Life in the Village

I'm back at Tubaniso after 11 days in Soundougouba. There are so many things that I could talk about that have happened since my last entry that I just don't know where to begin. I suppose at the beginning would be a good place to start...

Here's what I'll be talking about:

• Arriving at Soundougouba
• My Host Family
• The Water Crisis
• Language Class
• Life in Soundougouba
• Life outside Soundougouba
• Joking Cousins
• Social Interaction
• Illness & Medicine
• The Good, the Bad, and the Ɲegen

Arriving at Soundougouba

We left Tubaniso on a Wednesday morning. All the people going to Soundougouba are in the Water/San sector, and we were the first group to have our vehicle loaded and ready to go that morning... or so we thought. Just as we were driving away the PC medical officer ran up to make sure we had our water filters. Good thing she did because they hadn't been loaded onto the truck. Everyone was amused at the irony of the Water/San group almost showing up to homestay without any way to filter drinking water.

Soundougouba is a small village located about 2 km off a road that is about 4 km off the main road from Bamako to Segou. We pulled up to the dugutigi's house (village chief) and were greeted by many curious kinds and the music of several different kinds of drums. Everyone was ushered under an awning with a row of empty chairs on one side and a row of village elders on the other. The awning was completely surrounded with kids and the women were in the middle of the dugutigi's compound beating drums and playing other traditional instruments. The music was great.

After some traditional greetings from the dugutigi, one of the guys from our group (John) presented the dugutigi with a traditional gift of kola nuts. The tradition behind this is that when a visitor enters a village he/she gives the dugutigi a gift in exchange for forgiveness in case the visitor commits a faux pas while visiting. This allows the dugutigi to act as our advocate in a possible dispute with other residents.

After presenting the kola nuts each of the seven members of our group were introduced to our host family. Our host fathers gave us Malian names and we also take the last name of our host father. This is important for another cultural item in Mali known as "joking cousins" (more on that later). I was given the name N'Ci (sounds like n-chee), which means "first-born". I found this ironic as I am the first-born... my host family did not know this. My last name is Daou, so my full Malian name is N'Ci Daou. Once each of us received a name we got up and danced with members or our host family and a bunch of women from the village. When the dancing was over we grabbed our bags and set forth to move into our new homes and meet our families.

My Host Family

My host father's name is Braman. He's 75 years old. His wife, Ya, is 58. Apparently when women marry, they retain their maiden surnames, while their kids take the father's surname. However, there are exceptions to that rule, and it happens to be true within my host family. Braman and Ya have a son, Amadu, who's 32. His last name is Kone because a relative of the family never produced male offspring, so Amadu carries that relative's last name to keep it "alive". Amadu is married to Mariam, 28, who happens to be one of the dugutigi's daughters. Amadu and Mariam have four kids, Ashataa, Suleman, Braman, and Leyji who are 12, 10, 9, and 4 respectively. They all live in one compound called a "concession". Braman and Ya live in a house on one side, and Amadu's family lives on the on the other side. The whole place is about the size of a football field and is surrounded by a mud brick wall about four feet high. I live in a room attached to Amadu's house and his family provides for me, so he is essentially my host father instead of Braman. Basically I have an "official" host father and an "effective" host father.

The Water Crisis

After getting settled into my new home I had a few things to figure out. First and foremost was my water situation. PC gave each of us a water filter and they are great! They're dual candle, dual chamber bucket filters. The top chamber receives untreated water. The water then passes through a rough filter that removes particulates and then takes water to the second filter in the other chamber. The second filter is a ceramic that takes out very small particulates and bacteria. The water then sits in the second chamber until it is let out through a valve. The one teeny tiny other detail is that these filters also need chlorine to inactive any bacteria or viruses that make it through the ceramic filter. PC didn't send any chlorine or bleach with us... so after an hour or so everyone was trying to figure out what could be done.

PC sends at least one staff worker to every village to act as a language teacher and translator. They are called LCFs (Language Culture Facilitators) and they stay at a house in town, so they're available 24/7. When people realized that no one had chlorine or bleach for water treatment we went to the LCFs house to see if we could get some. Our LCFs didn't realize the severity of the problem and simply said that they would have someone bring bleach tomorrow. To we, the PCTs, this was unacceptable because it was 90 degrees F out and everyone had used all their water already.

We then asked for a Bambara phrase to have our host families boil water for us. This seems like a simple solution, but the phrase we were given was "give me some hot water". This phrase stipulated that the water need neither to be from our filters or actually boiled... so a bunch of us, including myself, got hot turbid water. Fan-Fing-Tastic! Most people ended up getting rather dehydrated by the end of our first day.

The next morning we reiterated our dilemma several times to our LCFs. The final response they gave was that we could simply buy bleach at one of the corner butigis (shops) if we needed it. This was incredibly frustrating because we could have bought bleach the night before and not had any problems. We're still trying to figure out why this solution was not presented to us the night before. Not to worry though. I now have bleach and have wonderful pool tasting water whenever I want it.

Language Class

Our group of seven has been split into two groups for language classes. I'm in the group of four. We have Bambara class for four hours every morning and then for another three hours in the afternoon. We get a two hour lunch break, which is perfect for going home, having lunch, and taking a nap. I've never been into taking naps, but after four hours of language class and very hot weather, all you want to do is lay down.

The language classes have been both a blessing and a burden. Obviously a blessing because we're learning to communicate with the world around us. A burden because things are slow going. We have so many questions about this, that, and the other thing that our LCF tends to become thrown off because we upset his rhythm of teaching. I'm learning to just keep my mouth shut if I have questions as things seem to get answered in time if I just wait long enough. I just wish some of the other people in my class would have that realization.

It's also frustrating because some people try to make Bambara fit English expressions. This is impossible! Bamabara, while not only having a completely different grammatical structure, is also a tonal language. Whereas in English we have words that sound the same but are spelled differently (bear, bare), Bambara has words that are spelled the same and are spoken the same, but have different meanings depending on the context and how you emphasize the vowels. For example, the word "ba" can mean "mother", "goat", "big", and "river". Needless to say this is confusing for English speakers.

I'm also finding learning the language to be difficult in general. Not because I don't understand what is going on or how things work, but because I don't have any time to digest what I learned. I've gotten used to finishing a class and then going back to my office or the library and reviewing the material for a while. These options are not available and I still haven't figured out a way to get some quite time. I'll figure things out soon enough.

Life in Soundougouba

Soundougouba is a village of about 1,000 people. No one knows the exact population, but given the number of concessions and a general number of people per concession, we figure 1,000 is about right. The village was started by a Diarra family... however long ago it was, and thus almost everyone in town is a Diarra. My family is one of the few non-Diarra families in the area. This also means that everyone is related to everyone because there is only one main surname and the village is small.

The village is actually divided into two parts: old and new. Most people, including we PCTs live in the new village. This area was intentionally planned out before anyone started building, so all the roads meet at nice right angles and the blocks are basically symmetrical. As a civil engineer, this is a simple comfort. The sand/gravel roads are also very wide and maintained fairly well. New village comes complete with dugutigi's house, two mosques, a bank, several butigis, a soccer field, several schools, three India-Mali pumps, several water taps, and an enclosed area used as a dance hall. The butikis, one mosque, soccer field, pumps, water taps, bank, and dugutigi's house are located close to each other in the center of town. The other mosque is located south of town and the schools are on the north side of town.

People have to pay for water access to the pumps and taps. The taps are the most expensive option as the water is piped in from the next village (Baguineda Camp), followed by the pumps, and then numerous pit wells. Water quality also decreases with each option.

The old village is located about 2 km north of new village along an irrigation canal/river. Old village is much smaller than new village, but is where the market is located. Market is every Thursday and everyone shows up. Old village also has several stores that sell agricultural supplies such as seeds, farming tools, fertilizers, and pesticides. Over 90% of Soundougouba relies on subsistence agriculture with rice, millet, corn, and various vegetables being the principle crops. There is no electricity in Soundougouba except for some of the more affluent residents who have generators.

Life outside Soundougouba

As I said above, some of the water in Soundougouba comes from the next town over, Banguineda Camp. This is a village of about 5,000 people, with many more amenities. It's located on a main road, so there is electricity along with a basic water utility. The presence of electricity means that some of the butikis have refrigerators with cold soda. On several occasions we have walked the 2 km and back just to get a cold soda as the coolest liquid available in Soundougouba is at air temperature, which has never gotten below 75 degrees F.

While Baguineda Camp is much larger than Soundougouba, we feel that it is not nearly as nice. It is much dirtier, the streets are uneven, rutted, and narrow, and the city is only mostly set up as a grid. There are 10-12 PCTs in B. Camp that we visit when going to get sodas, or who come to visit us in Soundougouba when they need to escape the throngs of children.

Whenever the B. Campers come visit we always go to the big rocks on the south side of town. The "big rocks" are basically hills made out of giant boulders that go up 4-5 stories. There is a great view of the surrounding area from the top and the locals don't go up there, so it's a nice refuge. White people in Mali are called "Tubabs" (too-baabs), so we jokingly refer to our adventures on the rocks as our "Tubab Time".

Joking Cousins

A big part of Malian culture are the joking cousins. The origin of this tradition is unknown, but it's been around officially since the 1200s. Throughout history different ethnic groups have been dominant in Mali, and this created a lot of tension between the groups. Each ethnic group is composed of particular surnames and there aren't that many surnames compared to the US. The concept of joking cousins is said to have been created as a way to dissipate the tension between these groups. The idea is that you are allowed to mock people with certain surnames and once a brief exchange has been made you are then friends with that person.

For example, since I'm a Daou, I'm joking cousins with Diarras and Coulibalis. Whenever I meet a person with the last name Diarra or Coulibali I am allowed to insult them. I can call them a donkey, a dog, a farter, or I can even say they are my slave. They of course can say the same thing right back and no offense is taken by either party. In fact, it's almost expected that you offer an insult to a joking cousin.

There is a long-standing joke between all joking cousins in Mali. Of course I'm talking about the "bean joke". Everyone in Mali eats beans, but it doesn't stop people from calling each other "bean eaters". The implication of course is that the person farts. Farting is considered very inappropriate in Mali... way more so than in the US, so calling someone a farter is definitely a worthy insult.

The concept of joking cousins is also useful in several other situations. For instance, if two people are having a dispute, a joking cousin can be brought in as a mediator and once the joking cousin has said what they have to say the situation is resolve. End of story.

Social Interaction

There are several social intricacies in Malian culture that are not present in the US. Foremost among these are the greeting and farewell procedures that must be done by everyone to everyone at every possible moment.

When greeting a person you cannot simply say "hello". You must say "good morning", then "how's your family?", "did you sleep well?", "did your family sleep well", etc. Then, if it's a younger and older person talking the older person will give the younger person several blessings such as "may Allah bless your day", "may Allah bring you peace", "may Allah remove your chronic runny stool", etc. Ok, that last one might be made up, but you get the idea. The same goes for farewells. "Good night", "sleep well", "may your family sleep well", "greet your family for me", "travel in peace", etc. There's about 80,000 combinations for all of these to go together and everyone is talking to everyone at the same time where there are more than two people involved. It's rather confusing.

The best part is that you don't simply greet the person or persons that you are going to see. The above procedures are carried out with every person you encounter on your way to your final destination. I must say "good morning", "how did you sleep", "how is your family", and "how are you" about 30 times every morning on my way to language class and I repeat this, adjusting for the time of day, every time I go anywhere. In my opinion it gets a little out of control in the morning when I go running and pass by every person in God's creation. And if that isn't enough, the person who approaches must initiate the greeting (that's me most of the time) and it is considered very rude if they don't.

Needless to say, I've been rather frustrated with this aspect of Malian culture thus far. I don't have any problem saying "Hi" to everyone I see, but having a mini-life testimonial with everyone is tiresome. Most of my frustration comes from the fact that I simply don't know the language well enough yet to say the greeting properly. The other part of my frustration comes from simply not understanding the importance of interpersonal communication here. I'm sure my un-positive opinion will change over time, but at the moment I must be honest and say that this is one aspect of the culture that I don't understand.

Illness & Medicine

I've only been semi-sick for a day or two so far. I had some Mr. D (diarrhea) and upset stomach for a while and was feeling rather sluggish. My host family caught on to this and asked if I was alright. I said I was just a little sick and that they didn't have to worry. I had taken some medicine and would be fine. Well, the next morning rolls around and I'm still not feeling super great and say this when asked how I'm feeling. Then I went to eat a banana for breakfast and when I pulled it out of the bag it was all gross and yucky ( I didn't eat the banana). That night when asked how I was feeling I said I still was not 100%, which my family interpreted as me still being DEATHLY ill. They thought the bananas made me sick and started preparing me some traditional medicine. I had to take my host dad over to the LCFs house and have the LCF explain that I would not be taking traditional medicine and that I was OK.

It seems that when any of the PCTs here are not feeling well the families become over-concerned. We have all had basic stomach issues since getting here and two of the families have taken it upon themselves to call the PC medical staff saying that their PCT is super-crazy-sick. It's good that our families are so concerned for our health, but they don't get the little things, like washing your hands after using your hand to wipe your ass and then use it to make dinner... They understand major health issues, but not the simple measures that can be taken to prevent common illness.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ɲegen

Overall my time so far has been a positive experience, but it hasn't been without its ups and downs. The ups have been things like going to a Malian wedding, playing a full game of soccer (on a gravel field), climbing the big rocks, listening to donkeys bray all the time, and some of the ridiculous conversations I've had with the locals. The downs have been the constant heat, the dust, and the lack of privacy. Being a pessimist by nature I will now elaborate on the negatives.

The heat. It's hot here. I can handle the heat. It's usually breezy which is a big help. The problem is that all the buildings are made out of mud bricks. Brick, while not a great insulator, holds heat very well. That means that when its hot all day, your house soaks up all the heat and even though the outside cools off at night, the inside of your house is still 95 degrees F. There's nothing so fun as waking up in the middle of the night, suffocating from the heat and humidity, and laying on a bed sheet that is completely drenched in your sweat. If you're lucky enough to have a house with a window on the opposite wall from the door the cross breeze does absolutely no good because the mosquito net stops all air movement before it gets to you. Also, regarding the house retaining heat issue - we all keep our water filters in our houses, so the water we drink is usually 85-95 degrees F. Nice and refreshing!

It's also very dusty here. When it does rain, the storm is preceded by strong winds that kick up dust into thick clouds that coat everything. Your pants get covered with dust from the roads and your feet are always dirty. This necessitates a lot of washing - both of clothes and humans.

The lack of privacy has by far been the biggest burden for me. I live to have a little cave time everyday. Some time to be alone, feel alone, and just clear my mind of the day and decompress. I don't get that in Soundougouba. First of all, I'm one of seven white people in the middle of Africa. I get noticed. I'm being watched wherever I go, no matter what I'm doing. It's not as bad as when I was in Bangladesh, but it still happens. Thus, we have eliminated the whole concept of feeling alone. Second, I can't go "hide" in my house because it's so hot all the time... even at night. I stay outside under a tree and try to read or write in my journal or whatever, but people always start talking to me. Thus, we have eliminated the concept of actually being alone.

The worst situation, which combines both "lack of aloneness" elements is bathroom time. First off, bathrooms in Bambara are called negens (ñegen). Usually there is one for numbers one and two and a separate one for bathing. The only difference is the one for bathing does not have a hole in the floor that goes to a cesspit. Negens typically do not have doors, but rather overlapping walls. It is necessary to make noise before entering a negen to avoid walking in on someone. Negens are usually square in shape and do not have roofs. They are open to the elements and difficult to use during a rain storm. They are typically made of mud bricks, but nicer ones will be coated with a cement vainer.

The negen at my concession is located along the main road in town... Main Street if you will. The walls of my negen only go up to my chest, so no matter what I go into the negen for... everybody knows... So if the Tubab is taking a shower... soon everyone will know what kind of shampoo he uses. Needless to say, this lack of negen privacy has created a bit of "negen fear" that I could do without. All I have to say is the negen at my actual site better have 8 foot high walls or someone is going to hear about it.

Closing

So, while I have just listed all the things that bother me the most, there have been enough good things to overcome the bad. I'm finding the experience challenging, but tolerable. It's causing me to grow in new ways and see life from a different angle.

I'll be at Tubaniso (little America to us all) from Sunday to Wednesday this week before going back to homestay for another two weeks - I believe. The time here will be spent doing some language, technical and cultural training... along with recuperating from the initial "culture shock" of life in the village. We're getting cake tonight to celebrate several birthdays. Sweet!