"Be Our Guest"

Please welcome guest blogger Julia B. Dyer (aka Mom) as she shares her thoughts on the highlights (and lowlights) of making the trek through Mali...

In January of ’09, Jim and I went to another world. We went to Mali, West Africa, to visit Susie on the last leg of her volunteer commitment to the Peace Corps. For the past 19 months she has been living in a small village in Mali with no running water, two lightbulbs and an outlet 5 hours a day and a diet consisting of a gray-green cream of wheat type mush called “to” (toe), eaten with the fingers out of a communal bowl. She had told us a bit about her lifestyle each time she could make her way to a nearby town with an internet café and email us so we had an idea about what to expect. When we arrived at the Bamako airport, we walked outside the terminal to find Susie. There she was, the one white face among hundreds of others waiting for passengers. When she saw me she ducked under the rope and as we smiled and hugged, all the other people who had been standing around her lit up as well. They seemed so genuinely happy to witness our reunion. This was my first hint that the Malian people are largely a happy group. After a day in the Peace Corps house in San where PCVs stay when they come from their villages to go to the bank, post office and internet café, our driver, Bakary, drove us to her village in Kimparana. This was our chance to meet her host family, take a tour of the village and see exactly where Susie is when we picture her working, eating, sleeping and being.

Of course, all my friends wanted to know how I dealt with the bathroom and the food. Everyone knows the bathroom is a hole in the floor. Luckily, Susie has a hole of her own right there in her hut, a luxury afforded a very few. Most folks are aware that the ground millet cooked over a fire and served hot, is the ubiquitous meal. It was easy to get used to the bathroom arrangements. Susie gave me a quick lesson and I had brought enough toilet paper from home to last me a good two months. The Vanderbilt Travel Clinic where we went for pre-travel vaccinations had advised us to drink only bottled water and not to eat from communal bowls. We had plenty of snack food with us. We ate an adequate amount of the meal prepared by the host family to appear interested. The rest of our meals were taken in restaurants with menu items chosen carefully. (One of us chose a whole lot more carefully than the other.) Yep, that was the easy part. The hard part was watching hungry orphans carrying a plastic bucket around just in case someone had a few bites left from their meal that they were willing to scrape into it. One child stopped me to have me pour the last third of my soft drink into his pail instead of discarding it.

As we walked through the village everyone greeted Susie and us as if we were American dignitaries, carrying on in Bambara, their native tongue with Susie answering their formulaic banter so adeptly that the people gave me credit for knowing the language! It is the cold season in Mali and days were a heavenly 75 or so. For the citizens, however, it was freezing. Babies were dressed in snowsuits, heavy jackets and any other pieces of cold weather clothing they had.

The huts are built in groups, surrounded by a privacy wall. These concessions , as they are known, have a communal open air toilet hole. Beside it, a shallow trench is dug to carry the waste wash water a few yards away where it sits on the ground. Most people step around it but small children and animals walk right through it as if it were not there. It is here that mosquitoes and other insects and bacteria breed. When the stuff does eventually seep down into the ground, it is often just feet from the family’s well. Get the picture? Of course you do.

We visited a clinic (and I use the term loosely) which had just recently added a place for delivering babies. This was to help improve the odds of a delivering mother living to care for the baby. The doctor there showed us a room where babies are delivered. Mind you, there is no water or electricity, just a table and a poster on the wall showing 4 steps to delivering. After the birth, the baby and mother are monitored every hour for 6 hours then moved to a room where there are 2 rows of beds. (Think summer camp.) Obviously this is a vast improvement over delivering at home and taking a big chance on bleeding to death, but it looked pretty grim to me.
To cut to the chase, Susie and I discussed the villagers’ life, good attitude and marveled at it in the face of appalling living conditions. Her remarks during that walk struck me; Susie said she didn’t want to necessarily change the people’s way of life. She just wants to help them be able to drink decent water so they can live long enough to get some amount of education and plot their own course. That’s why she is currently fundraising to conduct a clean water project in her remaining months. I thought that was pretty cool.

"Money (That's What I Want)"

I haven’t mentioned it much (if at all) on these pages, but I’m working on a project in village. I may be a Small Business Development Volunteer, but, as many of the PCVs in my sector have discovered with me, there often seem to be more pressing needs in the community than teaching every Traore, Keita, or Coulibaly basic accounting. For example, in my town (and virtually every other in Mali) the already dirty (you know, because they’re made of dirt) streets are further sullied by the presence of runoff water from family latrines. My project will address this sanitation problem in the homes of 300 families in my town. If you’ve heard enough and are ready to lend your support, you can go to this website and make a generous monetary gift by debit or credit card. If you are not yet convinced, read on for a more detailed explanation of the dire need for a solution to the dirty water problem. But be warned: it’s not exactly something I’d discuss with Grandmama.



This runoff in the streets is mostly “gray water” leftover from washing dishes and clothes, or people’s bucket baths. However, it is also made up of water used to “clean oneself up” after going to the bathroom or in the event of a missed target (those nyegen holes can be pretty small). You see, Malians do not use toilet paper. At least, the ones without running water don’t. And even some Malians fortunate enough to have a Western toilet still use the rural method anyway. Instead of paper, which is expensive and available only in cities, Malians take what looks like a large plastic tea kettle to the bathroom with them. It’s called a selidaga (pictured above). And it is omnipresent. You would think that a vessel for water used to clear away human waste would stay in the nyegen for that purpose and that purpose alone. But you would be wrong. The selidaga is used for washing hands, as well as feet and face, before each of the day’s five prayers. As it is also used to clean the mouth before prayer, you will often see a person come right out of the bathroom and take a swig directly from the selidaga. If you don’t believe me, ask Julia Dyer. She saw it with her own eyes. But I digress.



Gray and selidaga water from the bathroom has to go somewhere. The current system of nyegen drainage is just a hole at the bottom of the wall, leading into the street. Because if you can’t SEE the dirty water, it must just disappear, right? Out of sight, out of mind. But as you can see from the photos above and below, latrine runoff does not just disappear. I shouldn't have to say that the current situation is disgusting - both visually and olfactorily. That much is evident. What you at home may not think of, though, is that since this dirty water runs every day, absorption becomes difficult. Unable to soak back into the ground, the water becomes stagnant. And open stagnant water is the breeding ground of choice for mosquitoes carrying malaria. According the World Health Organization malaria kills an African child every 30 seconds.



My project aims to build "soak pits" outside the latrines of 300 families in my town to keep dirty runoff water out of the streets. I need your help to raise the funds necessary for the construction materials. Tell your mother. Tell your friends. Especially tell the mother of your rich friends. Spread the word to anyone you think would like to help bring improved sanitation to a West African village. Not only will it make our Malian neighborhood a cleaner and more pleasant place to live, it will make it safer by cutting the mosquito population. Since children seldom sleep under mosquito nets (which they ALL should!), reducing the number of mosquitoes is the next best method for preventing transmission and preventing the deaths of children whose families are too poor to buy medicine. Unfortunately, the San region PCVs can attest to the urgency of this need after a Volunteer's 3 year old host sister died before her father agreed to take her to the doctor. Soak pits can help. Fewer mosquitoes mean less malaria. And less malaria means fewer lives lost. Click here: https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=688-293 or go to www.peacecorps.gov, click Donate Now, and click Donate to Volunteer Projects to see my project (I'm the only Dyer!) and hundreds of others from around the world. Aw ni ce. Aw ni baaraji.

"Marrakech Express"

I'm back in Bamako after a fun and eventful (mostly in a good way) African adventure with none other than Mr. and Mrs. Mom and Dad Dyer. The flew into la capitale the evening of January 15th for two weeks of African-style fun... you know, getting hot and dusty while being yelled at. We were constantly on the move in order to see as much of Mali as we could. It was a hectic eight days, but we got to experience quite a lot: spending the night in my site and being mauled by dirty children, surviving the swarming-with-mendicants riverfront in Mopti, full day hike in Dogon Country complete with cliff dwellings, elephant-viewing in Gossi. We even made it up to Gao, a land not often reached by tubabs – even Volunteers! Despite the car breakdowns, crowded buses, arguments in Bambara over 25 cents, dirty utensils, lack of indoor plumbing, and general harassment, both my mom and dad did beautifully in handling the typical crises faced by tourists in Mali. I’ll let these pictures do the rest of the story-telling: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2156279&l=e7ee2&id=1404038

Somehow, even before seeing the country with his own eyes, Dad knew that we would be needing a little break after our Malian adventure. So onto Morocco! We flew from Bamako to Casablance then boarded the train to Marrakech. The North African leg of our trip was decidedly more comfortable, less frantically-paced, and tastier than the West African one. Trust me - after the chaos of Mali, the legendary bustle of a Marrakchi souk is no big deal. In addition to exploring Marrakech (with AND without the help of GPS), we got to spend a day in the High Atlas Mountains admiring Moroccan highway engineering, snow, and baby goats. Again, in lieu of stories, take a look at these: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2156362&l=3d823&id=1404038

The entire trip was the classic definition of an adventure: something you’re glad you did, but only after it’s over. To hear more, stay tuned for the ponderings of guest blogger Julia B. Dyer! Until then, TAS is OUT.

"Long Long Long"

I know, it's been too long. But I have had a lot going on over the last few months (including Thanksgiving in Sikasso, Christmas in Bamako with a real American Xmas dinner!, New Year's in Paris, and a project application in the works) and little time for blog posting and email writing. (However, I did somehow find the time for Facebook posting and email reading...) It is 7:37 AM Bamako time as I write this, and my parents are hopefully asleep under their mosquito net in the hotel down the street (aka dirt road). That or they're lying awake under their mosquito net wondering, "What in the world have I gotten myself into?" For they are here in Mali - that filthy, bustling place I have called my home for the last 18 months. We have a jam-packed 8 days in country followed by a 5 day rest in Morocco. Dad has already gotten the camera out, so I'm sure the trip will be well-documented for your viewing pleasure. Wish us luck. We'll need it.

"Chicago"

I just got back from the land of the midnight sun. I made the very long, very hot 13 hour bus ride to the northern city of Gao with two other girls from the San region. I can safely say it was my favorite excursion within Mali. Gao is so different from the rest of the country. More sand, less trees, more rock formations, more camels. And you get to wear a turban! In most of Mali you feel like you're in the Sahel, that band of semi-arid land that borders the Sahara. But in Gao, you truly get the impression you're on the edge of the desert. The highlight of the trip for me was the "Rose Dune", so named because it looks pink at sunset. I thought dunes like that only existed in Star Wars and Spaceballs (We ain't found $%*^!), but there it is, pictured above: a real, sure 'nuff mountain made of sand. We were able to spend about an hour and a half playing in said sand before impending darkness required us to scramble back to our boat and make it across the Niger before nightfall. On the way back home, I declared it to have been the coolest thing I've ever seen. And I've seen some cool things in my day.

The other highlight of the Gao trip was, of course, Election Night. 20 of us gathered at a bar/brothel owned by a Nigerian some Gao PCVs had made friends with. This was the only place we could find with 1) a television, 2) a television with CNN, and 3) a television with CNN in a place that serves beer. We spent the day napping and caffeinating to prepare for the inevitable all-nighter ahead of us. Some of us started to fade around 2 or 3 AM, but the announcements on Pennsylvania and Ohio naturally energized the PC crowd. By around 5 AM it was speech time, and we all summoned the energy to listen attentively to Senator McCain and sob like little girls for President-Elect Obama. I swanee, it was worse than Jesse Jackson and Oprah combined. Guys included. The rest of the day was spent receiving various displays of congratulations from elated Malians, ecstatic that "un noir" will be leader of the free world. No matter for whom you voted, I hope we can all agree that it was a day to be proud of our country and the democratic process. Now can we please cut it out with the "YES WE CAN"? It's driving me crazy...

We can cha yee yaaaange the world! Rearra yee yaaaaange the world!
It's dying to get better...

"Birthday"

It’s not my birthday, but tomorrow is. My “AQC”, we’re calling it. Almost Quarter Century. I’m approaching musokoroba (literally “woman old very much”) territory. At this point in time, the Breakfast Club stage has also bypassed the one year mark at site. In honor of this occasion, I took some quiet time to reflect upon my service, “Africa”, the nature of change, etc. I soon bored myself. Then I came up with this list:

After one year at site,

I still…

• Don’t eat mayonnaise sandwiches, a staple in the Malian PCV travel diet. I just can’t do it.

• Spend WAY too much money on telephone credit, the internet café, and the post office. I miss you guys!

• Wash my hands with soap before eating, unlike SOME people *cough* Amy aka Aminata Haidira *cough*.

• LOVE baby chicks. Baby goats. Baby donkeys. Baby anything, really.

• Don’t eat those brown, dried, all curled up bottom-feeder fish. I’d rather be protein deficient.

• Forget to call my Malian family when out of town (a bad habit, some will remember, got me into trouble in high school…) and bring back “city” gifts for them. Terribly culturally inappropriate.

• Flinch a little at rocks, hair, bones, skin, bugs, worms, and/or sand in my food. I mean I’ll still eat it but, blech. Come on, guys! I personally volunteer for rice-checking duty next meal.

• Have to laugh at the ridiculous stickers and t-shirts I see on cars and people. This morning’s example from transport: A photo of Osama bin Laden framed by the words “NEVER DIE” superimposed over an image of what I truly believe was a shot of Chuck Norris from that cinematic classic, Delta Force. I mean, I couldn’t make this stuff up.

• Kind of enjoy making African babies cry in sheer terror. Simply at the site of my face. From a distance. It doesn’t get old.

• HATE doing laundry. It’s torturous.

• Use toilet paper.

I no longer…

• Respond to children in my village who yell “tubabu” at me. You don’t know my name by now? Well, go ask somebody. You don’t get the Queen of England wave.

• Wave more than twice at any one child, no matter how many times or for how long he may scream my name. You MIGHT get three if I’m in a good mood. Which is rare.

• Eat in restaurants at every opportunity. $8 pizza or 10 cent plate of beans? I’d rather eat the beans and spend the difference at the cyber café.

• Take every baby that is handed to me. I’ll only hold your baby if I know you or if it is an especially cute baby, for a couple of reasons: 1) Malian babies will ALWAYS go to the bathroom on you. 2) Ever since fellow PCV Brooke aka Fakuru Kamisoko (kami sogo!) got stuck alone with a Malian newborn on the Kayes platform as his train pulled away, I don’t want to take any chances.

"Junior's Farm"

Yaba Daba Doo!


I came to the recent realization that rainy season is more than half over and I've yet to post an agriculture-related video. So here you are. I don't know about you, but I get exhausted just watching this video for 54 seconds. And those kids are out there all day. Most of the clearing, planting, weeding, and general field-tending in my area is done by guys with hand tools. No horse. No donkey. No plow. Just the daba. Dabas (the short-handled hoe seen here) are as ubiquitous among the Malian male 8-40 segment as knock-off designer purses are among the American female 12-30 segment. Girl, you know eeeeevverybody got one. Now that it's Ramadan, people aren't working so hard. That is both because no one has the energy (you know, due to lack of eating) and most of the hard work (planting) has been finished for a while. Now we wait for harvest time. We've had good rain and the millet's looking pretty tall, so I am anticipating a bountiful yield. You know, because I'm an expert in the field...