Sardine o tillike jooni!

The garden is finished now!

Huzzah! After three long months of what seemed like endless tiffs with the men in my village balanced with loads of support from the women, the garden is finally finished! The garden gates were put up a couple of days ago, and the last cement ring was put into the well yesterday. Success! The only remaining problem - naturally there is one remaining - is that the garden was not built on public land but rather on land privately owned. Privately owned by one Bara Cisse. The same Bara Cisse who was in charge of building the fence and the well. Right now he is letting the women's association use his land, but at any point in time he could reclaim it. The women could take down the fence and keep it for the association, but the well would have to remain. The roots of this problem lie in my rapid flight to America when my grandfather died. Before I left for the States, the garden was to be built on public land. When I returned, they had already had completed building the fence - on Bara's land. Apparently while I was gone he convinced the women to move the garden plot. Very sly, that one. I just found out about it last week from another friend in village. Now I'm trying to convince the women's association to save money little by little so we can buy the land from Bara. It will take quite a bit of time to save that much money though - the land is worth about $500 USD. For the time being, the women are using the land as a garden though. We'll see how long Bara allows them to do so.

In other news, we have had quite the string of fetes (parties) lately! Both Sassolo and Fatoma had their yearly founding celebrations within the past two weeks. Fatoma's was so much fun - I went with Ali and her homologue, Hawa. All the women walked up and down the main street in their finest dresses. I've never seen so many weaves and fancy braiding in my life. It was like Easter Parade, Mali-style. Fantastic. In the meantime, the men were out in the bush shooting off guns and generally being manly. Then the men all of a sudden came running down the street towards the mayor's office, with the women cheering them on. All the way shooting off more guns and playing Fulfulde music on a wooden flute with drumming in the background. It was so much fun to see everyone in their fancy outfits, jumping and dancing around (the jumping was mostly done by me every time a gun was shot. The Malians thought it was hilarious that I was afraid of guns. I think it makes a lot of sense to be scared of guns. They can kill you). That night Ali and I went to get street food - yummy beans and macaroni - and saw the beginnings of what was sure to be an all-night dance party for all the village kids. Abande, abande! Welay mido yidi ma! Bring on the Yeli Fuzzo!

525,600 Minutes

I can't completely believe this myself, but I'm at the year-mark! Halfway finished with my Peace Corps service! Woot woot. It's funny - two songs keep popping into my head whenever I think about having been in Mali for a year: 1) Living on a Prayer, Bon Jovi "Ohhhhhhhhh! We're halfway there!" and 2) Seasons of Love from RENT "How do you measure, measure a year? Measure in love."

When I think about the past year of my life, especially given that I was home in May and will be going home again in September for a friend's wedding (shout-out to Sam and Nate!), I often think about how to explain my new life. In May, it was really hard to continually explain what I do to people that don't even know where Mali is. I feel like I'm two people: America Jen and Mali Aissata (Aissata is my Malian name). I changed my course drastically a year ago, and now everything that is normal to me in Mali was completely abnormal in America. I have changed everything about myself: my clothes, hair, language, home, worldview, living situation, continent, daily schedule, and live in a different reality than I did before. How can those two worlds possibly merge? Will I always be some sort of bipolar oddity?

It's funny, when people ask me what I've been doing with Peace Corps for the past year - and they expect a 5-second American-style answer - it is impossible. How can I explain that I don't work in an office 9 to 5 but I do work 24 hours a day? I have done a great deal of work but it's not tangible. I have done very few things that are measurable by American standards. How can I explain this? What have I done?

I have spoken four different languages in one sentence and was understood. I have lived in a house with no electricity or running water and bathed in buckets; pulled drinking water from a well and taken a push cart 5k to plant seeds. I have learned to meditate and do yoga on roof tops. I have watched cattle stampedes and bartered in markets. I have seen things most people have not. I have seen camels and monkeys; fires and chaos; been lost in a city made of mud and stood atop a 1000 foot cliff. I have made friends and found a new family in an African village of 400 people. I have seen thousand year old masks and learned how to make new ones. I have seen women spend their entire days trying to survive: pounding millet, drawing water, cooking, bathing children, growing food. I have taught new ways to plant trees, explained basic nutrition, and learned how to pluck a chicken. I have seen children die and accidents happen. I have experienced losses and achievements and tried to take them in stride. I have hit people and been ashamed of myself. I have created a way for my village to have vegetables, and taught skills in project design, budgeting, and management, and along the way made ever so many mistakes. I have sweated through 110 degree nights and biked through 120 degree days. I have seen slave ports and oceans, rivers, lakes, and sand that seemed to go on forever. I have climbed mountains, eaten sheep organs, stepped on mice and killed scorpions, seen spiders the size of my hand and taken transportation with a goat for a seatmate. I have eaten the best mangos in the world, and lived off a handful of rice for dinner.

I feel as though I have accomplished more this year than ever before but I know that is not true. And it's back to Seasons of Love: How can I measure what is possible in a year's time? I am constantly asking myself: is this worth staying for? Is this worth giving up my family and friends for 2 years? And now, a year later, I realize that it is. Because the past year, and all the years before it, have been measured in love. And the love in my life has only increased since I came to Mali. Yes, there are days where this feels like my personal hell, but those itty bitty moments where something wonderful happens - that is love, and that makes it worth it. But how do you explain that in 5 seconds? I guess you don't.

Women's Rights? They Exist?

Oh, to be a feminist in a village where blatant sexism is both allowed and encouraged. For the past year I've been in Mali, I have kept most of my feminist views under cover. After all, this is not my culture. I'm here to learn, not impose my personal ideals. I don't know if it's because I just got back from the US (which albeit still does have many gender issues, although compared to Mali it's a dreamland) or what, but lately I've been more frustrated than ever over the treatment of the women in my village. Let me give you a couple examples:

The first was what I dubbed for lack of a better term Sassolo Day. This is a day-long celebration of the founding of my village. I was excited to go to it - I was told that there is a big dance party, and I do like to dance. My neighbor Samba told me to make sure to bring my camera, because he wanted a picture of himself with the other old, 'wise,' men in the village. The day came, and I walked out to the celebration site with a friend of mine. All the men and boys were gathered under one tree, while all the women were gathered under another tree about 30 yards away. I noticed the gender separation, but decided to pull the white woman card. I should explain that white women are the third gender in Mali. I can get away with a lot of stuff that Malian women cannot, and by that same token I am frequently treated with less respect by Malian young men (their only exposure to white women is usually from some trashy soap opera, and those rarely portray strong, educated women). So I walk over to the men's tree, all confident in my white woman-ness, when all of a sudden they start YELLING at me to stop. I do so immediately (is there a snake around?) and my friend Diampulo walks up. "Why can't I come closer," I asked. "Samba wanted me to take pictures of the men." Response: "You're a woman. You can't do that." Wrong button to push, mister. If I was in America, I would have said something along the lines of "How dare you tell me I can't do something just because I am a woman! I am strong, educated, and empowered. I will do whatever I want, whenever I want, and I have a history of strong women behind me: women who fought for the right to own property and the right to vote; women who smashed the glass ceiling of corporate America to pieces; women who advocated for women's health, birth control, and family planning; women who fought to control their own lives and now do so fabulously. Take that you sexist, chauvinistic, pathetic excuse for a person." However, I was not in America. I was in Mali. I was an outsider observing this traditional ritual. So I didn't say anything. I returned to the women's tree, seething inside. Every day these women are told implicitly and sometimes explicitly that they can't do things because they are women. No reason other than that. After the men danced around and shot off their guns (feel like a man now? you put down women and shot off a gun, congratulations), they all headed off into the bush to discuss the village's plans for the next year. Dreading the answer, I asked my host mom why women did not go. Response: We are women. We can't go. "Why not?" Because that is tradition. We are women. We can't go.

The next night, several problems involving the garden project came bubbling up to the surface. My host mom, Coumbare, is the president of the women's association. She had told all the women that they would have a garden and a well. Now, the men in the village refuse to finish building the well. Why? Because they found out that they won't be paid. Keep in mind, that from the beginning the men understood that they would not get paid because the well and labor is part of the community contribution. Now, at the hungriest time of the year, they are refusing to work unless they get money to feed their families. The ethics of it are horribly complicated -- would you refuse to do work unless you got paid, knowing that the work would bring desperately needed money to feed your family, while at the same time knowing that you are going back on your word by refusing to work? Well now all the women are blaming Coumbare for the well not being finished, when it is not her fault at all. The men, two especially, have been lying to her for day after day, saying it will be finished when it obviously won't be. She told me that the two men had also recently told her she had to stop being part of the regional women's association because they did not like her being so involved. She was so upset - "Aissata, I didn't steal any money. I did my job well. I planted all the trees, I helped with their garden, I brought in new money, I helped with women's projects. Why do they not want me involved? I'm a good person. I want to help myself and other women like me have a better life. Why is that bad?" Without me saying anything, she answered her own question: "They are men. They do not like a woman being involved." I asked her if she was still involved, and she said no, "Those men are the leaders of my village. I have to live here. I can't go against them."

Those two men now refuse to help the women finish their garden - a garden that the women will do all the work in, and then their families - including the men - will benefit from increased nutrition and a permanent food source. The women will do all the work in the long-term, the men will benefit. Where is the men's logic in this? Furthermore, the men are now saying that the garden supplies - a wheelbarrow, two shovels, two buckets, etc - belong to the men, not the women. They refuse to give the supplies back.

I do not understand. Maybe I will never understand. All I know is that if they knew what kind of woman they were dealing with they never would have tried to ruin the project in the first place. Because now I'm angry, and I will not stop until the well is finished, the project supplies are back in the hands of the women, and the women are able to plant their garden. Watch out, Sassolo.

Shopping Time!

So I wrote this journal entry back in the first week of May, but thought it would shed some light on the process of doing my project. So, voila!

The past two weeks have been spent buying project supplies for our community garden. I went down to Bamako (yay cheeseburgers and air conditioning!) to buy the fencing because it's cheaper there. I went with my friend Eliza - she is also doing a garden project at her site. Once there, I got my project money from Peace Corps out of the bank (every walked around the capital of a developing country with $2000 in your pocket? yikes!) and met up with Samba, a guy from my village who has a second wife in Bamako. We went together to the Marche Dibida, a huge market that is basically chaos central. Samba talked to a couple people he knew and then told me that only bad fence was sold there. Soooo we took a cab out to Samba's neighborhood and met up with a friend of his who took us to a 'good' fence-seller. The following two hours were a horrific and headache-inducing blend of French, Fulfulde, and Bambara. I speak French, pretend to speak good Fulfulde, and only know how to greet, bargain, and give directions to a cab driver in Bambara (I have to know enough Bambara to get around because the language I speak at site, Fulfulde, is a minority language. Most of Mali speaks Bambara.) It was a mess. But eventually we bought the fence - yay! After, the fence salesman and Samba got in a car and told me to get in too. I ask where we're going in French, Fulfulde, and Bambara. No response. Now I trust Samba, so I wasn't too freaked out, but after an hour of driving I got a little concerned. Eventually we stop - the salesman had driven us out to his garden in a village outside of Bamako to teach Samba the basics of how to build the fence. Which was sweet, but it would have been nice if they had explained. After we got back, I was super stressed about the whole day so I went to eat a chicken sandwich at a lovely establishment called West African Fried Chicken (not kidding. It's a chain based in Ghana) followed by some soft serve ice cream at a machine located right beside an open sewer. While eating the ice cream on my walk back to the PC house (and ignoring the smell of raw sewage) it dawned on me: after months of feeling like I wasn't doing anything, I finally did something productive! Good day. :)

Gotta start somewhere...

From the BBC: (to see story on BBC, click here)

Brain Gain: African migrants returning home

Africa may still be suffering from a chronic brain drain but some of the continent's elite are turning their backs on the West and taking their talents back home according to film-maker Andy Jones.

Ghana's fashion industry has lured some African professionals home

The story is as old as the hills. Man leaves village to seek riches in the big city.

In recent years, the village has been the continent of Africa, the city represented by the bright lights of Europe and America.

Any number of Africans seek to cross the ocean and make their fortunes, never to be seen again.

But when our team travelled around Africa recently to film a new TV documentary series, we found a different story. Many of the Africans I met had worked or been educated in the West and come back.

Across nine African countries and a journey of 7,000 miles from Mali to South Africa, from Ghana to Ethiopia, the story was often the same. Africans were returning from working or studying abroad either for patriotic reasons or because of the growing opportunities back home.

Fashion industry

These were educated Africans like Kofi Ansah, a Ghanaian fashion designer. Born into an artistic family, he studied fashion at Chelsea School of Art before graduating with first class honours in 1977. He spent 20 years living and working in Europe before returning to Ghana in 1992.

Mr Ansah still travels the world, and could live anywhere, but his business is growing, his family are settled and he feels like he's making a difference in Accra. "I came to help try to develop the clothing textile industry. And I thought, if we could do it right, it could help our employment situation."

Younger people want to go away maybe to university, but then come back after gaining some experience.

Mr Ansah now creates jobs for tailors and designers, models and marketers.

At one of his fashion shows, we met make-up artist Nana Amu Fleisher-Djoleto who grew up in London. Her view is that not only are more people returning, but they are coming home sooner.

"I'm finding now that younger people want to go away maybe to university, but then come back after gaining some experience. They're not working for years and coming back when they're decrepit."

Global mobility

For decades, African leaders have complained of a brain drain, losing many of their brightest and best to Western countries keen to attract highly skilled migrants.

This brain drain cannot be stopped or reversed according to Jean Phillipe Chauzy at the International Organisation for Migration (IOM). But he sees other factors at play in Africa's favour.

"The fundamental difference is new technology allowing African professionals in the West to transfer their skills and do some teaching," says Mr Chauzy.

It is a relatively new trend with digital technology allowing African academics and other professionals abroad to support African universities, schools or individuals back home to bridge the skills gap with the West.

He also sees "a pattern of mobility for people with skills" with greater global mobility allowing "countries which have the right conditions" to attract skilled professionals home either temporarily or permanently.

A recent IOM report on Ghana highlighted its "relative peace, security and political stability" and found "growing incidence of return or circular migration".

"Of the more than 1.1 million Ghanaians who left the country between 2000-2007, only 153,000 did not return either temporarily or permanently."

Commodity Exchange

For many returnees including former World Bank senior economist Eleni Gabre-Madhin, loyalty and the desire to give something back is an important motivation for returning.

Inside Ethiopia's commodities exchange

Her brainchild is the Ethiopian Commodity Exchange, which began trading in 2008 and which she hopes will make a difference to the lives of millions of farmers.

"I'd spent years doing analysis and writing, but then the food crisis hit in 2003, and it made me think, OK we're talking about things, but we're not doing anything."

The new exchange, owned by the Ethiopian government and supported by the World Bank, trades in six commodities including coffee, produced by around 12 million small-scale farmers in Ethiopia.

While deals are still sealed with a traditional slap of hands, cutting edge technology ensures that all transactions are logged on computers within four seconds, with prices transmitted across the country by radio and around the world via the internet.

The farmers benefit by being guaranteed a good international market price, preventing exploitation by middlemen and they get paid within 24 hours.

The first two years have seen over $400m (£274m) worth of produce traded and despite a number of teething problems, the exchange looks set to prosper, with nearby countries such as Tanzania and Uganda now considering similar schemes.

Ms Gabre-Madhin acknowledges there have been problems but she would like to see more people joining her in making solutions work, rather than sniping from overseas.

The African brain drain with emigration outstripping immigration may be destined to continue but for those countries which can offer the security and political stability, there is a growing dividend from those who feel they owe something to their former home.

Life Update Time!

I'm aware I haven't been the best at updating this - with the infrequent internet access I do have, there is rarely time to write out an entire blog entry. In the past couple months, I led my first formation with some other PCVs and also received funding for my first project!

The formation I did with my friends Katie, Emily, and Ali came about through the Gender and Development (GAD) committee of Peace Corps Mali (on which I am my region's representative). One volunteer had the great idea of staging a 3-day long Take Our Daughters to Work Day retreat for girls in her region. The girls shadowed professional women for a day, did some fun educational games, learned skills to help them in the future, and were paired with a professional woman as a mentor. GAD helped to spread the idea to other volunteers in Mali, and soon a couple of us up in Mopti wanted to give it a try. There was one problem: we are farther out from Bamako, and thus don't have the same resources the volunteers down there have. We decided to switch it up a bit, and called it Bring Work to Our Daughters Day. Girls from Fatoma/Sassolo (my and Ali's villages), Sevare (Katie's village), and Konna (Em's village) all came to Konna for a one-day formation. We brought in professional working women from Konna and Fatoma as well. In the morning, we played some ice-breaker games and the women led a panel discussion about the importance of education and women in development. We then had lunch, followed by an afternoon of really productive group work. We put the girls and women into groups, and gave them questions to discuss, among them: What are the educational problems in Mali? How are girls treated differently from boys in school? How can we fix these gender disparities in our communities? What sustainable strategies can we start to work on? The girls gave some great answers and were really motivated to start working on educational issues in their communities -- and hopefully will continue on to high school next fall!

As for my community garden project, I finally succeeded in buying all the materials needed with the help of my neighbor, Samba, and host mom, Kumbari. Whew! It was quite the exhausting process, what with all the bargaining in three different languages at the same time (French, Fulfulde, and Bambara). Unfortunately I had to leave for the States the day before the fence was going to start being built. I really hope that my village went ahead and started - I had to leave the key to my house with them so they could have access to the materials (yes, I currently have one hectare of fencing, 10 sacks of cement, a wheelbarrow, some shovels, and 50 iron fenceposts in my house. My village decided my house was the best place for storage because I have room and I won't steal the materials. There's not a lot of breathing room). They were also going to start digging the well the day after I left. I'm incredibly nervous that it's not happening - if the well does not get built before the rains come in June/July, then it can't be build until next February because the water table will rise during rainy season. Of course my village realizes this too, it's just that they are working on many other projects right now, chief among them home repair, and my role is to kind of gently prod them along into working on this one. I'm sure it will all work out in the end though!

Islam, or, Prejudice in America

This is my first blog post for a long time made state-side. I came home for my grandfather's funeral, and will be in the States for the next week and a half. I heard he died around 8am a week ago in my village in Mali, and what followed was a blur of biking 15k, speeding to the airport 7 hours away in Bamako, walking onto a flight as the doors were closing, navigating a fire in Atlanta, and finally making it to Orlando where I met my dad at the airport. Though it was a really sad reason to come home, I have nevertheless been grateful to spend time with family and friends. Luckily (is luckily the right word?) I escaped most culture shock because of the shock of my grandpa's death. However, I have still noticed the vast cultural differences between Mali and America - how can anyone help it?

One of the most striking changes in America since I left is the overall increase in prejudice against those of Islamic faith. Perhaps it was always like this, particularly since September 11th, and I just noticed since now all of my close Malian friends and Malian host family are Muslim. I've watched the news a couple times since I've been back (the political spin on both sides of the aisle is a little overwhelming) and both conservative and liberal news networks throw the word Muslim around like a swear word. A friend of mine was shocked that President Obama had appointed three Muslims to government positions (the horror!). It has been hard to witness this prejudice, as I know so many Muslims that love America and wish with all their hearts to become American.

So to those of you who may harbor negative feelings towards Muslims - and here I am talking about the vast majority of Muslims who are peaceful, serve God, and love their neighbors of any faith - I ask, have you ever explained the events of September 11th to a Muslim who has not heard of it before? Have you ever heard the horror, outrage, and anger that he or she expresses upon hearing of 9/11 for the first time? Have you ever heard apologies from Muslims for acts they did not commit nor would ever dream of committing? Have you ever heard you, your family, and the American people blessed to heaven and back by a Muslim friend in the hopes that a horrific event like 9/11 would never again be repeated on American soil? Because all the Muslims that I count as friends and family have done all of those things upon hearing about 9/11. Granted they are all Malian, and had not heard of 9/11 before. But I think that just further emphasizes the idea that most Muslims would never even think of committing such horrendous acts. How can Americans stereotype the second largest religion in the world because of the actions of just a few, radical, and horrible people? How can that happen? And what does American society stand to lose because of such stereotyping and prejudice?

I am incredibly offended by the America I witness today. I want to give up and not claim it as my own. But that would be the wrong reaction. The right action is to be strong. To fight for the rights guaranteed by our Constitution for all citizens. I am proud to be an American citizen, and deeply love the democratic ideals of America. I want to fight for a better America, for an America that preaches love for one another first and respect for each others ideas second, however different in nature they may be.

So how about we all stop the hate and respect each others' religion and beliefs. Deal?