Bush bunny living in N’torosso

A part of my Bambara language program includes a month village stay.  Living in Koutiala it can be easy to get by with French, so a village stay is a great way to be forced to use Bambara since many people who live in rural villages don’t speak French.  It’s also a great opportunity to learn more about Malian culture.

Feburary 7th I left for a small bush village called N’torosso (about 1 hr and 45 mins from Koutiala).  Several people gave me advice on what I needed to bring in order to survive my month in the bush.  This included things like – toilet paper, flashlights with extra batteries, bug spray, food (some little goodies for when rice and “to” get old), a water filter, buckets for showering, books for the downtime and of course, my camera.  

Jessica Schaeffer (another nurse here in Koutiala and a good friend) took me to the village, introduced me to the pastors at the Bible school and those who work at the clinic.  She stayed with me the first night and gave me some good advise from her village stay when she was in language study.  Just before she left the next morning she prayed for me.  It was the perfect prayer.  It addressed anxieties I didn’t even realize I had and as a result I started crying.  It was a very messy cry but I told her it was a good cry and that her prayer really touched me.  Saying goodbye I felt pretty good about my little cry and the fact that I had “let go” of some of my anxiety.  As it turns out that was just a drop in the bucket.  When my host, Nyagali, brought me lunch I tried to say something in Bambara but I couldn’t put together even a simple sentence.  This brought all my anxiety rushing back and before I knew it I was sobbing.  It was awful!  You know when you cry so hard that even after the tears stop flowing you still have those little gasping breathes as you try to compose yourself.  Yeah, I had that.  It was embarrassing, which made me want to cry (vicious cycle).  I could tell that Nyagali was a bit concerned about this girl that had just been dropped off and she was probably wondering if I’d even last the week.  The only thing I could say was “It’s good now”  ”It’s good” as she placed her hand on my chest and told me to calm myself.  Then she prayed for me and left me to eat my lunch.

Things eventually got better and the tears stopped flowing.  Looking back, I can honestly say that my month in the bush was very rewarding.  I can also honestly say that I am glad to have that requirement done =)  Here are a few pictures and some stories from my time in N’torosso…

Here I am with all my stuff – ready to go! 

Here’s where I lived.  Many years ago, missionaries lived and worked in N’torosso at the clinic and Bible school.  This is one of the buildings they built.  This is actually a duplex – I was on the far left. 

I know you’re probably thinking, well that’s not bad for living in the bush and you’re right, it’s not.  I had a bed to sleep in, a table to eat at, and an indoor toilet for the times when I didn’t want to face the gianormous cockroaches that lived in the outside bathroom, and I had solar electricity.  Not bad at all really.  

Here’s the kitchen.  Don’t be fooled by the faucet in the sink or the large fridge in the left of the picture – neither worked at all anymore.  Also, what you can’t tell is that there was a slight mice infestation.  Twice I found that a mouse had fallen into one of my water buckets that I used to wash dishes.  One morning I woke up and found one of the little guys treading water.  My first thought was that I should quickly take the bucket outside and trip it over so the mouse wouldn’t drowned.  Ever since watching Cinderella as a little girl I’ve had a strange fondness for mice (especially chubby ones named Gus).  Then I remembered my jar of Jif peanut butter and how one of these little critters had chewed through the side of my jar (an unpardonable offense in my book).  So I went about my day and returned later to find him peacefully sleeping on the bottom of the bucket.  Another time I was opening the silverware drawer and one jumped out at me.  I screamed and thought seriously about calling it quits right then and there.   

Here’s my shower.  Again don’t be fooled by the shower head.  It is now only there for decoration and to drive westerners crazy while staying in the guest house.  I don’t know how many times the first week I reached up to turn on the faucet only to remember that it was no good, nothing would come out.  That’s why there are a couple of buckets there.  Normally I’d heat up some water and add it to one of the buckets.  I now know that I can shower head to toe, shampoo and conditioner with just 1/2 bucket of water.  

Here in Mali, when visiting someone you must ask for the road (or ask for permission) when you’re ready to leave.  The person you’re visiting will sometimes make you wait a little while before actually giving the road to you, but then you are free to leave without offense.  While in the village I didn’t have too many excuses or reasons why I had to leave someone’s house, but I quickly discovered one.  Malians generally take showers at night and often times take them before dinner.  Being the ever observant language learner that I am, I started using this as my leave taking phrase.  One thing I forgot to take note of is how early is too early to use this particular phrase.  I once told someone I was going to go shower at 5pm.  Dinner’s not usually ready until well after 7. Turns out 5′s a bit too early to use this phrase and if you use it too early you may feel slightly embarrassed or you might just hope to get some tubabu grace =)   

This was my nighttime bathroom.  The rest of the time I used the outside bathroom facilities.  Here was my rational for this decision – 1) it took at least 1/2 a bucket to “flush” the toilet and I got a little tired of getting water from the well all the time.  2) creepy crawlies came out of the covered hole outside at night.  

My bedroom for the month. Notice the kerosene lamp – yes I actually used that a few times.  

The ChurchThe Bible School for the men (there’s a building for the women too but I don’t have a picture of it)This is my host (or jatigi in Bambara) Nyagali.  Her name means joy. Typical Malian meal of To (pronounced “toe”) Usually made from Corn or Millet (a local grain grown here in Mali) pounded up and served with sauce and okra.   This is African couscous.  Probably my least favorite meal.  When you added the sauce to the couscous it formed this greyish brown mud that didn’t taste particularly bad, but it wasn’t necessarily great either. 

Here’s one of my favorite means – tigadegena – or peanut sauce with meat, veggies and rice.  Yum!

Here’s where my “everyday use” water came from.  Drinking water came from another well that’s closed and much deeper.  Thankfully despite eating Malian food everyday and drinking the well water I never got sick.

During my month in N’torosso, I spent some time at the dispensary (clinic) and the maternity.  Let just say that it was once again confirmed for me that I am not a labor and delivery nurse.  Watching a 19 y/o girl deliver a baby that appeared too large to come out naturally while sitting on a cement “bed” with two older women yelling at her, I just about fainted.  I sat there watching her push, watching the two older women yelling at her to push, watching the midwife pull with the suction and everything started to get really dark.  I started getting sweaty and chilly and then couldn’t see much at all.  I tried to think of anything else to get my mind of the torture session I was watching.  The first thing to come to mind was bunnies.  I thought as hard as I could about cute little bunnies hopping through a field, but nothing could pull me from the darkness.  I knew I had to sit down.  And I just barely made it.  Regaining my composure, I decided I didn’t need to see the baby born.  I could just help out afterward, which I did since the baby wasn’t breathing right away.  No problems helping with the baby, but man oh man labor and delivery nursing is not my thing.

Here’s a picture of the staff.  They were wonderful!  Very patient and understanding.  Most of them spoke French so if I really got in a bind I could ask one of them and they’d help me sort it out.  The sign says “Jesus our healer”The last two weeks I went to the women’s classes.  While the men are taking Bible classes their wives can learn how to read, how to support their husbands in ministry and learn more about the Bible.  I had a fun time sitting in on the classes but would often become distracted by all the kids.

This is little Hawa.  She had the sweetest smile.

This is Nyagali’s son, Josué.

My neighbors Daniel Goïta and his wife Nema Sogoba. I would visit with the different pastors and their wives in the afternoon.  Most of the time I’d just hang out and try to understand whatever was being talked about.  Daniel and Nema were so patient with me.  I spent a lot of time at their place.

Animals of N’torroso

I didn’t grow up on a farm so living in N’torroso surrounded by all sorts of animals was an experience and a half.  Here’s what I learned:

Roosters do not need to see the sun before they start to crow.  3am will suffice.

Eeyore is ridiculously stubborn and toots after he brays – true story.

Sheep are not at all bright.  I have a new understanding of when we are compared to sheep in the Bible.

There is beauty and color if we look closely

And finally, I am braver than I would have once imagined.  I am a scorpion killer!