of Ramadan, so I'm fasting with Malians to show my solidarity with them. I went on an hour run last night with a small breakfast sandwich from the morning in my belly and ended up getting trapped in my house all night because of The Rain. The Rain has a way of trapping you. Dinner or not.
That's what happens when it downpours like that...you just get trapped wherever you are, until The Rain ceases...unless you want to venture out in the nyegen run-off/mud puddles/dirt roads turned into (almost literally) rivers and risk getting schisto.
Ninety nine percent of the time, it is impossible to not get sucked into the swamp/waste water that is left over after a downpour. The roads literally turn into rivers. Your flip flops break. Mud gets squished in your toes.
Today was/is a good day, I'm just tired and don't want to speak Bambara any more for the day. My brain was shutting down. It happens.
This morning I learned to to use one of ancient sewing machines from my women's sewing school. True to Mali, the teacher said he was coming, but didn't show up. I waited two hours and then left.
I then went to Fili Coulibaly's place, a lady who sells crocheted purses made from trash bags, and beans, other grains/etc in an alleyway in the market. I sat there and watched in amazement as she took care of her younger brother's toddler, who was strapped to her back and crying and sniffling with a cold. Every day in Mali, women multi-task, often taking care of other people's kids as well as theirs, cooking, cleaning, walking all over the village selling random items and doing all the chores of their communities and families. They work...very hard...every day.
Two kids, one is her own, and the other, a girl about 9, her brother's child, were helping Fili work.
When Fili would leave the place to go get change for a customer, the kids would take over and help the customers. Child labor is common in Mali. It sounds bad, but they need the labor force, and the kids don't have a lot to do, so they're usually somewhat happy to help.
Next, I hit up my shea service, Si Nafa. When I arrived, I did the usual rounds of greetings to the guys who hang out, sit, chat and drink tea in front of the building (I don't think they work?). I ask them in Bambara, Was their day spent in peace? How are they? How's their family? Their extended family? Their kids? And then I move on to asking each adult at my service the same questions.
When I got to Si Nafa, The Rain was coming, so people were just sitting around, under shelter, waiting for The Rain to come. The sky was blackening and the air was getting cool.
Sabou, the president of my cooperative and multi-talented guru, was sitting in her wheelchair, chatting with her friend, who sometimes visits Baba for Bambara tutoring. Although this lady and I are joking cousins, I tell her I like her people, The Samakes, because they are my former host family.
I went into one of the stores, where they store their Baobab tree candy and bogolan, and the two ladies who braid hair for a living were there, braiding hair as usual. The other lady makes bogolan and bazan (the shiny wax fabric popular for important events in Mali).
We were all chatting. I told them I had conceded and I could no longer speak Bambara. They laughed and told me that I could speak it well. Dooni dooni, as I replied.
And then they asked me if I could do a very Malian dance. It's sort of like the Malian version of the electric slide. I haven't mastered it yet, but I told them I could show them an American dance.
You see, here in Mali, you find things are popular that were popular in America, 5, 10, 20+ years ago...such as 50 Cent, Madonna, Ja Rule, full head-to-toe denim outfits, and The Macarena.
When I showed them The Macarena, they knew what I was talking about. I did a couple of rounds for them as they laughed, and that was that.
My brain shut down. I decided to call it a day and I booked it home, taking the routes with the fewest number of Malians so I could do as few greetings as possible. I like building relationships with people here, but just living here is difficult, and the language and heat is really exhausting...so today...I'm taking some deserved rest time.
We just paid a Malian muso $2 to cook us a chicken Sabou slaughtered and gave to me randomly yesterday as a gift. In a matter of 20 minutes, the chicken went from hanging by its feet, looking around at people, to a skinned and headless chicken sitting in the stage house refrigerator. So, tonight, True Blood episode 9, chicken and rest.
That's a day in the life here. For a Peace Corps volunteer.
Laura,
ReplyDeleteI was sure I posted here cos I've read this. I guess it didn't get sent. Anyway, sounds like the language barrier is wearing u out. I think that's funny that u told people u don't speak Bambarian today. My throat would be hoarse with all those greetings.Chicken!!! Mmmmmm....enjoy!
Love you girl and I miss you (both more------).
(love and miss). Once again, good writing and info. Love-Mom