May She Rest in Peace

The end of 2010 was marked by some very sad news. My host mom, Fanta, did not return with her kids in October for the beginning of school because she was pregnant. She delivered the baby in November, a healthy baby girl, but there were complications following the pregnancy and she passed away a few weeks later.

Death is a difficult subject in any culture. Sadly it is a more common occurrence in Mali than in most parts of the world. The chances for a baby to live past five are shockingly low, and adult life expectancy is only 52 years. But for a mother to pass away, no matter the circumstance, is such a sad event for any family.

My host dad was able to see his wife in Bamako before she died. He chose not to tell the kids before returning to Kenieba a week after Fanta died, so he could tell them in person. I found out the sad news from one of my neighbors, and struggled not to tell my host brother and sister, two of my closest friends here, about their mother’s death. I was basically in denial, only telling my friends and family over the phone. It was a really difficult week, so much so that when my host dad returned to Kenieba, it was practically a relief.

On the night my host father returned, I went over to greet him and meet Fanta’s mother and sister, who came to help console the kids. It was a normal conversation; though I could tell something was wrong, nobody brought up Fanta’s death. I didn’t want to be the one to bring it up; I wasn’t sure how to do so or whether it was the right thing to do. Later that night, people started coming over to give their condolences and blessings.

The next morning, after my host siblings left for school, I came over to the house and my host dad broke the news to me. I gave as many Bambara blessings as I could remember, like may God have pity on the deceased and may her resting place be peaceful. We talked about Fanta, how much I enjoyed her cooking. I left as more people came over to give their condolences. Occasionally I would hear people bawling and just felt helpless. It was a tough morning.

Fanta’s sister brought her two year old daughter, Hawa, with her as well. Having Hawa around certainly lightened the mood. It was an interesting parallel, as there were also infants around when my grandmother passed away a few years ago. It’s amazing how certain things like the circle of life transcend cultures, mourning a family member's death while recognizing that these infants have their whole lives ahead of them.

For two days, the family fasted during the day in honor of Fanta’s death and to affirm their Muslim faith. It was a somber week. My host family is really special; they have three smart and polite kids, which I can’t say about most Malian families. To have their mother taken from them so suddenly is heartbreaking.

I feel the most sad for Tenin and Zakariyah, my host siblings. Though they are 16 and 12, they are still just kids with promising futures ahead of them. The oldest daughter is in high school in Bamako, and presumably Tenin and Zakariyah will follow her path and gain a good education. My host brother didn't want to tell anyone, not even his teachers, that his mom died. He had school exams coming up that same week, and he was worried that if more people knew, they would continue to remind him of his mother’s death. Though I protested when I heard that, my host dad said that it’s a private matter and his personal decision. Also, my host dad told me that the newborn baby will be brought up by his brother and his brother's wife in Bamako.

Fanta’s mother and sister stayed for about ten days, and Tenin and Zakariyah left with them to spend the school vacation with family in Bamako. It was nice to get to know Fanta’s mother and sister towards the end of their time here. We got to travel on the same bus together, as I left for the Christmas holiday at the same time. Hawa was really afraid of me when she first arrived, but warmed up to me and would even come and sit on my lap by the end. It was an uplifting ending to a very difficult time.

Tenin, Fanta and Zakariyah
(taken November 2009)

Thanksgiving & Waterfalls

For Thanksgiving this year, I travelled to the Sikasso region in southern Mali, where the Sikasso PCVs organized a big American thanksgiving feast and party. It was a big gathering as more than 60 volunteers came. It was great to catch up with friends, some of whom I hadn't seen in a year. We ate lots of good food for Thanksgiving dinner, including turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans, and salad, and we enjoyed some pumpkin and apple pie for dessert.

We had a pool party and Mexican dinner on Friday, and then headed out to some waterfalls for a camping trip over the weekend. The waterfalls were really cool to see and we had a great time camping by them, eating tons of guacamole and hanging out around the campfire.

This is the transport we took out to the waterfalls, a beat-up Peugeot 504. It's called a sept-place in Senegal because seven people travel in it with a driver, but in Guinea and Mali they cram as many people into them as they can. I think we fit 12 people into the one I was in. It's definitely not a comfortable ride! This car has seen better days.

One of the many stops to fill up for gas or put some other unknown fluid into the makeshift engine.

The waterfalls.

Our campsite. Looks like an REI commercial!

Tabaski 2010

On November 17th, Muslims around the world celebrated a holiday called Eid al-Adha, or Tabaski in West Africa. It’s also known as Seliba, which means big prayer in Bambara. Here’s a short summary from Wikipedia:

Eid al-Adha is an important religious holiday celebrated by Muslims worldwide to commemorate the willingness of Abraham (Ibrahim) to sacrifice his son Ishmael (Isma'il) as an act of obedience to God, before God intervened to provide him with a ram to sacrifice instead. The meat is divided into three parts to be distributed to others. The family retains one third of the share, another third is given to relatives, friends and neighbors, and the other third is given to the poor & needy.

This is the time when Muslims make the pilgrimage to Mecca, which they are supposed to do at least once in their lives if they can afford the trip. Here in Mali, Tabaski is the biggest holiday of the year. Families save up for the big feast and buy a sheep to sacrifice if they can afford it. About a week before the holiday, women started to braid each other’s hair, kids were fitted for nice new clothes, and animal herders came into town to sell their sheep. Families save up a lot of money for Tabaski to buy a sheep to sacrifice for the holiday feast.

This year my host family was fortunate enough to buy two sheep for the feast. Each day, my host brother would bring the sheep over and tie them up in my yard during the day. It was nice to have some sheep around for a week, since they ate all the overgrown grass and weeds that took over my yard during the rainy season. I didn’t get warmed up to the sheep since their days were numbered, but I did give them names: Taba and Ski. My host brother thought that was hilarious.

On the morning of Tabaski, all of the men in town went to a central location and all prayed together as the imam led the service. Once the imam had sacrificed his sheep, everyone could go home and do the same. Our sacrifice was especially graphic this year with two sheep to kill. As with tradition, my host dad delivered some of the sheep to an old woman in town, and also gave some to our neighbors.

The feast was plentiful; we ate two big courses during the day and another at night. As with every Malian meal, we all ate together, with our hands, in a shared bowl. We had salad, liver, fries, and bread for the first course, and Moroccan cous cous with onions for the second course. At night we had more meat and potatoes in an oily sauce. I haven’t been that stuffed in a long time!