Sunday, May 3, 2009

Oh how we love the neighborhood boys...

Every time we do any kind of work in our concession, we have spectators. One of our concession walls is not solid concrete but rather has beautifully crafted columns so that we can have a view of the Senegal River. While this wall gives us a good view, it also gives all of the neighborhood children a good view, of us.

Over the past months, we have been making an uncountable number of new friends. At first, we had a few groups of regular neighborhood boys who would bang on our door and yell out 'Oumar' or 'Fatim' until one of us came to greet them. Usually, all they wanted was a handshake and a smile. (We have created complex, multi-step handshakes with many of the neighbors, mostly Oumar's doing.) Although, there were a few who would desperately try to come into our concession (even pushing past our handshake) to take a peek into the white people's house or pick a few limes off our tree. For the most part, the neighborhood children know that they are not allowed into our concession without a verbal invitation.

Lately, the neighborhood children have become wise to the fact that our open concession wall is a better place to greet us from than the closed front door.

One day this past week, both Steve and I were sitting in our concession knocking out our laundry when one of the group's of neighborhood boys walked by. At first, they just called out our names and greeted us. Next, we went through the ritual of them asking us for mangos and us promptly telling them that the mangos on our tree were not yet ripe. (I am sure at some point they also asked us for some water, to use our bathroom, and if we have any chewing gum, all some of their favorite strategies to try to come into our concession.) Then, they decided to show Steve all of the lizards that they had recently caught, only a 25 CFA a lizard (6 cents). Steve informed them that he was good (on lizards) for the moment. It was the first time the neighborhood boys have tried to sell us anything. We had to ask them to let us take a picture.



While this picture is priceless, it may have been a mistake to break out our camera around them as today they have added 'asking us to take a picture of them' to their repertoire of demands.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

A Regular Morning

I am not sure such a thing as 'a regular morning' actually exists for Steve and I... but I would like to try to describe some of our more regular activities during the previous cold season in Mali. (Since we have now entered hot season, our regular activities have changed a little, but especially work wise they remain relatively the same.)

As for now, Steve and I are lucky in that none of our immediate neighbors own any roosters or donkeys and that our house is not directly next to a mosque's tower (call to prayer). Thanks to the lack of noise, most mornings, we wake up naturally around 7:30 or 8:00. To wake up a little, we may read a chapter or two of our latest book or we may get straight to work. Unless one of us is unusually busy, we usually take turns preparing breakfast. A typical breakfast consists of either an egg sandwich (most mornings) or a peanut butter (maybe with jelly or honey) sandwich. On the weekends, we may make oatmeal, pancakes (from scratch), or buy pâtés (pastries filled with meat and vegetables) from a vendor on the street. (Also, talking about being lucky, some volunteers live in villages without eggs, without bread, and/or without peanut butter. We are incredibly lucky to have all three available to us.)

Some mornings, after breakfast, if we haven't taken a bucket bath the night before, it is time for bathing. In the cold season, the water is fairly cold, so all water for bathing must first be heated on our gas, three burner camping-style stove. (In contrast, most Malians heat their water for bathing over either a charcoal or wood fire.) After we fill the bucket with the heated water, we pour the water over ourselves with a plastic cup like a make-shift shower. We are now both experts at using only one bucket of water to wash ourselves.

On some mornings, Steve is off to work first, since he has a 15 to 20 minute bike ride to his service. Although, for the most part, morning bike rides are actually extremely pleasant and refreshing due to the cooler morning temperatures. I also bike to work. Usually as I bike, I shout out greetings to all our neighbors who are out and to all of the regulars that I normally pass in the mornings. While work at the maternity (the part of the community health center specifically for maternal and infant health) at the community health center should begin at 8:00 AM sharp, many of the women, both workers and patients, do not arrive until closer to 9:00 AM. As long as I make it to the community health center (CSCOM, the French acronym) between 8:00 and 9:00 in the morning, I will have made it to work before work starts. I spend my mornings working with the infant nutrition program. I usually work with one of two different nurses and many trainees, as we weigh and measure every child under the age of five. After the measurements are taken, we must record them, check the status of malnutrition, and give counsel to the mothers as necessary. (In my opinion, all infant nutrition programs in Mali are of utmost importance, as one in five children under the age of five will die of malnutrition or a malnutrition related illness.) On the two busiest mornings at the maternity (Monday and Thursday), I give a relevant health talk to the women who are waiting for services (in French and my counterpart, a midwife, translates the information into Bambara). Aside from regular health consultations (with the doctor), the community health center has a daily vaccination program (where my counterpart works), nutrition program, and gives pre-natal and family planning consultations. Depending on the day, work ends anywhere between 11:00 AM to 1:00 PM (the latter on the busiest two days), although the doctor's services are always available.

Typically, our mornings are the busiest part of our day, which is fine by me because it is also the coolest part of our day. Around 12:00 PM and sometimes as late as 2:00 PM, we conclude our mornings at my counterpart's house (also our host family), Zeinabou, for a lunch of rice and sauce. We circle up around the communal bowl and dig in with our hands just like our host family.

As you can see, our mornings (most of the time) in Mali while different from the US are not all that different. We wake up, work, lunch, play, repeat, 'A bana' (In Bambara, it is finished).