This weekend I went to the village of Boura with another nurse Jessica, my language teacher Tabitha, her son Eben, her husband Dawuda (David in English) and his younger sister Madeline.  Dawuda and Madeline’s parents live in Boura, so we went to visit them and also to see the festival of masks. Dawuda’s dad was an animist before becoming a Christian and eventually a pastor so he was able to give us some insight into the meaning of the masks and dances.  Animists believe that a soul or spirit exists in every object.  Traditionally the masks are brought out at the end of dry season to ask the spirits for good rains.  Animal sacrifices are done and those wearing the masks dance as drums and flutes are played.  The festival this past weekend was more commercial and was to show the different masks and dancers from the various villages around Boura.  Here are some of the pictures from the weekend…

Each village in the circle of Yorosso came with masks, dancers and musicians.  They would walk into a giant circle of people where they’d dance, greet the officials of the village and show off their unique masks and dances.

This is the village that Dawuda grew up in

This is Koloni’s mask – a hyena

There was also night dancing.  I took just a couple of photos of a few of the masks.

Tabitha and Dawuda were wonderful hosts even making sure to bring toilet paper for us =).

Here’s a picture of them with Dawuda’s parents and Eben…

Dawuda preaching at church on Sunday.  Dawuda is a professor at the Bible school in Koutiala called Bethel.

Tabitha also teaches the student pastor’s wives.

The Zonous!

]]> http://kristenhouse.wordpress.com/2011/12/05/830/feed/ 1 kristenhouse IMG_4828 masques1 IMG_4833 masques2 masques3 masques5 masques6 masques7 masques8 masques9 masques10 masques11 masques13 masques12 masques15 masques16 Zonou4 Zonou2 Zonou1 IMG_4935 http://kristenhouse.wordpress.com/2011/11/08/613/ http://kristenhouse.wordpress.com/2011/11/08/613/#comments Tue, 08 Nov 2011 16:18:47 +0000 kristenhouse http://kristenhouse.wordpress.com/?p=613 ]]> What’s community?

I’ve been struck most recently at how misunderstood my idea of community has been.  Several months ago one of our colleagues had an accident with a joiner and several fingers were severely cut.  That same day, as word spread of his accident and surgery, Malian friends began to show up to greet him and his family.  Greetings are done a lot here in Mali for all sorts of occasions including marriage, birth, illness and even death.  I don’t have a full understanding of the different greetings or the protocol that goes along with them but my language teacher Tabitha said that friends and family “give greetings” to help carry the load of sorrow and suffering or to participate in the happiness and joy of a situation.  When Malians greet they take time to go to that person’s home, to sit with them, to support them, to pray with them and to give them blessings – May God grant you recovery, May tomorrow be better than today, May God grant the baby a long life, May he/she be an upright person, May God comfort your heart, May God help you.

I love that idea of carrying the load of someone’s sorrow and suffering during difficult times.  I mean that’s exactly what that person needs as they feel the weight of sorrow crashing down on them.  Isn’t that what the apostle Paul was talking about in Galations 6:2 when he said, “Carry each other’s burdens and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”  That idea of carrying one another’s burdens can sound a bit foreign coming from a Western individualistic mindset but here in Mali it’s second nature.  Malians carry one another’s burdens physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  If someone in your family asks for money and you have some, you’re obligated help them.  You cannot refuse.  If your nephew’s sick you make sure he’s cared for as if he were your own child.  When someone is hurting you’re hurting with them.  When someone does something wrong it brings shame on the whole community.  It’s difficult to fully explain how strong the ties are that bind people together here and just how interwoven you are in your community, but I’ve heard it said several times now from different sources that in Mali you are nothing without your community.

Last week I found out that one of my friends back home lost her husband.  She just 29 and now a widow.  Thinking about her my heart aches.  I have no idea what it feels like to lose a husband, but I know what it feels like to lose a loved one.  I remember how difficult it was for me losing my dad.  I remember friends writing comforting notes and other friends coming to the funeral to express their sympathies, but what touched me most and what I found so precious were those friends who were bold enough to ask me how I was doing a week or two later, who didn’t retreat when I started to cry.  They weren’t afraid of the awkwardness of carrying that burden with me and they realized that that burden lasts for a lifetime. Granted it gets easier to bear as times goes on, but it remains ever present.

I want to be that type of friend to my friends, that type of a participant in my community wherever I am.  It’s tough though.  It’s so much easier to stay on the sidelines and not revisit our own memories of loss or difficulty, but God calls us to so much more.  He calls us to community, to carry one another’s burdens and to comfort one another with the comfort we ourselves have received from God (1 Cor. 1:3-4).  The flip side is that as a part of that community we not only lift each other up during times of difficulty and sorrow, but we also get to rejoice in one another’s joys and successes.

Since leaving France a little over a year ago I’ve moved 5 times!  I’ve stayed in different people’s homes while they were on home assignment and while they were home (thanks Jessica, Saskia, Bergeijks and Wengers!!).  Well, two months ago I moved into my very own house here in Koutiala.  It’s so nice to have a place I can settle into and to finally unpack my boxes!   

This is the outside wall of my place.  I live on a corner just a block down from the mission.  

Here’s my house!!

To the left of my house I have a garden with corn, tomatoes, lettuce, green peppers and lots of eggplant.  I also have banana trees, papaya trees (picture), and three different kinds of mango trees. Life is delicious!

These next pictures will show you the transformation that took place inside the house:

<—– My living room and dining room before. 

After a fresh coat of paint, tiling, and curtains. —->

<—The old kitchen – it had four cupboards and not enough room for both the stove and the fridge.  This is now my wash/storage room.

The new kitchen.—->

Jake is a nurse out the hospital.  In March, his dad came to Mali with a team and built this kitchen from scratch.  The room use to be an outside storeroom that they converted into this beautiful kitchen.  It wasn’t easy since the floor sloped quick a bit and the walls weren’t at a perfect 90 degree angle.  It made for some creativity, but the results are wonderful!!

Here are the men who helped out with all the tiling.  They did a fantastic job and even left me a little surprise on my porch…

In all honesty, my initial reaction to this “surprise” wasn’t exactly positive.  I started thinking of ways to cover it up but then, once I really stopped to think about how much time and effort went into this and the fact that these four men had come up with this idea on their own, I was really quite touched. This just makes it a girl house now =)

Let me preface my story by establishing that I’ve been riding my bike in Koutiala for almost a year now and have grown somewhat accustom to how traffic flows and the rules of the road.  I’m not a newbie anymore and I’m sure if it weren’t for my white skin, blond hair and all the children calling out “tubabu” as I rode by them, you’d never even be able to spot me as I passed by on my trusty iron horse.  June 29th, however, I was easily spottable.

That fateful day I was riding home from meeting with my morning language tutor when I decided to stop by Sotelma (one of the telephone companies) to set up my internet service.  I looked over my left shoulder to see if it was clear for me to turn.  Seeing no one directly behind me, I put out my left hand to signal I was turning, moved out into the middle of the road, and waited briefly until there was an opening in the oncoming traffic.  Just as I was turning I heard a horn behind me from one of the motorcyclist.  Seconds later I was unpleasantly greeted by said motorcyclist as he crashed into me knocking my bike out from under me and tossing me onto the road.  It all happened so quickly I didn’t really have time to think, although two things became suddenly apparent.  1) I was wearing a skirt and was pretty sure it was in need of some adjustment after my fall.  Especially since there was a rather large crowd quickly gathering and 2) I was laying in the middle of the road… what if a car or truck came barreling down the road while I was still lying there…  I threw my skirt back down to it’s normal position and started to get up.  I’m not sure exactly what I was thinking at the time, but I guess I thought it was important to get off the road at all costs.  Also I don’t especially like being the center of attention so I think I thought I’d look less conspicuous on the side of the road rather than in the middle of it.  As I painfully started limping off the road I’m lucky I wasn’t hit again since I don’t remember looking to see if anyone was coming.

As I hobbled off the road I was greeted by a police officer and several others who started rattling things off in French and Bambara.  I heard a few recognizable words here and there.  Someone told me to sit down which I did briefly but then got back up since it felt a little better to walk it off (must be the years of soccer injuries that I felt that was the best response to an injury).  Someone else wanted my name and phone number to give to the police officer.  I searched through my bag for a pen and paper.  As I started writing, my emotions started to catch up with me and I began crying.  I wasn’t crying so much because I was hurt, but more so because of the shock of the whole thing.  At that point someone led me to a chair so I could sit down.  The police officer came over and told me I should go to the clinic to get checked out.  I told him I didn’t think that was necessary.  He asked me if I could ride home and I told him I thought I could, but then I started tearing up again thinking about what had just happened.  He told me I should call someone to come pick me up.  - - Is it weird that I’m 29 years old and still want to call my mom when I get hurt or when I’m sick?– Well, since it would have taken my mom a while to get there, I decided to call my friend Angela who came right away.  

All in all I was very fortunate with my injuries.  Aside from a few scrapes on my left foot my only other injury was this lovely bruise.

My left hip.  Prettiest bruise ever!

CS Lewis once said “Experience: that most brutal of teachers.  But you learn, my God do you learn.”

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!

Many times for weddings and other special events the Malian women get really dressed up.  One part of getting all fancied up is to get Jabi on your hands and feet.  Jabi is kind of like henna.  Well, I didn’t really have much to get all dressed up for, but I thought ringing in the New Year counted as a special time, so I spent most of New Years Eve day getting Jabi done to my feet.  Here how it went:

 She’s placing the tape – this took the most time.  I think it was 1 1/2 hours each foot!!

Next she placed the mud/leaf mixture that would dye everywhere there wasn’t tape.

All mudded up!

Then my feet were wrapped in plastic bags with a sock over top to keep it all together.  I wasn’t suppose to walk so I took a nap and then read.  Often times the women do this right before they go to bed and sleep all night with the bags on their feet.

After 3-4 hours she pulled the plastic bags off and scrapped the mud and tape off.  (a tiny bit painful)

Here it is without the mud or tape.  Now to make it dark…

This next mixture smelled like ammonia. I’m not exactly sure what it was but I was suppose to leave it on until my feet started to tingle.

Finished product!! (This lasted about a month.)

Enjoy!!

Living in West Africa during “winter” definitely has it’s challenges.  Sure sure it’s relatively warm compared to WI but I’ve never in my life had to deal with mosquitoes during winter.  Winter’s normally my reprieve from the little blood thirsty insects.  However, since December the mosquitoes have been attacking with a vengeance – it’s awful! A few weeks ago, the internet at my place wasn’t working so I had to skype while sitting outside.  After talking with my family for a few hours on my birthday I was horrified to find 15 bites, just on one ankle!!  Are you kidding me!!  And ankle bites are the worst!  Then the other night I was sitting inside at the table and I saw this little noiseless mosquito flying around and couldn’t kill it for the life of me. I had to just sit there knowing that it would bite me at any minute and I couldn’t do anything about it. Here’s the worst part – word on the street is that silent mosquitos carry malaria, but the ones that buzz are malaria free. I don’t know if this is a scientifically proven theory but I’d rather not test it out. Anyway, tonight as I’m sitting outside typing this I am once again being swarmed by mosquitoes. I would take piles of snow and sub 0 temperatures any day over mosquitoes in winter!

Now to be entirely honest there is a definite upside to living in West Africa during “winter” and this is it:

ENJOY!!

UPDATE – - I have recently been told that the buzzing/no buzzing indicator for malaria carrying mosquitoes is true.  So rule of thumb, mosquitoes who buzz are good because they won’t give you malaria but they will however, still bite you. sorry.

I like kids!  I find them fun, imaginative, entertaining and just down right adorable… at times.  Here in Mali is really no exception, except that the kiddos here don’t always know what to do with a rare encounter with a white person.  Here are different reactions:

1) Younger children, especially, tend to cry whenever you approach them or whenever it looks like you’re going to touch them.  Even from a distance they’re usually not too sure what to think.

2) Some school age kids just want to touch you.  I’m not sure if they think your skin feels differently or if they’re just being brave in front of all their friends by touching you.  Just the other day I was riding back from the post office when I heard someone yell Tubabu behind me.  Shortly after, three girls on a moto drove by slowly and reach out to touch my hair and arm.  Craziest thing ever!  I mean driving here’s not easy let alone driving while trying to touch the Tubab!

3) Other school age kids look at you like you’re a six legged flying unicorn and that if they spot you and can get your attention they may just win a prize. – - Ok, so I don’t know what they’re actually thinking, but I swear I will never be able to sneak across town on my bike without being “spotted”.

I find there are several ways to handle these reactions.  First, you may become depressed thinking you’re probably the worst pediatric nurse ever when the mere sight of you causes children to burst into tears.  Second, you may try and turn the situation into something positive.  You may pretend your name is Tubabu (which in Bambara means white person and is pronounced “two-ba-boo”) and you may even sing these words in your head as you bike to your language teacher’s house each morning:

Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got.

Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.

Wouldn’t you like to get away?

Sometimes you want to go

Where everybody knows your name,

and they’re always glad you came.

You wanna be where you can see,

our troubles are all the same

You wanna be where everybody knows

Your name.

You wanna go where people know,

people are all the same,

You wanna go where everybody knows

your name.

If singing this little ditty in your head while biking along doesn’t work, you may just try pretending that you’re famous and just can’t go anywhere without being recognized.

However you choose to handle it is up to you. Let me just say that after you’ve been here long enough (and apparently 4 months is already long enough) you too might just be yelling tubabu when you see an unknown white person walking through your neighborhood.  What’s that saying – if you can beat them, join them.

Enjoy!!

Here you dress up for almost everything, but most especially for church. Here’s a picture of my first malian outfit I had made, which has since been modified to not look quite so much like I’m wearing a maternity top!  It’s not always that easy to choose fabric that will look nice as a skirt or complete outfit and it’s not always easy to choose the model or style to have made.  When I imagined how this outfit would look, the top wasn’t quite this big.   Oops!

The church service I went to this past Sunday was packed with all the men sitting on the left side and all the women and young children on the right. When you first enter the church there are often times attendants that will guide you to a seat. The service kicks off with about an hour of singing, clapping, and moving to the groove. Then the choirs (yes more than 1) sing and then we go to announcements. It’s right around this time, during announcements and the beginning of the sermon, that the attendants go on sleep patrol. They walk up and down the isles looking for sleepers at least once during the service. That’s right, you want to sleep, you go home and do it. Don’t even think you can get away with it here because these sleep patrollers are thorough. They kind of remind me of flight attendants that walk through the plane before take off to make sure everyone is properly buckled in. I haven’t actually seen anyone get caught sleeping, but I’m sure it’s embarrassing.

ENJOY!!

The marriage of Ruthie & Job (Ruthie worked in labor and delivery at our hospital)

Weddings typically take place on Thursdays or Saturdays and many times things are kicked off the night before with singing, dancing, and other festivities (I’ve never been to the night before so I can’t say a whole lot about that part). The day of, the bride and groom go before the mayor to sign the legal documents (friends and family go along with and take tons of photos)

Afterwards, if the family is Christian, there is the church ceremony.  This takes place in a very large tent that may or may not protect you from rain (I think I changed seats twice and still got a bit wet).

The actual ceremony was long (close to 3 hours I think).  I don’t know exactly what all took place since a) much of it was in Bambara and b) I have a hard time focusing for that long of a time when I don’t understand the language and tend to get easily distracted by kids playing with rocks.

playing with rocks/eating rocks... either way entertaining

The bride and groom along with the maid of honor and the best man sit up front and have personal attendants fanning them during the entire ceremony. Other attendants go around and offer water to the guests (at this wedding we all drank out of the same plastic cup – yikes!).  There were several musical numbers – some of which were done by this choir.

After the wedding everyone is given something to eat.  At this wedding all the guests spread out throughout the village and ate Malian style (one bowl surrounded by several people – right hand only).  It was really good!  After the meal we got sodas and were served “dege” which is a type of dessert.  (The consistency kind of reminds me of tapioca pudding except instead of the tapioca it’s rice or millet and the pudding is a bit more liquidy.  It was good!)

EXTRA TIDBITS  - –

Often, during the ceremony, the bride is crying and not necessarily always tears of joy. Even today, many marriages are arranged. The man discusses the dowry (bride price) with the young girl’s father and she has no say in the matter.  In the villages girls are married as young as 13 years old!!  After she is married, the young girl

must move away from her friends and family and live wherever her husband lives. One of our nurses (not the one in this post) just recently moved to Timbuktu because that’s where her husband is living, but her friends and family all live here in Koutiala.  While she’s happy to be getting married it’s not always easy.

Something I found out recently is that in the villages the parents of the bride don’t go to the actual ceremony.  I guess this might be seen as being greedy if, after having received the dowry, the family also went to the ceremony and had a part of the meal (which the groom and his family pay for).

Ok well I think that’s all I know about Malian weddings so far.  There are more to come in December so there may be some updates or edits to this post.  Either way, ENJOY!

*Disclaimer  - – This is the only Malian wedding I’ve been to so far, so this is really more of a post about my observations rather then cold hard facts of Malian traditions.  That said, I have also talked with others who have been here longer than I have, so most of what I’ve written has been confirmed.