...God willing

-"Rainy season is about to start!"
-"In July...God willing."

I asked the woman I buy my breakfast from every morning when the rains will start.  I'm trying to get an idea of the timing in order to know when to distribute some Moringa seeds to the Woman's Associations--the seeds can only be planted during rainy season because they need water every day for the first two months.

Now, being at the peak of hot season, the wells are dry, and planting anything would be impossible until the coming two months.  When the rains come ni Allah sonna. Or literally translated, "if God has accepted it."  Some people prefer the arabic version instead--I'll see you next week, insha'allah.



There's nothing wrong with making a reference to the divine uncertainy in the mundane. In fact, I think it's good to be reminded of our humaness, that, God or no God, we don't have control over everything.

A popular song is on Malian radio constantly, no different from when American stations play a hit snigle at peak listening hours.  I think the title is simply the chorus and background refrain, Geleya be, and now that my language is better, I can actually understand the gist of the lyrics:

There's hardships now
there's poverty everywhere,
but you can't cheat people,
you can't steal from people,
you must wait for God,
and God will make things better.

The song is incredibly popular, as my language teacher commented, "people are angry, people are tired.  We  listen to the song and it soothes our hearts." I, too, can sympathize with the lyric's popularity. But the very solution, the very message, bothered me too--if something is wrong, you don't wait, you do something about it!

Soon, many moments like this dotted my interactions:

-"How did your kid get that huge bloody gash on his head?"
-"Ah...I don't know, God gave it to him."

In another village, a volunteer asked, "do this many kids die every rainy season?" The response? "God provides, and God takes away." Never mind that water treatment and displacement of gray water is also a serious contender for infant mortality during rainy season. Even the large green public transport vans often brandish the slogan, painted in bright red and yellow letters, Dieu Merci, referencing the safe journey of passengers.  A safe journey is not due to a skilled driver, but to the fate of that day.

I recognize as an American, I have a feeling of profound control every day of my life: I study so that I might get good grades.  I drive the speed limit so I don't lose control of the vehicle.  I wash cuts out with soap and water so they don't get infected.

But then again, I take for granted the profound control I have had, and further, my country has had, over it's own destiny. The U.S. was never colonized by the French, to then have another language and system of governance imposed without those peoples' consent. Even after independence, Mali is not economically sustainable as a country, relying on aid to help develop herself. Further, Mali is a nation of farmers; regardless of how hard you might work, crop yields depend on adequate and steady rainfall. Last year, far less rain came. Grain prices are double what they were last year in Mali and Burkina Faso due to absolutely no more or less work on the part of the average farmer. Put into the historical context, I can understand that development, that good health, that the very possibility of controlling what good or bad things are to happen, something that I feel very profoundly, are here accepted as God's good or ill favor.

I came into Bamako to work on the start of a funding proposal for one of the smaller villages I bike out to about once a week.  During hot season, both wells are dry, forcing the entire 200 person village to walk 2 kilometers to haul their water. In 1996, a church group came and installed a pump (not using local materials or consulting the local population), and shortly after, the pump broke. Digging a well or deepening the present well is also not an option since the ground water is too deep for a well to reach.

The village has proposed to me to go up to the next town, buy the locally available pipe, and repair the pump using the one person capable of repairing and maintaining pumps in my village.  In my opinion, this is a great solution, since the village intends to use local resources and a local Malian rather for maintanence rather than resorting to any sort of charity or outside group.

The obstacle, of course, is getting the funding to cover the cost of the pipe. Can this be overcome? Ni Allah sonna.