Working In Koutiala

Many people have asked about the work I do. For the first three months the main objective to integration into the community and evaluate community needs.

Earlier I wrote about my experience on the last day of Ramadon where the events of the day clearly indicated that I was on the outside of my community. If Tabaski is any indication I have come a long way.

The morning of Tabaski I spoke with my host dad in my concession and asked if I could eat with them knowing that there would be a big feast after killing the two sheep that had been fattening up for weeks. Bocar my host dad told me to sit down served me eggs and tea. We talked for quite a while. He told me how he use to play in a band and perform in concerts all over Mali Mopti, Sagou and Sikasso. The last week I had been practicing Christmas Carols on my recorder and Bocar said he heard me. Bocar’s eyes lit up as he told me about his concert days and said that when he married Fatim he settled down and became a school teacher.

Fatim, my host mom, came out onto the front porch and told me to get washed and dressed. Lukily I decided to wear my Malian Complet because Fatim whisked me off to Mosque to pray on the highest Muslin holiday of the year. After the Mosque Fatim, her sister and I went around the neighbor hood and greeted many members of her family. I had no idea that her family was just blocks away from where I lived.

Just as we were entering our court yard the men were slaughtering the sheep that they had been fattening up for weeks. Fatim sat down and supervised the butchering. I took some pictures and she invited me to sit down, I said it would make me sick and went over to sit with the women cooking. As the afternoon went on I helped cook ate fresh organic sheep meat.

My homologue, Koro, came by around 4 pm and asked why I didn’t come over to ear with her. I had totally miss understood the conversation about the feast and her sheep. She said she was going to town now. I worried all evening that I had ruined my relationship with her. The next morning I went over to great her. Since I found out she lives just a couple of blocks from me I have been going over there a lot and she in return has been coming over here too. We had coffee and made plans to go great people from work. Koro told me I should wear my Malian Complet.

Koro and Awa showed up around 3:30 pm, punctual for Malian standards. We started out by going to the Broche’s house the RAC employee. I met his wife and daughter and I think a sister that lives with him. Then we went to the UAAK President’s house then the Le Chamber President’s house. After this Awa went home and Koro and I went to the Dugitigi of Medina Cora’s house. A Dugitigi is a leader who’s family has been chief of the village or area for generations and he works closely with the Mayor and other leaders in the community. Koro knows everyone. After this we spent many days going around town greeting people. Then Koro left for Corte Ivory for her brothers wedding.

A lot of time has been spent sitting around drinking tea with important people in my service. It is just what Malians do.

Other work has included showing Koro different bogolan websites which introduced new designs that we are going to present to the other bogolan artist. I also designed a purse that I had the leather guy in the market make.

Now my time will be spent finding other ways to help the whole of the artisans here in Koutiala. Many of them are very active.

A tour of Koutiala

My sister asked me several questions about where I live so I thought I would give you a tour of my way from work. This is the main road just off the road I live on. I bicycle to work every morning Monday thru Friday. The last couple of days it has been cold that for us here is 75 degrees and getting colder. On this day I took the long way to work.






This is the Bus Station where my host family owns a restaurant and I spent a lot of time at during my site visit in August.











This is the main highway through town. Koutiala is known as a trucking town and a main route from Ghana a sea port town and all locations in Mali. You can see my shadow at the bottom of the photo.









These are transports that Malians use instead of pickup trucks. One is a hand cart and the other is a donkey cart.


This is the place I bought my bed, which I had a hand cart transport it home for less then a dollar.










Here is a good example of what us volunteers call street food. In the morning they sell little millet floured pancakes or puffy rounds like unsweetened doughnuts. Later in the day they sell potato fries, regular potatoes and sweet potatoes. And fried puffy balls with a dash of flavored onion in them.
















Thursday is Market day here in Koutiala. This is what volunteers call a "Dead TooBob Store" it has used western style clothing. I bought two long sleeve shirts here because its getting cold.








I buy a lot of vegetables from this women. She's not pushy and has good prices.






Well that's it for now. If you have any questions about where I live let me know.

The 2008 Elections From Mali

Election Day was something special even here in Mali. Everyone at the Union of Artisans where I go to work every day asked me about it and asked about Obama in particular. The whole world was watching that night. When I went to the post office the day after the elections the postal worker said he came into the office there and watched the elections on the internet.

I was invited over to a Malian’s, Sadio Sogoba, who is a friend of mine and has CNN English. We had a great dinner of roasted chicken, salad, and fries. There were three Peace Corps Volunteers and we bought brownies and iced coffee. My Malian Friend Sadio has been to the states so he knew what I meant when I said it was like going to Starbucks for after dinner coffee.

We all napped a little and watched the TV a lot. I was fortunate that I was up for both McCain’s and Obama’s speeches. When I saw Jessie Jackson in the audience during Obama’s speech crying I started to cry too.

And as far as I know I did vote in this historical election. It all started before I even left the Untied States. I called King County in Washington State to tell them of my plans of serving in the Peace Corps in Mali. They asked for my address of residency and my address in Mali. The women never mentioned the possibility of voting via email or fax as I shared my concerns of the ballet getting here in time to vote and getting it returned in time.

A representative from the US Embassy came out and went through the states from A to W. I learned that I could go on the Washington State Department of the Secretary of State to register to vote via email. All I needed was internet service, my address of residency and my driver’s license number and expiration date. This sounded easy since Tubaniso the Peace Corps Mali’s training center had wireless internet and I had my computer.

During the first try the internet connection spent the whole time trying to bring up the page where I could register on line. Not being a patient person nor a passive person I emailed the email on the home page of the Secretary of State’s website to let them know I was having problems. In a few days I received a pleasant reply from the one-line tech help that they could not find any problems with the website. “Try again,” the email said. There were a couple of problems with this one I did not have unlimited access to internet in my homestay village and second I was in classes six days a week but I did try several other times.

Next I emailed Steve Reed the Secretary of State to let him know the problems I was having. I used the email on the website and the email came back saying it was undeliverable. The time was getting short as the Election Day was fast approaching. Next I emailed Mr. Reed at his personal Washington State email and cc’d to the US Embassy here in Mali. A week went by and response.

Talking to my sister on the internet I learned that she had contacted King County who I had also emailed and they knew of my situation. She also contacted Senator Cantwell from Washington to see what could be done about me voting. She heard nothing back but a thank you and she would look into it.

October 26^th I got a call from the Peace Corps Office in Bamako that they had received my ballot and three other volunteer’s ballots out in my area. I was supposed to pick up the ballot’s at the bus station. One of the other volunteers was in Koutiala and she waited with me as I filled out my ballot, then she caught a “bus” form her site about 44 kilometers north of here where the other volunteers were and their ballots were to get on public transport for Bamako the next day. Once the Peace Corps office received the ballots they would be sent out DHL to the Peace Corps Headquarters in Washington DC then put in the mail. I figured that would take up to November 2, 2008. The ballots just needed to post marked on Election Day so things looked like my ballot would be counted.

Ramadon ended

I wrote this almost a month ago.

It was Tuesday September 30, 2008, I can’t say that is started out like any other Tuesday because I have only been in Koutiala, Mali for two weeks now and only started going into my job last Monday and last Tuesday I was sick. Actually I still have that cold it seems to lingering.

Since I needed to do some laundry before going to work I got up early. Laundry takes a while here because I do it by hand with two rinses. As of late I have started to soak my clothes in the soapy water for several hours before doing the two rinses. So I got up made my coffee, started the wash, and enjoyed the morning air which was a cool 80 degrees.

Its been taking me thirty minutes to walk to work but last Saturday I got a bicycle so now it only takes me 15 minutes. I got my bicycle out put on my helmet and started out the door to the street. People were all walking in one direction men in Malian clothing more than usual and women with head scarf’s. I biked out to the road to the bus station that leads me to one of the main roads through Kourtiala. Looking around I realized that none of the shops were open and there continued a steady stream of people all going in one direction.

I decided to follow the stream of people. I knew this was the end of Ramadan today but didn’t know what that meant. The stream of people headed for the big open space behind the Masque near the market. The people were lining up with their pray rugs, men in front and women way in the back. I had heard that in Moribabougou where my homestay town was that they all gather in the big soccer field at the edge of town because all the people won’t fit in the Mosque. This seemed true for Koutiala as well.

I stayed on the side lines and watched as crowds of people filed into the field. A young man came up to me and greeted me first in Bambara and then French. I said the greetings I knew in Bambara and that’s not a lot considering how the Malians like to spend a long time greeting. He finally said,” photo?” I said in my broken French “pas photo.” That put him at ease and he walked away.

I watched the pray session unfold and then watched as all the people started streaming out of the field to go home. As I left I started heading for work but again noticed that all the shops where still closed and everyone seemed to be going home so I turned around and headed for home myself.

When I got to my concession all the women were busy cooking, the man of the house had just gotten back from the Mosque. I communicated with father that I had gone to the Mosque and watched the praying. He invited me to sit down and eat with them. As I sat there and visited with the women men filed through the gates and greeted us and then went in and talked to the man of the house.

As the women finished cooking they packed up about ten plates of cocuss and sauce for families in the neighborhood.

It felt like Christmas to me and no one bothered to tell me. The people where I go into work did apologize to me the next day for telling me.

Finding my nitch in Koutiala

This week it felt like I had found my nitch here in Koutiala. Since Saturday I have been going on a bicycle ride every morning. For the last five mornings I figure I have been doing 22 km round trip. This has changed my whole outlook on the day. I bicycle out the main road to Sikasso south of Koutiala. The mornings are cool; the birds are singing and all the industrial city is left behind for a while.

Monday when I reported to the Union where I go to work everyday for a couple of hours there was a metal workers formation (training) going on. It went on all week and the Bogolan women was there too so being at the Union was interesting. I took pictures for the first time in a long time, drank tea, and watched the metal workers build their fabricated structure.

I have been in Mali now for three months and Koutiala for one month.

Bogolan Fabric

Every morning Monday through Friday I go to "Work" if you can call it that. I report into the Union Associations of Artisan's of Koutiala. Go through greeting everyone there and then sit with the President of Bogolan Association of Koutiala. Drink tea and just kinda be there. She doesn't speak French (my French still is not that good) and I don't speak Bambara.

Through language difficulties we have become friends. She knows my host mom. Several times a week I buy tea, now drinking tea in Mali is a ceremony as much as its the actual drinking of the tea.

Here is some information on Bogolan fabric and how its made;

Bògòlanfini (sometimes bogolan) is a traditional Malian fabric dyed with fermented mud, particularly associated with the Bambara. The name is a Bambara word meaning "earthcloth."

In the creation of bògòlanfini, simple cotton cloth is woven, shrunk, and then soaked in a preparation of leaves from certain trees. An artist then outlines an intricate design with a mud dye, often taking several weeks to cover the entire cloth. Yellowish areas of mud are then treated with a caustic soda, bleaching them back to white for a stark black and white design. Traditionally, a man will do the weaving while a woman will do the dyeing.

We were installed by a member of the Peace Corps staff to our sites. Here in Koutiala we visited the head of police, the head of the military in charge of policing in rural areas, the governor of this circle and the mayor of Koutiala. As amazing as it sounds for us Americans we were able to get in and talk with each official without an appointment. They all had good things to say about the Peace Corps and the work volunteers have done in Koutiala.

Now that I am in Koutiala my work begins. But how? I have two homologues. What is a homologue, a homologue is my Malian counterpart that directs me with my work, introduces me to the community, and helps me with projects. One of my homologues is on vacation and here in Mali it is not uncommon for people to be on vacation for all of August and September, life in Mali resumes after Ramadan which ends the first of October.

My other homologue showed up drunk and was inappropriate. Luckily a Peace Corps staff was here and when I brought it up to them they agreed something had to be done. He is no longer my homologue. So for the next two weeks things look like they will be moving lowly. The first three months we are not suppose to do any projects, just integrate into the community do what is called a base line survey of community needs.

Language classes continue. I walked an hour each way to my language tutor’s house yesterday for a two hour lesson. My bike is on loan to a volunteer who needs it to get the 5 kilometers to her site. Our Stage has not officially received their bikes because they have not come in. Can you believe it I have hardly ridden a bike for over two months.

My house is in a concession (a concession is a compound of buildings walled in where usually a family lives with grown children in some of the houses etc.). I call it the “pearly gates” because it is the most upscale compound I have seen in Mali and the gates are painted black and white instead of the rust color everything else is painted. The family owns a restaurant at the bus station called the

Dunni Dunni, which means little by little in Bambara. Here is my front door, my kitchen and my clothes rack that is in my bedroom.