Rough Ride in Kafara

17 August 2010

Another less than inspired sukuri (another energy bar and that same rice with sauce I don't prefer) left me fairly worried for today's fast. Hopefully, it won't be hot like yesterday, which could save me at least for the thirst part, which has always been for me the hardest aspect of fasting.
(Later...) One of these days in village, I have to record the breaking of fast prayer call that plays over the radio. As time approached the breaking of fast, a storm passed over, pushing me inside my hut. Adama arrived with a cucumber salad and a ginger flavored drink, and together we sat listening to the radio for that signal to begin eating. When I asked him whether he wanted to take part, he told me I should eat first because I'd been fasting today. I taught him the Arabic name for the meal, iftar.
Ma fitini arrived yesterday from Djonkalan, and kept me company today together with several younger siblings and Umu, the fulfulde girl from my host's concession.
I just remembered yet another interesting tidbit I learnt about mirrors, slowly becoming an ever curious example of Malian culture. During one of my nights spent in Daoudabougou, I made sure to remember to tell Mamadou about what Siaka had said about using a mirror at night. Mamadou’s explanation was to infer the belief it would scare away good spirits upon seeing their reflection. He added that if you must check your reflection once it’s dark to make sure both your ears are visible. I went on a small tangent and asked why Malian hunters wear a mirror around their neck. He said this was to either attract the prey’s attention with reflecting the sun’s light, or to calm it upon seeing its reflection so it doesn’t run away.


19 August 2010

After another day spent entirely in bed with body aches and feverish chills, without the consultation of any medical personnel I decided last night to start another round of Coartem, an antimalarial agent. The night before last saw temperatures fall to 68 degrees, and from that point on my body was clearly having issues regulating itself. I’m disappointed this may interrupt my fasting, only a week into the month of Ramadan, as I’d hoped to observe the whole thing. These past couple days have really been discouraging in that regard, because up until that point in Bamako, I’d been having no issues whatsoever with the fasting regiment. But as soon as I arrived in Kafara, it became very apparent that even in good health, fasting in a village where availability of food is already an issue just isn’t realistic.
Ma fitini left for Djonkalan this morning, and no sooner had I fallen back asleep when I was woken up by the voice of Mamadou, who’d just arrived from Bamako. He’d come by to surprise his family with some meat to break that day’s fast, along with I’m expecting a bit of money for his parents. After only a couple hours working alongside his family members in their field, he arrived at my house showing off blisters. Rather candidly, I told him the challenges that fasting in Kafara had presented me, only now compounded by the fact I was now quite sick. Empathetically, he agreed it was best to get back to Bamako so I could get proper medical attention, and underscored my premise that fasting in Kafara was a fool’s errand. We tentatively planned on my traveling to Bamako for Sunday, once I’d finished my Coartem.
Later in the afternoon, I went with my phone to the med clinic to charge the battery so I could call the doctor about my latest symptoms. Dicko immediately inquired as to my ill disposition, and told me to call with his Malitel phone, which I could do from that very spot due to that service’s superior reception in village currently. Although my doctor seemed upset that I’d started another dosage of Coartem within two weeks of finishing a previous round, I did my best to defend this course of action because I didn’t know what else to do given the circumstances, i.e. I’m where there’s no doctor. Plus, and I’m no doctor, but I’d been having what I’d been told to be malarial symptoms and malaria terrifies me. After explaining all this to a professional, I was told to get myself to Bamako as soon as possible to get proper tests taken in order to continue treatment. So much for that Sunday idea.
Dicko invited me to share in a wholesome meal thereafter, and made sure I was no longer fasting. This led to what began as playful teasing from Niang quickly turn to sour insults from Kadia’s husband belittling my fasting as meaningless because I am neither Muslim or praying. Quietly to myself, after my own private and equivocally disrespectful rebuttal, I found amusement that this same man was proud to invite me to join the men in village for funeral observances at a mosque. Looking back, I suppose I’m glad he doesn’t know that despite my technically going to the mosque, I sat outside. Also, I would've been happy to let Kadia's husband know that last year when the imam himself found out I'd been fasting for Ramadan, he personally told me how much this impressed him.