While just another day in Mali...

...I recall that today is the day that every American family comes together, cooks Turkey, and eats as a family--Thanksgiving. I've briefly talked about Malian food and eating habits briefly, but I'll speak a little more specifically on what exactly I eat day to day.

My community, like nearly all of Mali, is composed of farmers; everyone grows corn, millet, beans, and peanuts. The rice fields are slightly further out, so fewer people grow rice. People also have gardens and grow tomatoes, onions, cucumbers, okra, and watermelon. At the end of rainy season, the larger crops are harvested, and everyone goes out to the fields for a few hours to pull up peanuts or cut millet stalks. Once these major crops are harvested, Malian women dry and pound, (in Bambara, susulike) them: millet must be pounded out of it's outside casing and washed, beans dried and washed, and corn dried. Next, you can take your dried beans, corn, or millet to the masine in the center of town and the machine will grind them into a powder. I myself bought some rice, and had it ground into rice powder or malomugu.

Now, finally, you can actually cook what you grow. Mali, and only Mali, eats something called to: you heat water, little by little add millet powder to the heated water, and a thick porridge-like substance results after much stirring. You then ladle it out in large spoonfulls, allow it to cool so it develops a consistency like jello, then you put sauce on it. Most often, Malians serve it with tomato-okra sauce, baobob leaf sauce, or another type of sauce that's mostly just tomatoes.

When peanuts are harvested, women susu peanuts into tigadiga or peanut butter, and then most often make peanut butter sauce--tigadigana-with peanut butter, okra and tomatoes, and serve it over rice. Really good tigadigana is simply...amazing. It makes my day to have rice and tigadigana.

Following a meal, Malians drink tea. When first asked if I drink tea, I had only my American frame of reference: tea as an infusion of a dried plant in hot water, which you drink slowly only while reading philosophy on a rainy morning.

Tea in Mali is not tea in America (or at least not my kind of American tea). Sure, the box says "green tea" like in America, but Malians make their green tea with sugar and through a different process:

1. Take two little ceramic tea pots, put water and tea in one teapot and heat it until it's boiling.
2. Pour the mixture into the second teapot only to pour it back into the first. Heat some more.
3. Pour again into the second teapot and add sugar until it tastes right, pouring the mixture back and forth to dissolve the sugar.

Tea is then served in small glasses that resemble shot glasses: there are always two teapots, and always two tea glasses. Often to get the taste right, the person pours the tea back and forth between the two glasses to get the sugar dissolved and to cool the drink. Finally, the person who makes the tea fills a glass, and hands it to you, at which point you quickly drink and give back, so that he can refill the glass and pass it to the next person. Finally, this process happens no fewer than three times: if you are at a meal, you sit and wait until you get three glasses of tea.

Today I will not be eating turkey, nor will I be drinking tea. But I will don my Malian shirt and skirt made out of a blue fabric with orange autumn-like leaves while eating my cheeseburger.

Doni, doni

The phrase oft repeated in Mali becomes a bit annoying, but in many cases, and at this point, it's something I keep reminding myself. Little by little, doni doni, you learn, and things will become easier.

Right now, my official task at site as previously mentioned was to

1. Keep learning the language and
2. Integrate into my community

Going into site, we receive 9 weeks of language training--about the equivalent of getting you to a lang 201 level for anyone who took college level language courses (or for those of us who had a good highschool teacher, placed out of them). This means you know how to greet, how to perform the most basic transactions, and talk a little about anticipated subjects such as your job description, your family, your personal interests, etc. Anything more complicated, you can just answer, but only after you think a bit and struggle to state a more complex idea or opinion.

Of course performing on an exam isn't the real world. Anyone who has gone to another country knows how different things are once put in a real context--people speak much faster and use slang. Styles of speech differ depending on the location. Think just about regional speech differences in the U.S. and how you can tell that I've lived in the south when an occasional "y'all" sneaks into my speech. Mali is no different. Volunteers going south to the Sikasso region often find Bambara mixed with Malinke. Everywhere, you find Bambara mixed with French to varying degrees. Markets up in the Mopti region become fairly complicated where some vendors speak Bambara, others Fulfulde, and others Dogon, the common meeting ground always being French.

In my village everyone knows Bambara but will mix in French words too. The Bambara they speak is also slightly different than the textbook Bambara we learned-- 'C' is pronouced 'ch' but my village likes to turn 's' into 'sh' and 'g' into 'gw'. I'm also still struggling to figure out what they're even doing with the letters 'u' and 'e'. The first three months are dedicated to figuring these things out, and for me, this process is incredibly frustrating: I'm replacing a volunteer, so everyone has forgotten how long it takes for someone to figure things out and gain a footing, linguistically and culturally.

At the end of every day, I try to remind myself that I've learned a little more. I'm learning techincal-specific vocabulary now, so I know how to talk about the three food groups, about how vaccinations are beneficial, and how to describe malaria symptoms. One incredibly good suggestion that was given for language learning was to do the things you liked to do in your own culture, and start learning the words for it. I like cooking, and I'm not a complete stranger to cooking over a fire, so I went over to a neighbor's house and we made moni together, her saying each of the steps and me repeating to make sure I understood, so later I could perhaps make moni myself. Then the Malians ask me what my favorite recipe is in America, and I tell them how I make tomato sauce in the U.S. and put it on pasta or a type of bread called pizza.

Maybe while we're cooking, I'll start to ask some of my health specific questions: what do you usually make for dinner? What can you buy lots of? What's too expensive or not available? I try and do this a little bit each day so that much later when I know families better (and my Bambara is better) I can ask about more sensitive subjects and get honest answers--How many children have died in this family? What illnesses did they have? Do you know about birth control options available? Do you know about AIDS and other STIs?

To make real progress and get to know the community, integrating is necessary: I'm no longer an outsider, but I'm someone who lives with Malians and like Malians. But integration is tough to call in many cases, because fundamentally I'm not a Malian--I'm an American, and daily I try to decide how to draw the line at how far to integrate.

I'll close with my most recent dilemma in these past few weeks. Mali, and my village, is mostly Muslim. I live two houses away from the Mosque, and most things are structured around the prayer times. Yet when asked what religion I am, I'll respond honestly that in America I went to a Protestant Church. Malians like to hear about me and my family and who I am as a person, and going to Church in America is a small part of that. There is a small Christian population in my village, and further, there is actually a Protestant church--the Catholic Mission is in neighboring Kolokani and Sirado. Missionaries at some point got to many of these small villages, originally animist, and converted those that weren't Muslim to Christianity. Animism is practiced to varying degrees by everyone in my village, but people do align as either Muslim or Christian. At first I was hesitant to go to the church (although several Malians invited me), concerned that it would interfere with integrating fully into the predominately Muslim community.

I attended Church this past Sunday when my language tutor was out of town. And it functioned much like...any other church, except in a Malian context, of course. You sing some hymns, you have prayers and concerns, an offering, a sermon, and then you give blessings as you leave for the day. As Malians, though, men automatically sit on one side and women and children on the other. Hymns are accompanied by drums and are much more call and response (and of course memorized).

I have decided I would keep going to the Church for several reasons. The congregation has two Bambara hymn books, so while everyone is singing, for once, I can look on at words, and with the repetition, learn new words. The congregation also has two Bambara Old and New Testaments. With scripture and hymns, it's also good practice for becoming faster at numbers, something I'm still not as rapid in as I am in English or French. The African blessings are also used frequently, so I get practice with the blessings too (think of how much repetition there is in any religious service!). Finally, by going, I'm sharing a bit about myself with Malians: I always respect the Muslim call to prayer times, I always wear skirts and I cover my head if the situation calls for it or it makes women more comfortable, but I can respect the Muslim community and express a little of my American self in this Malian context too.

For everyone Stateside, Happy Halloween. While the leaves are turning in America, watermelon and orange season has just stared. So good!