Independence Day

Happy Independence Day Everyone! September 22nd is Malian Independence Day, and I spent it in Ouo eating lots of fried dough and watching nearly naked men wrestle. It was fantastic. Other highlights included old drunk men shooting guns and other old drunk men chasing after young girls with wooden penises. They really know how to live it up in Dogon country. I invited Bertha and her homologue to come for the festivities, telling her that there would be masked Dogon dancers (which I saw last year and were really impressive), but unfortunately they didn’t make a showing. This didn’t seem to affect Bertha’s homologue in the slightest, who chose to stay up all night watching the wrestlers do their thing. This is particularly remarkable since there is no electricity in Ouo, so I’m not entirely sure what he was actually seeing during those 8 or 9 hours in the dark.

In other news my neighbor, Binta, and I finished packaging the porridge that our women’s association made as a business endeavor. It looks fantastic, so now it just has to sell. I stopped at the bank, covered in flour, after we finished sealing the bags, and I made my first sale before the print on the label had even dried, so things look promising. I hope that this works out for them because it is a product that they can easily make with locally-grown grains (beans, corn, millet, rice and peanuts), that is an improvement to their current diet, and will generate some sorely needed income for the village. It is pretty tasty too. They have a faithful customer in me as long as I am around. If I come home 35 pounds heavier, you know it was for a the good of my village.

Sad News

Yeah, so I haven't really been around lately, as you might have noticed. I have been back in forth to Bamako several times in the last month and a half, hiked around Dogon country for a few days, and spent some time in Morocco with Lisa during her visit. It was all great, and helped to break up some of the frustration that I have been feeling over my project, namely the length of time it is taking, and the difficulties I am experiencing in communicating with my office here in Bamako as well as Washington, DC. But I can save that for another update. There are other things that have filled my mind as of late.

I returned from all of this vacationing ready to be at site for a while; I had planned on spending a solid two months doing nothing more than farming my peanut field and enjoying the beauty of rainy season (which in my unbiased opinion, is more striking here than anyplace else in Mali). Unfortunately, I got a phone call this past Sunday after I had biked into Bandiagara for market. Two of my fellow volunteers were killed in a boating accident that morning. They, along with two others, had built a boat and were planning to sail it from Bamako to Gao. They launched the boat Sunday morning and shortly after, their mast hit some low-slung power lines and they were electrocuted. Of the two others on board, one suffered a burn on his hand, and the last was not physically injured.

Luckily, I happened to be in Bandiagara to receive the message, and it was lucky as well that two of my teammates were in town too. The next morning we left together for Bamako so that we could arrive in time for the memorial service on Tuesday and be in the company of our friends. It was a long, long week. I think the hardest moment for me came when I watched the pallbearers carry in the caskets at the memorial service at the ambassador’s house. They were all so young and fresh-faced, and it seemed impossible to me that they should be carrying caskets. Surrounded by flowers, canopies and well-dressed people, they looked like they were perfectly placed for a wedding, not a funeral. From there we tried as much as possible to make sense of what happened and to honor them as best as we could.

The two young men killed, Justin Brady and Matt Costa, were exceptional guys, and they were such an important part of the Peace Corps community. Justin arrived in country at the same time as me. We also spent the first three months together in homestay village. He was gregarious, with a mind full of outlandish ideas and the boundless energy to see them through. He never sat still. And he loved to spend time with others, so he was always searching out others to join him on his adventures. One evening, he arranged a sunset tour of our village by donkey cart. We volunteers eagerly piled in the back, and the donkey set off. Everything was going well until we started going downhill and the donkey lost his footing. In a panic, most of the volunteers tried to jump out causing the weight distribution to become uneven. With the weight skewed to the back, the donkey suddenly flew up in the air, and we all slid out of the cart into a big pile on the ground. The poor donkey was dangling from his harness 4 feet of the ground, unharmed, but very confused. Somehow, Justin convinced the owner of the beast that it was worth another shot, and we set out again – successfully. That was how Justin always was. I’m sure every volunteer has a story just like that.

Matt transferred to Mali for a third year after completing his first two years of service in Tchad. Living just outside of Bamako, he immediately made a niche for himself in the community with his wit and sharp intelligence. I did not know him as well as Justin, since I did not spend much time in Bamako, but I was fortunate enough to hike Dogon country with him a few weeks before the accident. He was so charming, and had an amazing ability to put everyone at ease, and glue our disparate group together immediately. It was a fantastic few days for me, and I am very grateful that I had the chance to spend some time with him. Matt was always up for going out, and I am not surprised that he and Justin hit it off so well. They were eager to share a drink with anyone who was in town, and they would usually keep that person entertained until the 4:30 prayer call the next morning.

Last night was the final night in Bamako before most of the volunteers caught transport back to their regions today. We did our best to celebrate them by sharing a meal together, losing our voices to a marathon session of karaoke, dancing, and closing down three bars. But we still missed the first prayer call by a couple of hours. Try as we might, we just couldn’t do it without them.