Remainder of July 2010

9 July 2010

My arrival at Mamadou’s in Daoudabougou came the morning after my friend had been taken to the hospital with a bad case of malaria. Mamadou’s Daoudabougou friend Lasine insisted on taking him across town to the Badalabougou quartier’s Clinique Officine Ibrahima Mariko, where he was prescribed Coartem for the malarial symptoms and codeine tablets for the periodic headaches he’s been having for the past week.
We spent the day at his concession brewing tea, reading several issues of The Economist, and enjoying the company of our original Daoudabougou friends, Lasine and Moussa, who spent all day with us. I learnt from Moussa that today, the 27th day of the Muslim month Rajab, is an important fête signifying the upcoming month Sha’aban, the last before Ramadan. Like most Muslim observances in Mali, it’s an excuse to eat well, so we had Mamadou’s girlfriend Sanata buy us avocadoes, tomatoes, and onions from market. That night, Mamadou’s friend Abdoulaye, who I only previously knew as Coach, joined us for a dinner of salad, guacamole, and rice. At one point, Mamadou’s portion of white rice had guacamole and salad on it, Abdoulaye’s had sauce, and mine just guacamole. Abdoulaye wondered aloud as to the meaning of this, one communal bowl but each person eating something different.
This wasn’t the only fête of the day, however. My namesake’s first birthday is today!


10 July 2010

Mamadou’s girlfriend Sanata waited for us outside the concession this morning to pass off a surprise second round of avocadoes. It is just the latest in a series of mysterious yet generous gestures, which ironically leave Mamadou trusting her less than before. Mamadou’s cynicism towards women is without precedent.
A heavy rain kept us under cover for close to half an hour before we could finally make our way home. In hopes of watching the second half of the third-place match between Uruguay and Germany, we stopped by Bocar’s house. Just as the second half was beginning, a lightning strike coincided with power blacking out. For a brief moment twenty minutes or so later, we were teased with a glimpse of second half action, and an update of the score, but power went off again, discouraging Mamadou and I enough to walk home in the light rain. Bocar had me borrow his coat, more suited for snow than rain, but an appreciated thought nonetheless.


11 July 2010

Mamadou’s friend Lasine spent the day with us again, through lunch, afternoon tea, and dinner, with the World Cup Final in there as well. Lasine cheered for Holland, I rooted for my preferred Spanish team, and Mamadou, well, we’ll get to him later. Throughout the match (we watched at the nearby shop), it seemed to me that Vieux (Mamadou’s older brother) and I were the only Spanish fans. This discrepancy in support only added to the agony of the game itself, filled with yellow cards and poor play from both teams. Scoreless after 105 minutes, the thought of the winner decided on penalties seemed certain, but Iniesta saved La Furia Roja with a goal in the 116th minute, and we were saved the awkward irony of the Netherlands winning a World Cup Final hosted in South Africa.
It came to light after the match was over that Mamadou had, like me, been a Spanish supporter from the beginning of the tournament, but to play devil’s advocate chose to root against whichever team I wanted to win the final, even if it were Spain. Al-hamdu lillaah, the way things finished, we were both happy.
Today, for those keeping count, is the two-year anniversary of my arrival in Mali.


12 July 2010

Just another typical trip to the Bureau, arriving with several errands in mind only to leave having accomplished parts of some and the rest not at all. Turns out one need their PC issued passport to renew our Mali visas. Mine’s in Kafara. The new administrative staff member wasn’t familiar with how to complete my Perkins Loan deferral without the help of the guy he replaced, and that person wasn’t around at the moment. I’d rather not wait who knows how long for them to show up, so I went to the Med Unit to pick up some medication. It hasn’t arrived yet. Neither has a package my dad sent recently. Really, my next trip to the Bureau has the potential to be especially productive! Let’s just say I won’t be betting on it though…


13 July 2010

I’ve had the opportunity to sample many different drinks and food from passing vendors while sitting at Mamadou’s workstation in Daoudabougou. There are the frozen hibiscus, coconut, tamarind and ginger drinks sold in clear plastic sachets, a yogurt drink called dègè, oranges, meat sandwiches, gateau, and peanuts. But lately a new item has been all the rage with my Malian friends and me: caramel cakes made with peanuts, sesame, or coconut, neatly packaged even including a label, Coumba Tigua. Yesterday Mamadou and I were enjoying our peanut caramel cakes when it struck me to request a big order of the sesame for Soumaïla, who in the past has told me of his preference for sesame treats. Mamadou told the women dressed in a black Wahab headscarf (with only the eye slit) to come back in the afternoon with 1000f worth of the sesame cakes. Her reply was a blessing, Ala ka wulafè yira anw na (May God grant us this afternoon), followed by Mamadou’s response, another blessing, Ala ka suga diya (May God grant you good business).
Right as we were prepared to walk home, the woman (who as it turns out is the younger sister of the Coumba in Coumba Tigua) arrived with our special order, along with a couple specially prepared coconut batches as a token of appreciation for our commerce.


15 July 2010

The way I learn about important events in Mali never ceases to amaze me. Yesterday, as I waited at Vieux’s shop for his son to give me my gateau and Mali Lait, I saw on the TV outside a military parade taking place in Paris. Later, when Vieux sat with Mamadou and I briefly outside Mamadou’s house, I was informed that 14 July is French Independence Day. Apparently, Mali’s president wasn’t invited, something my Malian friends and I speculated about during our conversation. It may just be coincidence, but the fact Iran’s president recently spent several days as a guest here might have something to do with it. Other African figureheads were present, I assume, to honor the participation and service of their ancestors on the battlefields that won France their independence.
Lasine joined Mamadou and me for midday tea brewing and lunch, before walking with us to the spot in Sogoniko where I catch Air Digan. I felt sorry to leave the day before their friend’s wedding, and eerily we saw that very person pass us by on his moto as we sat there waiting for my ride to Kafara.
An early evening brought a most pleasant breeze and lightning could be seen splitting across the dark night sky, as it’s only the second day of the new moon, a small sliver that could barely be seen on the western horizon. The quiet of village was so preferable to the bustle of Bamako.
Siaka and my friend visited our friend Sita last night, who was spending her final evening in Kafara a single woman. Together with her friends, we drank hot milk, ate candies, and enjoyed each other’s conversation. In the background, traditional singing and drumming could be heard in a neighboring concession, a particular custom to these circumstances of a woman about to become a wife. The whole thing had a bizarre, surreal feel to it. Sita just finished her eighth year of school, and is nowhere close to the maturity I would expect from someone getting married the next day (today). I repeatedly joked with Siaka that I thought this was some weird joke, or perhaps I was dreaming. Seeing her hennaed feet and left hand was like a hallucination. The truth behind all this, I eventually concluded as the only feasible explanation, must be the dowry paid to Sita’s father by this fellow from Zambougou. Sita’s father is probably laughing all the way to the bank about all this, as he’s now free from the stress brought about by Sita’s troublesome nature (she’s a sixteen-year old girl, after all). As I discover more and more about how Malian villagers go about life, I continually wonder how far back in time I’ve traveled.


16 July 2010

There’s definitely something charming about the small-town feeling of taking a trip to market in Ouélessébougou. The bank teller knows me, the folks at the cyber café refer to me as their friend, the bus boys I met on my ride here yell at me by (Malian) name as I pass by, I help my market vendor friend display on hangers the children’s clothes he sells before we share lunch, I run into an acquaintance from Daoudabougou, a certain shop owner is the grandson of my village chief, and another is the younger brother of my village matron, who I just came from meeting at her husband’s telephone cabin.


17 July 2010

It rained 45mm (1.77in) last night, a much needed and long-awaited good amount of rainfall for farmers. I took advantage, once again, of the wet soil to work in my concession to weed grass and create a rain trap around the base of my papaya tree. It’s now past noon and still below 80 degrees under my gwa, an incredible feeling, perhaps equal to the confidence I have in saying there’s no other place in Kafara that can boast a cooler temperature. This morning, I slept until past 11hr00, my first good rest in ages.
Adia surprised me last night as I came from Siaka’s house to see my door open and her sitting in my chair with her little sister. I’d just come from telling Soumaïla of my intention to visit the village of Molobala 25 July, and apparently Adia had sent Lamine to inform me of her arrival. Lamine probably expected to see me at Siaka’s before I found her in my house, but to Adia’s credit, she had told me earlier that afternoon about her plan to drop by to call relatives in Bamako. During our short interaction, I dropped two Bambara proverbs!


18 July 2010

While visiting with Dr. Niang at the Med Clinic this morning, a PC vehicle passed through town. I rushed home to see who had come, but first was told by a host family member to deliver Batima’s French Grammar book before she returns to Bamako today. I returned home to see Moussa from the Bureau, who’d stopped by to pay for housing repairs in preparation for my replacement’s arrival. This meant I had to quickly bike to find Abou in his field on the way to Sougoula, as he’d be quoting prices for the carpentry work. He’s now in Digan buying supplies for the new screen doors and windows, and a new concession door. From Dramand in town, we’ll buy two bags of cement to set under my gwa. The total replacement costs summed up to 19000f (~$38), and I was charged with writing the receipt for these materials in French, a somewhat hilarious prospect, as I’m unable to do so very well.
Since 1985, Soumaïla has kept written records of his farming schedules, something he says keep him from worrying about late planting due to lack of ample rainfall. This year, planting began in late May, almost a month earlier than ’09. The latest rain now has villagers busy tilling and planting fields, and women out at harvesting shea.
Orange is building a telephone tower in Digan, which means soon a major topic of conversation I hate (reception) amongst villagers will be muted! Malitel has two nearby cell towers in Dialakoroba and Dongorona as well, so soon Bamako-esque reception will be in Kafara, in shaa’ allah!
Soumaïla says Kafara’s Producer’s Co-op’s official paperwork has been finished, and each of the Bureau members will soon have a copy. He also tells me that five farmers have been chosen for sorghum test plots in the village of Dogotou, but we’re still waiting to hear from Issa in Dongorona.
On my way to Digan, I stopped by Batima’s house to say good-bye, since we won’t be seeing each other in Kafara again, only Bamako. She had me type my number into her phone, which she’s set in German, the other language she’s learning at university.
I had my radio antennae replaced in Digan, and sat briefly with Lamine before biking home, but not before surprising Bassirou with some furu furu (fried doughnut balls made of millet or bean paste).
I went with another bag of furu furu and a couple bags of Tazo Passion hibiscus tea to Adia’s concession, where I visit for a bit and got to greet Samba, who dropped by on his way back to Ouélessébougou, and showed me his father’s house next door. A quick rain soaked me on my ride home across village, after which I went to brew tea with Dr. Niang, a fitting ending to where I began my day.


19 July 2010

I was woken up before 7hr00 so Abou could take out my windows and doorframe to use them as blueprints for the new ones he’d build today. This left me to sit guard of my door- and window-less hut most of the day. But by the afternoon, the replacements were ready and installed. All that’s left is the cement work under the gwa and to set the concession door foundation.
Siaka told me last night Soumaïla gathered all the boys together to program farming tasks and also to prepare them for my replacement, saying things like not to base their perception on the precedents I’ve set (my mom visiting, the good report in village, personal traits, etc.). I was relieved to hear my counterpart had done this without my prompting and hope many similar meetings are held before the next volunteer arrives in Kafara.
Dad called last night around 19hr00, but I got the message an hour or so later at Siaka’s place, where there’s a reception spot under his gwa. Tonight we caught up around that same time and had our typical half an hour conversation, as I get carried away with any opportunity to speak English and tell funny stories.


20 July 2010

Last night rain could be heard for hours, and the tally of 70mm (2.76 inches) certainly didn’t come as too much a surprise. This second good amount of rain in three days has villagers tilling up and planting crops in the last of their fields.
Samba, the Fula in the concession, head to his hometown of Niono (east of Segou) for a week to visit his family. I had really wanted to go, as I’ve never been to the Mopti region, and this would’ve been a perfect opportunity to travel with a ‘guide’, but there are too many things going on right now for me to leave village.


21 July 2010

During the BBC’s program “The King’s English” a couple afternoons ago, I asked Soumaïla as I brewed tea in my concession if he knew who Elvis Presley is. To my surprise, not only had he heard of Elvis, but owns a record collection back before tapes became a popular commodity in Mali. This is how he knew who Elvis was!
I visited Naru, Batima’s younger sister, this afternoon, and sat chatting with her concession’s women until dusk. Naru prepared me corn toh with fish and leaf sauce, and even though I’m not a big fan of the dish, I finished it out of respect for my hosts.


22 July 2010

In a groundbreaking development, I learned today that Dr. Niang and I share very similar musical taste (who knew someone else in Kafara listens to Young Jeezy?). He has an enormous collection of hip hop music videos on his laptop, and together we watched several, occasionally adjusting the volume but all the while bobbing our heads in approval. Later we did a couple reps of declined push-ups together, which he does in sets of twenty, motivating me to be able to do similar feats.
The company of Kafara’s three doctors, Dicko, Keita, and Niang, are my new favorite group to sit and chat with in village, an opportunity to have a conversation that goes beyond the very basic and obvious (see most other interactions with Kafara folks). I’ve learnt new Bambara words each time I visit with Youssouf Niang, who also makes sure I teach him some English each time too.
Later, I stopped by for Dicko’s chicken dinner, as he’s quite the cook.


23 July 2010

I’d planned on a trip to Ouélessébougou today, but I woke up with another visit from this intestinal bug. I’m fairly certain the weather would’ve proven another obstacle, as it’s been raining on and off all morning.
A neighborhood friend, Solo (who Mamadou and I refer to privately as “Rick Ross”, as he and the rapper look quite alike) left me a 1.5L bottle of his famous Soloba ji(big Solo water), a naturally medicinal concoction that tastes like ginger brew but has a market from between Ouélessébougou and Bamako. The revenue accrued from this creation has allowed Solo to retire from his previous career as a public transport chauffeur.
Last night, Mamadou told me he’d overheard an interesting tidbit during phone conversation the day before between his older sister-in-law Awa and Maman. Apparently, Maman is currently working as a cook/maid for some Toubab couple in Bamako. As this was all Mamadou picked up, and hasn’t been told anything directly yet, this is all we know. He told me it’s possible he’ll be in village next Thursday for a friend’s wedding, but didn’t want to make any confirmations about that just yet.
There were several weddings around here last night, with a couple in Kafara, as well as Digan and Sougoula, all of which made for an afternoon filled with the blaring horns and revving of engines typical of Malian courtages.
As a storm flooded my concession along with nearby paths and fields, my host brothers Lamine and Adama borrowed my drawing pad and colored pencils in the guest house while I ate lunch and listened to the BBC. About two and a half inches of rain fell during the afternoon downpour alone!
Our neighbor Daouda Camara’s younger brother Siaka was here last night at my host brother Siaka’s house, together with a friend from Digan, where their mutual friend’s wedding is happening. They enjoyed chatting with me about all sorts of subjects, ranging from what I thought of Mali (compared to America), my legacy in Kafara, and Islam (compared to other religions).
Soumaïla spent tonight in Kita for the funeral of a friend’s parent.


24 July 2010

I felt like I was back home in the Pacific Northwest today, with the weather drizzly and overcast all day. Last night was the coldest I’ve seen in Kafara for months, with temperatures dropping below 70 degrees! This past week has recorded 180mm of rain (7.09in).
The song “Roses” by Outkast played on BBC today, an old favorite of mine from back in college freshman year. Yes, I sang along, then immediately wished I still had Speakerboxxx/The Love Below on my laptop so I could listen to all the other great songs on that double album.
During lunch, I heard a huge thud, the collapse of the old hut that used to be the cooking area, which had its roof removed several months ago and moved to another hut in the concession. A significant crack in the side of the mud foundation led to the inevitable fall this rainy season.


25 July 2010

I spent the morning with Dicko, and we had a really good chat during which I learnt about his awkward feelings about his place in Kafara. His good intentions by working in a village in Kafara are misinterpreted constantly by villagers, who seem bent on ruining his reputation with false rumors, to the point he’s now cooking and living by himself! Today, as promised, Siaka and I traveled to visit Kadiatou in Molobala. Heading south on the highway from the turn-off to Dafara, Kafara, and Digan, having passed through Dongorona, you turn west upon reaching Simidji onto the red dirt road that leads to Molobala.
The first village you reach after a stretch of bush is Manabougou. A settlement of Fula concessions are the first mud huts to be seen, after which you see the Bamanan folks’ huts. Siaka’s mother originally comes from this village, so we stopped by to greet Siaka’s uncles. Most of them were still in the fields, so Siaka decided to continue to Molobala and come back a little later.
Barely having left Manabougou, you have in arrived in what Siaka referred to as Molobala Coura (new Molobala), before finally reaching Molobala Coro (old Molobala), where Kadiatou’s husband, Kazim, lives on the far south-western part of town. Siaka and I sat briefly, but after the first round of tea he wanted to check-up on his uncles back in Manabougou. We arrived close to dusk only to find out that they’d yet to arrive from the fields, but were assured that tomorrow, market day, we could expect them to be home.
Having arrived back in Molobala, I was presented a chicken by Kazim that would be cooked for our dinner before my bucket bath, which Kadiatou told me would be cold water because warm water isn’t found in America. She very much appreciated the photos I’d developed from a visit she made to Kafara close to a year ago for her younger brother’s wedding, which interestingly enough was to a girl from Molobala, Umu, who stopped by to say hello when she heard word of Siaka and my having come visit.
Siaka and I were lead around neighboring concessions to greet Kadiatou’s in-laws, including two elder women she referred to as akin to Soumaïla’s mother. Many of these neighbors came later in the evening to sit and chat, drink tea, all due to my visit, something Kadiatou made sure I understood.
Siaka and I slept in one of the younger boy’s huts, and unbeknownst to me at the time, Kadiatou arrived sometime during the night to cover me under a bed sheet to protect me from mosquitoes.


26 July 2010

I took the opportunity to take some photos this morning with Kazim and Siaka, before moving to beneath an enormous tree just past their concession to snap more. We all sat most of the morning at Kadiatou’s gwa where I brewed tea while the women shelled peanuts.
Another chicken was given to us as we prepared to leave, and I held it in my lap as we left for Siaka’s relatives in Manabougou, where he planned on collecting another chicken as part of traditional observance (uncles apparently gift their nephews chickens when they visit). With one uncle, Siaka and I walked across town past where market takes place to a man who sells traditional Bamanan medicine. Siaka was apparently purchasing a powder the man said was used as a remedy for snake bites. Upon our return to Siaka’s relative’s place, we had to wait briefly as Siaka’s uncle was in the process of casting some kind of animist spell, and could be heard speaking some ancient tongue (not any language I’d ever heard before) at a tiresome pace inside one of the concession’s mud huts. All of a sudden, his speech was broken by the squawking of a chicken bursting from behind the blind of the doorway to the hut, intermittently fluttering about in post-mortem spasms. This was to be my first witnessed such sacrifice, and it only left me more curious as to that whole animist culture I’m so unfamiliar with, especially how it continues amidst those who also claim to be Muslim.


27 July 2010

I’m quite ashamed after this latest Ouélessébougou trip. I left with the expectation I’d be back before noon and didn’t let Muriama know I would be gone, something I normally make sure to do, at the very least telling any one of the concession’s children.
Things began unfurling in Korobougou, where my bike tire went flat, and I was delayed more than two hours getting it fixed by the only villagers I could find at home. This time of year is the worst for finding folks at home, because they’re all in the fields farming.
I finally arrived in Ouélessébougou at 11hr30, right before the bank would close at noon. When I biked into town, I ran into Ousmane, the chauffeur friend I made a while back during a past trip to market. My intention of returning to Kafara early was quickly postponed upon hearing the news that his wife had given birth to his fourth child just two days ago, so I was culturally obligated to accept his request to go visit and spend the afternoon. I enjoyed meeting Ousmane’s family, including his older brother, a fluent Spanish speaker who’d spent some time in Spain. Both Ousmane and his brother are also Arabic students, and they taught me several of the ninety-nine Arabic words for Allah as we sat outside the concession drinking tea and listening to Akon tapes playing in Ousmane’s van. Sure enough, rain was approaching, making my return to Kafara evermore difficult. Ousmane drove me in his van to the road, where I collected my bike and hopped aboard Ousmane’s friend’s van on its way to Bamako. He arranged that I sit up front, and would be taken to Marako for free. By the time I arrived in Marako, it was raining heavily and I had no choice but to wait out the storm sitting with the butcher. It was then I decided it best to wait to see if Air Digan would pass by and I could catch a ride home that way. But once the rain had subsided and dusk began to fall, Air Digan was nowhere to be seen, and my options soon diminished. No one would allow me to bike home in the dark, and I wasn’t prepared to spend the night. By a twist of fate, I was able to catch a ride with a man from Kodialan. My bike stayed in Marako with the butcher, who agreed to send it to Kafara the next time Air Digan passed through town.
Finally home, I was ashamed to see that my evening bucket bath water had been pulled and sat waiting for me in my nyègèn. I already expected Muriama to be upset, but now that belief was cemented. Having finally located Soumaïla, I explained the staggering list of misfortunes that resulted in my late arrival, and rather than get upset, he understood how tiresome my day must have been. Knowing I had no meal prepared, Siaka and I went to buy some food in town.


29 July 2010

All day yesterday I lay in bed with body aches and a fever, finally sending Siaka last night to the Med Clinic to buy some aspirin. Completely catching me by surprise, he arrived with Dr. Niang, who sat in my house and carried on with a proper consultation. He confirmed my intuitions as to early malarial symptoms, especially after I described the lower back pain and fever I’d had most of the day. I told him which malaria prophylaxis I was taking, but when I showed him the pack of Coartem I’d had since arriving in Mali but not yet had to take, he immediately told me how glad he was I had this available in my hut, because there’s none here in town; the nearest place to find some in a pharmacy is Ouélessébougou, and it costs just under 5000f. Since it must be taken with food, he asked if I’d eaten just as Muriama arrived to ask if I wanted some porridge. I told her that would allow me to take the meds, but Niang quickly said that alone wouldn’t be enough, and in English proposed to me if I would like some of the pasta Dicko had prepared that night, before telling Muriama in Bambara to go ahead and prepare the porridge. Siaka came back with some spaghetti and beef tips, which I took my first dose of meds with, later eating a good portion of the porridge that came as well.
This morning, after telling all this to Soumaîla, we both confirmed that finally Kafara had found a good doctor again, and marveled at the seriousness and professionalism Niang took to his work. I’ve visited Niang several times to hear he’d not slept the night before, because he’d either been tending to patients at the clinic, or made similar trips to concessions in village to care for someone.
A village elder died late last night, the father of Siaka the chicken seller, a relative of the village chief who spent most of his time in Sokorodji, a quartier of Bamako. I went to the grave-digging site with the men of Kafara, where I asked Siaka about how the selection of a grave site is done. He says there’s no real system as to deciding where a grave is dug, just a “good place”. I continued from there to the Med Clinic to check up with Niang, who was in some meeting with Dicko, Ba Samaké (the local party member), and two Malians from other villages. Niang made sure I’d taken this morning’s dosage of medication before I went home, and each of the men at the meeting who knew me gave blessings.
Soumaïla called Yacouba from inside my hut last night, a tribute to Malitel’s superior reception in village these days, and gave him names of folks in town to know and introduce to the new volunteer. Soumaïla will be going to Tubaniso 5 August for a formation before returning to Kafara with my replacement 8 August. I’ll be here for the first two days of their week in village, before spending the remainder of that week in Bamako. This is the protocol I as a “site buddy” to which I must adhere, the same course which my first visit to Kafara took.
A new family member is here from Daoudabougou, the younger brother of Sidi and Kadia, another Mamadou. I don’t remember ever meeting him during my visits to Daoudabougou, but he knows me! N’Dia’s younger brother from Digan is here for the funeral observances today as well.
As Air Digan is still broke down, Lamine and Salim were sent to Marako this morning to collect my bike. Samba, the Fula in my host family concession, arrived from Niono last night, and during our greetings this morning told me his family send me many greetings and invitations to visit once rainy season has ended. Siaka’s friend from Djonkalan, Lasine, is here for the funeral as well, and wants me to visit before I leave too.
Niang and Dicko left for Bamako until Monday, and after going to say good-bye I went home to leave my bike and walked in the direction of the mosque, before meeting up along the way with Drisa, N’Golo, Boura, and Oumar. We could see close to 300 men leaving for the cemetery and picked up our pace a bit to catch up with them, then returned to the concession of the deceased for blessings, spoken mostly in Arabic. One of those who spoke is from Kafara and speaks Arabic exceptionally well.
On my way home from the blessings, I heard someone calling my name and was surprised to see Mamadou sitting in his concession. He’d arrived with Samba from Ouélessébougou for the funeral. I proposed meat for dinner, so we walked to Samba’s all the way in the far northern part of Kafara. Mamadou borrowed his moto to check for beef in Digan, but found none, so we went to Siaka’s, who told us to come back for chickens in the evening.
Kadiatou is here from Molobala for the funeral, and I was happy to have another opportunity to see her. Customarily, she and Muriama will spend the time between the funeral and the sara ka bô (on Saturday) at their father’s concession. She’d originally planned on being here for a wedding, but since it would’ve taken place in the same concession as the funeral occurred, it was postponed until next Thursday. So I’ll be seeing her again next week!
After eating dinner, Mamadou, Siaka, and I walked to Siaka’s and purchased an enormous hen that normally Siaka wouldn’t have wanted to sell, but decided to make an exception for me. The size of the chicken provided a good photo opportunity, so before Mamadou got down to the business of undertaking, pictures of my Molobala and Kafara chickens are now on record.
Later, Samba, Baba, Lasine, Siaka, Mamadou, and I sat, drank tea, and enjoyed the chicken until past 2hr00!


30 July 2010

On my way to Ouélessébougou, I stopped by the Canadian volunteer’s place in Dongorona to sit and chat with them and Kadiatou, who cooks for them. They leave Sunday, having spent just under three months here, so were interested in what my two years here have been like. In between questions, I enjoyed bread with chocolate and jam spreads.
In Ouélessébougou, Ousmane Bah, Kadia’s younger brother, pointed out Kadia’s older sister, Yiya, and mother, Benga Sow, who sat nearby selling milk. He described the ethnic tensions between Fula and Bamanan tribes that result in such a segregation of concessions like I’d seen in Manabougou. It essentially boils down to a lack of trust and differing lifestyles.
Back in Dongorona, I bought melons for my host family at the roadside from a girl who’s the friend of Adaman’s wife Awa, originally from that town. Her newborn baby girl, another Mariam, was asleep nearby as she pounded rice, and she told me to have Drisa, Adaman’s younger brother, send her some cucumbers from his garden in Kafara.
I ate again at the Canadian’s place, as Kadiatou insisted. It was an amazing rice and sauce filled with veggies (carrots, cabbage, potatoes, and eggplant) that I topped off with hot sauce. One of the volunteers from Quebec served me some lemon leaf tea as I enjoyed my third lunch of the day, all due to the invitation of Malians.
The bananas Ousmane gave me eventually found their way to Kadia’s son and nieces at the Med Clinic. Soumaïla graciously accepted the six or so melons, and was interested to hear they were from Dongorona.