First Week at Site

Ok, so in case you didn't notice, I just posted pictures. I did it as a separate posting so nothing could go wrong. I'm back in Sikasso after spending a full week at my site. One thing that was a bit stressful during my first 5 days or so at site was that the Peace Corps had misplaced one of my pieces of luggage in transit, and didn't find it until yesterday morning, so I was pretty worried about that. I originally planned to come into Sikasso today to buy some necessities to help me hold out until the bag was found (or in case it was permanently lost), but when I got the good news I decided to come in anyway to get my mail, use the internet, and buy some fruits and veggies.

It's an 18k bike ride in. My language tutor, Lassina, had told me that it is 4k from my village to the "siraba" (big road, which is also unpaved) but I think it's further because just that took about 30 minutes. Once I was on the big road though, things went much faster and the total trip was about an hour and 10 minutes. Anyway, it was a fun ride. There are several villages along the way, and everyone was really friendly and greeted me. People were so shocked to see a white person -- at this point, everyone in my village knows a white person is living there. On the road, however, I saw people driving mopeds literally turn around to get a better look at me.

As for my site. I've been trying to get up at 6:30. If I sleep any later, I'm guaranteed to feel really lazy, because even at 6:30 everyone is up already. I've been heating my water for coffee (instant) on a charcoal stove because one of the components of my gas stove was in my bag that was lost. Anyway, it takes 10 to 20 minutes to light my charcoal stove (I've been getting better at it). At first I hated doing it but now it's a kind of enjoyable part of my morning ritual. I get together the rest of my breakfast while the water heats. Bread is available in my village, if I feel like venturing out of my concession that early in the morning, which sometimes I honestly don't. My host family has been giving me millet porridge most afternoons, so sometimes I'll eat that for breakfast. It's really grown on me -- with powdered milk, sugar and cinnamon, it's delicious!

Anyway, once I've eaten I go to the well next to my concession to draw water for my morning bucket bath. If I need drinking water as well, I'll make a second trip. It's lucky that the well is so close, because water is heavy! I have a really big bucket, and I don't even fill it because if I do I can't carry it. I need to master carrying stuff on my head.

By the time I've gotten dressed, it's after 8. I've been spending my mornings out and about. I usually stop by Salimata's house (my homologue), and then either go to the CSCOM if there is anyone there (which there hasn't been), or I sit with her family a bit. After she's done some of her morning work, we have been going on marathon greeting sessions. That means going to one section of the village, and going to each concession looking for the elderly people that haven't gone to the fields. We sit with them for a few minutes while Sali introduces me and tells them what I'm there for. We chat a little, then move on.

I usually come home before lunch, then eat lunch at Sali's. I'm looking forward to having my gas stove working so I can at least cook my own lunch, because during Ramadan that would really be better. I spend the hottest part of the day at home. I read or nap, and every other day I have my language lesson from 3 to 4.

I've been going running almost every afternoon once it cools down. I try to stop by my djatigi's house either going or coming, because the path I go running on goes right by there. Everyone thinks it's hilarious that I run. Yesterday I had a kid follow me for a few minutes, continually asking me where I was going. I kept saying "I'm just running", but I don't think he believed me. There is a Fula (an ethnic group, usually pastoralists) guy who I always run into herding his cows. He also didn't understand at first, but he's gotten used to me. Yesterday he offered me some milk. I was curious but didn't think it would be a good idea mid-run (also, unpasteurized dairy products can carry TB).

Once I get back from my run, I draw more water and bathe again, and read/relax, then go to Sali's at 7:30 for dinner. They have a black and white TV powered by a car battery. Unfortunately, TV has been sucking because of Ramadan. They've taken my beloved "Au Coeur Du Peche" (a brilliant Brazilian soap opera!) and moved from 7 to 10:30, which is way later than I'm ever up. Anyway, I hang out, eat dinner, and come home around 9 and go to bed.

To explain about my djatigi. So, that's kind of like a host family, except I don't live with them or eat with them... The host father, Zange Koné, is the former mayor of Kafouziela. He was the one who originally submitted a request for a PCV. Most PCVs do eat with their host family. However, Lassina really wanted me to eat with Sali at the fonctionnaire's concession. I think that he and my host father think that I can't handle real Malian food or something. Anyway, I try to go hang out with his family at least a little every day. Zange himself is really, really nice. He has three wives, one of whom I'm named for (I'm Bintu Koné now). They are Senufo.

The Senufo are an ethnic group that is very prevalent in Sikasso. I'm lucky because while the majority of my village is Senufo, the language is only spoken by elderly people. Everyone speaks Bambara. I say I'm lucky only because PC doesn't ever teach Senufo during stage, and I know other volunteers who are in villages that do speak it. It's a dilemma for them because it is an exceptionally difficult language to learn because it's tonal, and dialects vary a lot so it would only be useful in their own village. On the other hand, the situation in my village is sad but typical -- less and less people are speaking it, and linguists are trying to preserve the language.

Back to my host family. Yesterday I went to their house because they were making shea butter and I wanted to see what they did and help if I could. They had already done something the day before to turn the shea nuts into brown goo. The step that I was there for was mixing that goo with water until it began to turn white. We stuck our arms in big basins of it and turned it for a long time. It was really fun. Of course, the women I was with somehow managed to get only a small part of their arm covered in the shea stuff -- my arm was covered to my elbow, and they thought it was hilarious. Once the white part separates, they transferred that to another bucket and threw out the remaining brown water. Then they heat the white part for an hour, and it turns to oil.

After we worked on the shea butter, I sat with my host father and we ate together. I asked him some questions about his family, including how many children he had. He told me that in total he had 8 children living -- 8 had died. This is a typical response. I've asked women the same question, and they'll say something like "Five... but 3 died." It's pretty shocking.