Life in Malian Time

When you spend days at a time having only 2nd-grade-level conversations with people, if you manage to have any conversations at all, and when you still have no idea how to occupy your day, with the expectation that the next day won’t be much more exciting, you start to get really, really bored.  I have termed this class of boredom “Malian Boredom,” similar to the “Malian Trashcan,” which is the ground around you, no matter where you are,  “Malian Feedback,” which is a hard openhanded smack upside the head, or “Malian Time,” which is the same as “West-African International Time” (W.A.I.T.).  Malian Boredom is not like American boredom, where there is nothing to do, because there is plenty to do, but nothing for you to do.  There are people to talk to, but no way to talk to them.  There is work to be done, but either you don’t know where it’s being done or you don’t know how to do it.  So while everyone else is moving all over, left and right, busy as bees, you are conspicuously doing nothing, and are thus not just bored, but guiltily bored.

It was after about a month of such boredom that I decided to start working.  Though the first few months at site are intended for integration, and starting real PC projects isn’t expected, little things like surveys or needs assessment work is perfectly fine.  But after a while, trying to survey all the families in town got too difficult when none of the interviewees could understand a word of what I said, or else I couldn’t understand their responses.  But one thing I did get out of these sessions was a general understanding of the kinds of work that people want me to do.  With this knowledge, I now had a new way to combat Malian Boredom: build a soak pit.

For those of you who have never had Peace Corps Water/San training, and aren’t otherwise familiar with village-work-level sanitation techniques in developing countries (that many of you?), a soak pit is a hole in the ground filled with rocks.  Into that hole, flows water, which can come from a bathing area, washing station, latrine, or anything else that would otherwise leave stagnant water lying on the ground to attract mud, microbes, and mosquitos.  In this case, it was a deep-water pump, in the center of town, right next to the market.  It was visible, public, and disgusting.  I convinced the mayor that if we build a soak pit here on the village’s dime, it would make it easier to attract interest in building more in peoples’ own homes and other areas around town which could be turned into a large, funded project.  He agreed, helped organize workers, promised we would gather the materials, and said the work would begin any day now.

After two months I got a bit tired of waiting.  The various people who were asked to get some materials kept forgetting, though I’m skeptical that some of them were even told at all.  And as the project failed to progress, people lost interest and a simple two-day project just didn’t happen.  Now, if nothing else, the two months were a great learning experience.  I did see how projects are organized, and the pitfalls of my own mistakes like expecting Malians to work the way Americans do.  From what I’ve seen, and what I’ve been told by others, it seems that Malians are happy to work on a good project, but they’re going to expect all the planning, supplies-gathering outside the village, and other preliminary work, not to mention the money, to come from the project leader, in this case me.  Like, no matter how many times they told me that a 6 meter pipe would be coming in next week, it was not going to arrive unless I brought it myself.

So I did.  And of course as soon as I did, work began.  People saw me walking through town with a giant pipe and the very next day, they were already organizing laborers to get started digging the hole, gathering rocks to fill it, and mixing cement mortar.  The day after, we started working, and it was fantastic.  The work went just the way I had hoped it would go, that is, while I was the guy who told them basically what to do, they took it into their own hands to think of the best ways to do it themselves, changing my blueprints to what they thought and I agreed worked better, or thinking of things I hadn’t even thought of.  In short, they made the project their own, without fighting with me for power, or depending on me for total guidance.  The only major hitch was when nobody showed up for the second day of work because the hole had been too short and too wet after the first day of work, so when I was asked if “A ma ja folo?” meaning “Isn’t it dried yet?” I answered “No, it’s not,” which put off being able to keep working because I had heard “A man jan folo?” meaning “Isn’t it tall enough yet?” (to which a “no” would have just meant that we could keep digging, and then keep working).

Though the work was a bit trying, and the whole process of getting the project off the ground was downright exasperating, I’m glad that I got my introduction to the Malian work ethic on a tiny, independent project like this soak pit, rather than a larger funded one where there would be a lot more at stake.  Now I have an idea of what problems I am likely to run into later, as well as what positive surprises I can expect.  I take comfort in my old philosophy that there are no mistakes in life, just discoveries of new ways to screw up.

Other than that one adventure, life at site is more or less the same as it’s been.  Sometimes bored, sometimes not.  Sometimes work, sometimes idleness.  I spent Christmas/Hannukah in Manantali with 10 other volunteers and one visitor from the states who brought all the delicious and festive holiday foods like marshmallows and canned pumpkins.  We ate like kings and drank like Malians by indulging in “sebeji,” the fermented palm wine drank by even the strictest of Malian Muslims because “It’s naturally alcoholic, which doesn’t count.” Of course, I represented Jewish contingent (being myself only) by lighting the menorah every night and making latkahs for lunch.  I also represented the Philadelphia contingent with a proud Phillies World Series Champions banner sent by Mom and Dad.  This banner would later make its appearance in my village as perhaps the only time ever that a baseball banner was captured in the same photo as a mud-brick-thatched-roof hut and a couple dozen Malian children (pictures to be uploaded soon).

New Years festivities were some of the best in memory as the weekly dance hall in Niantanso opened up for the whole town and we danced the night away, eating and drinking courtesy of the local restaurant.  I had a great time and learned a valuable lesson: paying a lot for real liquor is better than paying less for the watered down rubbing alcohol that the locals are drinking.  (Don’t worry family: Malians are not drinkers.  If I drank here a quarter of what I drank at a low-keyed party back in college, I’d be thought an alcoholic by everyone in town.)

These days, I’m back in the mythical land of Tubani So for more intensive technical training, like how to actually build a well and create project proposals.  In other words, we’re learning how to be more useful than ever!  It’s also a nice reunion with all our PC friends and a chance to compare stories and survival strategies from the edge and show off our newest Malian threads.  We’re hear until the end of the month, when I go back to village for a month before a trip with two other volunteers to visit Benin, Togo and Ghana in a 2-3 week excursion.  After that, back to village again until (yes, the rumors are true) I come home for my sister’s wedding at the end of May.  That’s right, if you thought you couldn’t go another five months without seeing me, you’re in luck because you won’t have to!

Also at Tubani So, we are learning how to get funding for our various projects, and this is where I put out an appeal to YOU, THE READER!  There are a number of agencies that give grants or collect donations to help us make our project proposals reality.  However, by far the easiest way to get money is to have a doner already set up who will fund the entirety of the project.  Now I know with the economy as it is, times are tough, and charitable donations are the last things on your mind, but if you or anyone you know wants to help me out, consider this: many projects only cost a few hundred dollars, some larger ones only a couple thousand.  Among many possible projects I am hoping to carry out in the next two years include repairing water pumps, improving dirty and eroding mud-brick wells, building irrigation systems to improve the gardens so the village can generate its own income, and expanding the village radio station so that programs on sanitation and hygiene can be heard in all the surrounding villages as well.  Unlike other charities or non-profits, donating to my projects means you know exactly what the money is going to and you know who is overseeing its proper usage.  If you are interesting in sponsoring a project sometime in the future, send me an email or if you don't have my email address, put up a message here and I will send you my address (so I don't have to post it here for the world to spam me).  Think of it as a thank you for all my awesome blogging.

In the meantime, I'm sure I'll try to blog again while I'm in Bamako, and certainly get some more pictures uploaded.  In the meantime, stay the same cool and loyal readers that you are and I'll see you next time!