I knew I would experience it more than once during my time in Mali. I knew it would happen in more than one form. And I knew it would be sometime soon because everything so far during training was going rather well.
Culture shock
I only spent about 5 days at my site, but those days seemed to drag. Here is my journal entry after my first full day:
13 December 2011 20:16
Wow! Now this is culture shock! I had a feeling this would happen because everything had been going so smoothly. I feel like we learned some fancy, city Bamako Bambara because it seems like only half the people understand me. My homologue is great, Soumaila. I don’t know about my family yet. My house is part of a huge concession. I think my host dad is the dugutiki* and he has one wife, but his 3 sons and their families live here too. My house has 2 rooms with a big and small window in each. I have a little walled-off patio and a giant private negen*. THANKFUL for my bug hut! I don’t have a bed frame so I’m sleeping on the floor on a “mattress” (foam pad that’s very thin). We didn’t get to my site until almost 5pm after leaving from Bamako at 5:30am, so I was tired! I went straight to my new home with Soumaila, got settled a bit, talked briefly with my family, showered and had dinner. It was millet* “cous cous” with a spicy peanut sauce. Then Soumaila’s wife brought me rice and sauce. I quit eating with my family since they didn’t wash their hands. Back up: I asked where the soap was to wash my hands and one of the guys took me over to the big tree in our concession and started to put a nail in the trunk. I thought, Is water going to come out? Nope. He stepped back and was kind of like “There you go!” WTF?! I then said that I need to wash my hands and they all just looked at me weird. I went and got my own soap, frustrated and asked for the salidaga*. Still blank stares. I finally found one. So frustrating! I started eating with my family again because I wasn’t sure if Soumaila would come, but his wife did. Rice and sauce. Thankful for that because one of the women in my family was hacking up a lung. Today I went to the CSCOM with my homologue. He kind of left me there to talk with a couple of the staff. So awkward. I thought they knew French, but they didn’t use it much. The main guy working had to go into some sort of meeting so I was left with a couple of the women. It was so boring cause they didn’t really talk to me. I tried asking questions, but that was an epic fail. A few times the doctor guy or whoever he was said, “I m’a faamu kosebe,” you don’t understand a lot. Or something of that nature. I wanted to say “Yes I do, but you all ask things weird here.” Like at one point a guy just said, “I ba? I fa?*” and when I looked at him funny he said “ Votre mère? Your mother? Votre père? Your father?” I know the words buddy, but I don’t know what you are trying to say. Ahh! So I just started talking about my family and where we all live. They asked if I had been to NY and I said no so they asked why and I said it is far from where I live. Nebraska ni Kansas be Ameriki cemance la ani New York be koronton fe*. Everyone always talks about NY and California. Blah. I almost started crying at different times and had to excuse myself to go to the negen when I was tearing up. As soon as I got in there I crouched down in the corner and cried. This was my first Oh shit! What the hell am I doing here?! moment. When I came out, PTL*, my homologue was there and we got to leave. Had trouble explaining I needed a pail to get water from the pump to drink, but Soumaila helped and my host sister took me to a pump. This was the happiest I felt, just chilling at the pump, talking to the kids and knowing I would soon have water. My homologue and his friend fixed my door because it was very hard to open and close. However, it’s still a pain in the ass to lock. Oh well, c’est la vie. Last night I opened my Bible to where I left off and saw I was starting James. The first chapter hit me hard because it was as if you, God, were trying to soothe my frustration through your word: “Consider it a pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” So here I am God, asking yet again for your help. Grant me peace and comfort during yet another adjustment period. I pray for patience and wisdom as I attempt to speak and understand a new language. I also pray that when people laugh and repeat what I say it is not malicious, but they’re just having fun. Tomorrow is a new day! May it be joyful! Je t’aime Dieu.
Vocab for above, in case I hadn’t explained earlier:
Dugutiki – Chief of the village
Salidaga – Plastic container that looks like a teapot that holds water. This is what you use instead of TP
Negen – latrine
I ba – your mom
I fa – your dad
Nebraska ni Kansas bЄ Ameriki cЄmancЄ la ani New York bЄ koronton fЄ – Nebraska and Kansas are in the center of America and New York is in the East.
PTL – Praise the Lord
So that was a bit lengthy, but captures a bit of the rollercoaster I experienced during the past week.
On a depressing note, I experienced my first funeral in Mali. A baby in my concession (the area my host family lives) died the last day I was at site. The first day I saw this baby I thought, Wow that baby is tiny! It has to be only 3 pounds and looks like it was born premature. I wonder if it will make it here. I was just sitting outside my room reading and Somaila came over and said, in Bambara of course, “The tiny baby. He passed away.” Before I could really respond one of the women from my concession brought me a bucket of water to take a bath. Somaila told me to go wash and when I didn’t move right away he said it again. I just looked at him, Are you crazy?! A baby just died and you want me to act like nothing happen and go take a shower?! After I had bathed and got dressed, I came out to a group of about 20 men standing in the middle of the concession in silence. I sat down a few feet away, not knowing what to do. They all started praying softly together and then turned around, led by one man that was carrying the body that was wrapped in some sort of animal skin. I then saw the women and older men sitting on rugs separately from each other. The women motioned me over and I sat with them, still not saying a word. I tried to remember some blessings to say to them, but I was still in shock a bit.
After a little while some of the men came back from burying the baby. No one looked particularly sad or cried. Malians are not known to show emotion. Even during childbirth, women are instructed not to cry because it makes them look weak. I was trying not to cry the entire time. Not only had a baby just died, but I was thinking about how that child would have most likely survived if it had access to specialized medical care. I also was depressed at how no one seemed to be sad, except for the mother, because death of children is so common in Mali. Heck, the life expectancy here is only 50. No one seemed phased by it at all and immediately just went back to life like nothing happened. I wanted to hug the mom, who looked younger than me, but people do not hug here. Such a bizarre, depressing end to my first week at site.
On a happy note (ups and downs galore, I tell ya!), after our site visit I got to spend a couple days in Segou. We hung out with current volunteers from our region who were all very welcoming and fun to be around. One volunteer, George, is from Lincoln and here with his wife Anna. I found out later that he graduated from Pius and his sister was in the same class as my cousin Mark. What a small world!
On our last night in Segou, this past Saturday, we all went on a boat ride on the Niger. We had some drinks at a restaurant owned by a French man across the river. It was one of the nicest places I’ve seen in Mali thus far. On our ride back we got to see the sunset. Beautiful! We then all went out dinner. Hawaiian pizza and schwarma (I don’t remember how to spell it, but is like a Lebanese version of a kabab). What a great night. And I actually needed a jacket! I’ve actually been sleeping in a sweatshirt lately because it has been cold, by Malian standards at least.
My mind still automatically either goes to food or the gutter here. An example was today another trainee said that they needed to have “catch up time,” referring to talking about how everyone’s’ site visits went. I initially thought, Ketchup time?! What’s that? Who has ketchup?” Yep. Then just a few minutes ago someone said “I don’t think there’s gonna be a DP anymore tonight.” They were talking about a dance party, but I first was reminded of Dr. Pepper.
Only about 2 ½ weeks until we are done with training! We swear in January 6th as official Peace Corps Volunteers and we have our final language test on New Year’s Eve. So soooooooon! It will be fine, but I do have some more studying to do. Only 6 days until Christmas! Sounds like we will be able to put together a good menu from supplies the Tubab store. (I don’t know if I mentioned before, but Tubabu is what a white person is called here in Mali. Pronounced too-baa-boo, it comes from the Malian word for a French person. People usually start talking to us in French here and are initially weirded out when we start talking to them in Bambara). I most likely won’t be able to post another blog before Christmas because we go back to our home stay sites tomorrow. We will be back to Tubaniso Christmas Eve, but I will be busy with all the festivities: making cards, white elephant gift exchange, helping cook, Christmas music and movies!
Have a very Merry Christmas everyone! Sending you love from across the ocean!
