"No one can develop a people-- only a people can develop themselves"

Peace Corps refers to what I do as "the toughest job you'll ever love." So what is my job description exactly? Succinctly, on a daily basis, I do three things:

1. Help the Malian people meet their goals to develop their country.
2. Share my American culture with Malians.
3. Through living and working with Malians, help Americans better understand Malian culture.

So why is this considered so difficult?

As a health volunteer, I specifically address Malian health development goals: Mali has one of the worst infant mortality rates in the world. I go to Women's Association Meetings and speak briefly on a health topic; this past week I did a demonstration of how to make Oral Rehydration Solution or in Bambara, Keneyaji-- mix specific ratios of water, sugar and salt together, give to child so he does not die of dehydration.

For a fairly accurate account of what I do, take a look at David Werner's book Helping Health Workers Learn: Werner was a health worker in rural Mexico, and his experience and advice has since been applied and adapted by health workers in most of the developing world. (His other book, Where there is no Doctor, is also my go-to first aid manuel as a resident of the developing world.)

Why is what I do so difficult? First, most of the women I work with cannot read.  Most left school at second or third grade, if their parents even allowed them to go to school in the first place.

Second, even some women who have learned how to read--one Women's Association studies Bambara together-most of the written world in Mali is written in French. In my village, even the number of people who can read French is fairly small.  Farmers tend to drop out of school at seventh or eighth grade, while those that even make it to high school tend to work in larger cities. French, I imagine, is a bit like triangle math to me: I vaguely remember some math teacher stressing that I would never succeed in life if I didn't know how to determine the length of that third side, but if you pressed me for some actual ratios or formulas, I'm useless. With French, many can say some phrases or a greeting, but when faced with a native French speaker, they're useless.

Finally, at the end of the day, I can't make people do anything I recommend--washing hands with soap and water, sleeping under a mosquito net.  For everything, I need to give Malians a pretty good reason to justify that buying bleach and treating your water really is going to improve your life and that washing your hands really does kill germs so that the women I talk to see a reason to practice healthy behaviors.

The other frustrating element of the first Peace Corps goal is dealing with other development efforts. In three of the villages I go to, I discovered there were pumps which were long ago broken, neglected, and ignored. I asked some villagers about them, and the story is nearly always the same: "Ten years ago or so, some white people came and built them, and then they broke (or they were in a bad location in the first place). And we can't fix them. So we'll just wait for some more white people to come in and drop some money to repair them."

Meanwhile, three villages have attempted to construct small dams with rocks and metal wiring in order to hold water during the rainy season. Every year they attempt to enhance these areas where water collects in order to raise the level of the water table and the amount of water in the wells. This is development--helping people do what they're already trying to do, and given some slightly better materials, succeeding mostly on their own.

The other part of my job is a cross-cultural exchange: I have a University level eductation, and when I was assigned to Mali, I had to look up on a map to be sure where it was. This is sad, but unfortunately true.

Now, six months have passed, and I can have a short conversation in Bambara, know the regions and ethnic groups of Mali, and am intimately acquainted with the specifics of Malian life.

Finally, for many of the smaller villages to which I bike, I am the first white person they've seen, and further, the first American who will ever come into their houses, and speak with them on their own terms. Even in the village I live in, where people are slightly more acquainted with NGOs, I am one of the few white people that is actually a person.  For example, the volunteer before me liked fish, so when she ate with people, they always give her fish. I hate fish. I think my neighbors thought I was kidding, ("Oh sure, the other volunteer liked meat, so you must too!"), until I came back one village over with a huge bag of lettuce and tomatoes strapped to my bike, stating enthusiastically, "No meat.  Tonight, we're having salad, lots of salad!"

Integrating into Malian culture on a 24 hour basis?

Yes, it is a tough job.