I’m leaving pretty early in the morning so this is going to be a shot post, but I’ll do my best to recount a pretty important last few weeks.
I’ve continued to live with the Diarras, and have learned a lot from them. My host mother is an amazing women that has helped me more than I can possibly describe. She will sit and listen to my terrible Bambara with great interest, and correct my pronunciation. Though her I’ve learned quite a bit about gender relations here in Mali. For instance, my host mother runs a stand at the market in Bamako (she can sling a lot of veggies) and is well respected in the community. Many important elder men come to pay her respects and in an family meeting I sat in she spoke with authority. Everyone knows she is very intelligent, very strong and knows how to manage. However, if a man (someone married) comes into the room she will give up her seat, and sit on the floor. It is not as bad as it sounds since people sit on the floor here all the time, but it is still a sign of submission. Women here can make a lot of money (their husbands have no control over) and have equal civil rights. Traditional values and roles still have women as a lesser position (largely for religious reasons), and that is the reality here. In Bambara, Diarra means lion, and if I have met a lion during my stay in Niamana it is certainly my host mother.
One of my host dads (it’s a strange situation) is the Imam at the local mosque (think of the priest or pastor). Last week he asked me if I wanted to go with him, at first I was going to say no, but then I reflected on the decision and decided I had nothing to lose. Last week was the first, and probably the last, time I’ll attend mosque. The place was packed as my crew rolled up in our Mercedes (I’m not joking I roll around Mali in a Mercedes) and step out into a mass of people. The mosque was literally overflowing with people sitting on the ground outside of the mosque. As one can imagine a honky rolling up to the mosque with the leader of the church drew a lot of looks, but no one got up. I was led into the Mosque proper where room was made for me and the service began. It was good to see my host dad in action, tending to his flock, and I was pretty impressed. First he read from the Quran in Arabic, but after he explained the passage to the people in Bambara (this is blasted all over town via loud speaker). Shortly after nuts were handed out in the service was over after about twenty minutes. People stay around, chatted and ate beans/goat out of communal bowls. All in all it was a good experience, but I do not want people to think I’m Muslim (for a number of reasons). Consequently, I don’t plan on making a habit out of attendance.
My language is progressing, and I’m pretty much at the level I need to be by the end of training. However, my Bambara is still worse than my four year old brother’s (he is awesome). Additionally, the little kids are now less annoying (though they still love them high fives).
Now for news that is hot off the press! I found out where I’m going to live for the nest two years! Though I can not mention specifics (policy) I’m in the Segou region and will be the third volunteer at my site. I think I’m going to be working with existing farmers associations and getting a millet grinder running. The town has around 2000 people and they are mostly farmers and herders. However, I have yet to go to site so I still have a lot of questions, but some of those should be answered in a blog post a week from now. Why you may ask? Because, I’m going there tomorrow morning! I have also met my Malian counterpart (partner), and he is pretty awesome. I haven’t asked him if I can write about him yet so I’ll leave it at that.
I’ve been think a lot a philosophy/ political theory lately (I have a lot of time to think about stuff). When I get more computer time expect a longish theory paper. Sorry if this is full of errors, I’m rather tired and don’t have time to proofread.
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