Pictures: Can’t Rain on Our Parade

Ever since Mali’s coup nine days ago, traffic to our blog has increased as people seek to gain insider’s updates to recent events. But the truth is, we are constantly searching for updates ourselves, and otherwise have increasingly become impatient and… well… bored. We are completely safe; outside of Bamako and the Sahara, things have been and remain very peaceful. Rather, we have been waiting for the situation to develop - in the 110 degree heat - trying to analyze news as it comes, because we know that the outcome affects our Malian friends and the rest of our Peace Corps service. Therefore, we have had to find ways to distract our attention in between updates, so here’s what we’ve been up to:

Lately, we’ve kept busy by painting some health murals in the pediatric ward of a local Women’s and Children’s Hospital. One mural encourages pregnant and breastfeeding women to eat nutritious foods while the second emphasizes the importance of hand washing with soap before eating, before cooking, and when leaving the bathroom. 10 volunteers in our region worked for 2 days to brighten up the areas where families are often waiting while their loved ones get diagnosed.

     

On another note, we recently visited a Broccoli and Strawberry garden, discovered by Joye’s Mom during their visit. We were thrilled to have a few types of “American” produce that we haven’t found anywhere else in Mali. And yes, they tasted wonderful! :)

 

Finally, we’re  very excited because we are SOO close to getting our funded projects completed. This past month,  James and his work partner traveled to many villages throughout the commune promoting the PLASA improved tree-planting method and continuing to organize the planting of 2000 trees.  Because of James’ hard work, over 100 people have been thoroughly trained and equipped to plant trees in dry season.

  

 

In Kongodugu, villagers have been turning out every day to continue construction work on the school. So far, the roof has been put in place, doors and windows have been installed, and the cement plaster has been applied to the insides.  Very soon, the 1st-3rd grades will be able to move indoors to study in their new classrooms :)

 

 

Let's pray that the situation resolves itself quickly so we can get back to focusing on what's really important. Thanks for reading!

~Joye and James

Update: The Coup & the Poo

So Mali’s had a coup d’etat.

Now I’m guessing that almost all readers of this post are checking our blog to make sure we’re safe and okay. Rest assured, we are. Peace Corps is monitoring the situation carefully and has been is regular contact with us since last Wednesday. Honestly, our main concern at this point is not for our safety, but for the completion of our project work. I am only one day at the bank away from finishing up work on my tree-planting project, but the banks have been closed since last Thursday! We are also very concerned for the future of Mali’s democracy, given that it was a model in the West African region, but has now become a joke. If you would like to read more on the situation, check out articles from the NY Times, Washington Post, AP, Reuters, and BBC, that latter of which has a correspondent in Bamako.

But way out in Kongodugu, we only found out about the coup through a series of text messages from Peace Corps and the US Embassy. “PCVs, please avoid Bamako tonight due to demonstrations.” “Disturbance in Bamako; US Citizens advised to stay indoors.” “PCVs, a coup d’etat has occurred, who’d a thunk?” “Curfew established; US Citizens advised to stay indoors.” And the like. For those in Bamako, my understanding is that the situation is still tense, but out in village, most Malians reacted to news of the coup with a very “c’est comme ca” (it is was it is) attitude. Even in Duguba, people do not see Bamako as affecting their daily lives; therefore, they don’t clearly see - for better or worse - how this ‘military disturbance’ should affect them either.

The whole episode reminds us of an incident that happened in the Allen household last week. For the sake of analogy, Joye will be mutiny leader Amadou Sonogo, I will be Mali’s democratically elected president ATT (nice arrangement, huh?), and my awesome cell phone will represent Mali’s democratic government. On Saturday night, just after dark, Joye took control of my cell phone – which has a flashlight – in an effort to protect herself from scorpions while going to the nyegen. Regular readers may remember that a nyegen is an outdoor, hole-in-the-ground bathroom. Clearly she believed that she could use my cell phone more effectively than I could. However, a minute after her coup d’phone, I heard her cry: “Crap! Crap! Crap!”

Joye had dropped my phone, its backing came off, and it bounced down the nyegen hole, landing in a pile of crap. Of course, all eyes turned to me to come up with a solution. Peering down into the hole with another flashlight (which I was holding), we noticed that the phone landed face down, the battery had flown out, and the SIM memory card – which holds all of the phone’s valuable information – was visible and unblemished. Let this SIM card represent the spirit of democracy, the sanctity of the Constitution, and rule by the people. It needed to be recovered.

We quickly rigged up a solution. Though it’s inconsistent to our analogy, Joye helped by digging through a trunk and finding a fridge magnet. I then fastened this to a long rope, which I skillfully lowered into the dank deep hole, Mission-Impossible style. Thanks to good aim and electron realignment, it soon clung to the back of the phone. I carefully pulled on the rope, and reluctantly, it rose out of the poop with a suction sound. All that was left was to bring in the lifeline to remove the cell phone from its malodorous environment.

This is the state of Mali’s democracy. It remains suspended between the open air, that is freedom, and a swamp of feces. Extraction from this sticky situation could mean the preservation of democracy with the upcoming presidential elections, which were set to occur at the end of the April. But one wrong tug of the rope, so precarious and fragile, could send the hope of elections and decentralization back into the fetid abyss, n’er to return. ATT, who has yet to react to the takeover, is certainly between a rock and a smelly place.

But as Joye and I watched the cell phone ascend in the thin beam of the other flashlight, we did not give up hope. We held our breath as it rose out of the nyegen hole, nervous to face the moment of truth and also because it reeked of putrid waste. Putting aside my fear of getting my hands dirty, I swiftly bent over the cell phone and successfully wheedled out the SIM memory card. We both laughed in the joy of success, before we both had to leave the revolting sight of decay and maggots.

Over the next few days, I did my best to clean off the cell phone. We rinsed it thoroughly, scrubbed the niches with Q-tips, soaked it in bleach water, and dried it in the sun. Surprisingly, it still worked, but sadly, it still stinks of poop. In the aftermath of whatever will occur here in Mali, this is an important lesson. Any solution will not rid us of the odor caused by this setback to democracy. Unless, of course, we buy a new and improved phone, which is what we did.

Let us hope that Mali can get its democracy back on course, for the sake of our projects, our villagers’ future, and the preservation of democracy in West Africa.

~James (and Joye)

Reflection: Vice Verses

Since we’re nearing the end of our service this summer, James and I have recently been reflecting quite a bit on the time we’ve spent here and the lessons we’ve learned, wondering what we had yet to share with our blog readers. While joking around about all the epic adventures we’ve been through, I decided that if we were to choose a soundtrack to these past two years, I would choose Switchfoot’s  newest album “Vice Verses.” Not only is it our favorite band to rock out to while we’re doing laundry by hand or biking to and from work, but almost every song has either inspired us or comforted us in a particularly difficult time in Mali. Thus, its in the context of this album, that I reflect on our service.

The somewhat melancholy album describes the duality of life -- striving for a reconciliation of the pain and suffering in the world with hope and the desire to do something about it. 

“I know there is meaning to it all…..a little resurrection every time I fall, You’ve got your babies, I’ve got my hearses, every blessing comes with its set of curses, I’ve got my vices, you’ve got your vice verses.”

Likewise, our life in Mali is often full of opposites, contradictions, highs, and lows. Its probably a combination of the nature of development work, the mood-swinging side effects of Mefloquine malaria prophylaxis medication, and the extreme heat, but I’m pretty sure that we’ve never felt so bipolar in our feelings and moods on a day to day basis. Indeed, when we reflect on our service we realize that some of the best and worst days of our lives have come packaged in one week. This past set of weeks has been a particularly extreme example.

“I want to thrive, not just survive. I get so down, but I won’t give up.”

After returning from the Segou Music Festival, we reached our village and were thrilled to find that the school walls were finished and that one of my (Joye) best friends, Nana, had just given birth to a healthy and beautiful baby girl. As I held the day-old baby in my arms and she gave me a big toothless grin, it was hard to hold back tears. I’ve certainly held babies before, including lots of babies in my village, but this was the child of a woman who has been my close friend for over 20 months, someone who constantly seeks and listens to my advice on nutrition, sanitation etc. I was ecstatic that I could share such an important moment with a friend who is so culturally different from me. I  thanked God that he had blessed this little girl with good health and a mother who cared enough to educate herself and her children.

“Deep down there’s a hope inside, you’ve got wings, but you’re scared to fly”

However, when we reached our host family’s house the next day and began chatting, we discovered that February had not been so kind to most families in Kongodugu. Six families had lost children under 5 years old during the short time we were gone, and many were our close friends:  the head mason for my classroom construction project, the head mason’s apprentice, and our next door neighbor the Imam’s son.

“This air is strange to me, feeling like a tragedy, I take a deep breath and close my eyes. We were born into a fight, but I’m not sentimental, this skin and bones is a rental… still looking for a home in a world where I belong, where the weak are finally strong.”

It was a lot to swallow, but Malians only allow themselves a 1-2 days to grieve before going back to their daily lives. The way they see it, death is too common here to waste large amounts of energy and feelings on it. We asked around and found out that many of the deaths were malaria or flu related –  completely treatable if the children were not so severely malnourished to begin with. Malnutrition: a problem we’d been trying to educate people on all last year through teaching the 3 food groups and planting Moringa trees. Maybe we’d been helpful, but, it seemed, it wasn’t enough.

“Feels like we’re just waiting, while our hearts are just breaking. Feels like we’ve been fighting against the tide. I want to see the earth start shaking, to see a generation waking.”

Still, we had work to do, and good work, too. So we threw ourselves into planning the PLASA tree-planting training for which James had received a USAID grant. We recorded 2 radio shows and trained people from 10 villages to plant trees in the dry season that would live long and produce leaves or fruit that would provide essential vitamins and nutrients to their diet. James was extremely satisfied with the results, as trainees repeatedly thanked him for organizing this workshop. They seemed reenergized about planting trees in their communities. Though exhausted, we couldn’t help but comment to each other how this is the kind of work we were excited to be here in Mali for, work that we couldn’t do from the US but was equipping people to make changes in their own communities.

“At last completed and complete, where tired and tears and pain subside, and laughter drinks them dry.”

Returning to village, I walked around and greeted everyone with a smile, happily boasting that we had just finished our tree-planting training in Duguba. My neighbor Miriam listened contently while I chatted away and then quietly mentioned that her 3 year old daughter Sanata had passed away. The news hit me like a brick wall. It wasn’t exactly surprising. I’d been trying to convince Miriam give her malnourished and sickly daughter protein rich foods for over a year now. But it hurt all the more because it had been one of my first mini-goals, to make her healthy.  I used to stop and play with her every time I walked through her compound (once/day) , reminding her mom to take her to Baby Weighing sessions in Duguba and add peanut powder to her food.  It was a heart wrenching reminder to both James and I of our limitations and of how hard development really is. We both struggled with the news. But in Mali, you have one good cry, take a deep breath, and keep going.

“It feels so typical, guess I’m looking for a miracle. Rise Above it.  Hear our voices rise, hear our battle cry. We will rise, like the tides. Let’s rise above it.”

That news has convinced me that nutrition should be my focus for the rest of my time here. And I’ve had some great days since, teaching women to make nutritious baby food and planning more trainings on easy solutions to malnutrition, like Moringa. 

We still have a lot of ups and a lot of downs. Some days people listen, others they are too busy to give us their time.  The days here ebb and flow. We have successes, frustrations,  and heartbreaks.  We learn and we adapt. And though this is not always cheery, it is part of the experience. Life is a two sided coin, full of joy and sorrow. We hope that recording it here will help you understand a little more about our lives and the lives of our villagers here in Mali. 

“Here’s to your bright eyes, shining like fireflies. These are my souvenirs, a memory of a lifetime. So I close my eyes, and we’re back in time. 

We were so young, we had no fears. We were so young, we had no idea. We had just begun, a song we knew but had never sung, that burned like fire in our lungs. And life was just happening.

I wouldn’t trade it for anything.  My souvenirs.”

- Joye (and James)

Pictures: ‘March’ ing Forward

In the last month, the village has finished the mudbrick walls of the school! Joye and her work partner made multiple trips to a larger city 20 km away organizing the delivery of cement, doors, windows and tin paid for by a USAID grant. Now, the village masons will work together to install the roof, doors, and windows in the next few weeks!

 

James also just completed a Dry-Season Tree Planting Workshop where he organized a trainer from Association Vigne in  Bamako to come and teach 80 individuals from 10 villages a new method known as PLASA. Villagers learned that a little extra work up front will greatly increase the longevity and robustness of the trees planted. This new PLASA method requires minimal watering and upkeep, but prevents the trees from dying without rain. The attendees of the training expressed excitement that they now felt equipped and reinvigorated about contributing to reforestation in their communities.

(Above) James and our wonderful trainer plant a lime tree outside of a government office as part of the training.

James will spend the next few weeks distributing trees to organizations that attended the training and helping them to plant some trees in their villages using the new method.

 

Thanks for Reading!

~Joye (and James)

Update: To Bamako & Back

“I have diarrhea right now! If we don’t stop immediately, I will defecate on your bus!”

It was ridiculous that it had come to this. But we had talked to the driver before, and only now that we were at our stop did he decide not to comply. I had already ordered him to pull over, shouting over the other passenger's heads, and when he refused I adopted a new strategy. It worked; he pulled over immediately, and the other passengers were so busy laughing that no one was bitter over the minor inconvenience. Soon we were off the bus, and I had another story to tell concerning the insanity of Malian transportation.

Whereas in 2011 Joye and I would travel to Bamako about once every three months, during this past February we went there and back three times. Since each one-way trip takes about 12 hours on the road, this means we spent 72 hours (or three days) in a Malian bus, which is considered by most Peace Corps Volunteers to be the worst part of Mali. They're hot, always late, always smell of a boy’s locker room, and moreover, the people who comprise the Mali’s transportation industry are unlike all other Malians in that they are not hospitable, accommodating, or well-intentioned.  However, the reasons for our traveling made the efforts worth our while. Here is a little of what we did in February:

Two of our trips to Bamako were the bookends to a fantastic visit from Joye’s siblings, Scott and Hope. During their brief 10-day stay, we visited Kongodugu (our site) and its weekly market and spent a few days relaxing at a quasi-resort outside of Bamako. We also attended the annual Segou Music Festival, which did not fail to impress with its numerous artisans, delicious Capitaine fish, and world-renown musicians - Salif Keita anyone? It was great to spend so much quality time with Scott and Hope, especially without the distractions of Internet and texting interfering with our conversation. To see if they agree, maybe we’ll post something from them soon about their impressions of Mali. Here are some pics:

Moreover, the month started with a Food Security Task Force meeting in Bamako, where about 30 volunteers gathered for a week to utilize and improve our food security program. About 12 of us started out the week by developing resources, such as a Bambara cookbook of nutritious recipes and a video showcasing a water-conserving tree-planting method. Joye worked on compiling a radio script manual that will largely draw from our own show, while I brainstormed and drafted planning materials for a West Africa Food Security Summit, which will hopefully happen between April 10-14. To me, all of these projects are very exciting! We also voted for new leadership for our Task Force, since many volunteers (including us) will be finished within the next six months.

One final noteworthy travel story is that, after the Task Force meeting in Bamako, Joye and I biked back to our site Kongodugu from Koutiala, down a dirt road that cut through five other villages we had not visited before. In addition to seeing the new sights, we were fascinated to hear each subsequent village’s dialect of Mianka (a native language to our region) gradually evolve into Kongodugu’s form. But it was a tiring journey - over 80 kilometers (50 miles) in the hot Malian sun. It’s funny how some Malians are terribly impressed by this feat, which took us about eight hours with a lunch break, while other are surprised we could not do it in four or five. Either way, we’re proud of the accomplishment and enjoyed the adventure.

Thanks for reading!      – James (& Joye)