Cinzana School Well Cover Project

This project was to cover the well at the school in Cinzana after I observed a child standing on the edge of the well pulling up a heavy jug of water. It is common in Mali for children to fall in wells and die. The wells in Cinzana are anywhere from 10 to 30 meters deep.

This was a large project over several months where I helped people improve the drainage of their latrines. Like the women washing dishes, most latrine run-off collected in the streets and provided a breeding ground for mosquitoes and another diseases. On several occassions I watched children playing in these puddles and animals drinking from them and the thought of the diseases that were being spread horrified me. So the concept is the same, the water drains out of the latrines into a covered hole where it soaks back into the soil.

This was just a photo Op for the SEC. After this picture was taken we quickly ran for shade.

Beautiful friend...the end...

I hate hot season, but I really hate rainy season. In hot season it's just hot. When you walk outside it's like opening the oven to check on your cookies, and that heat just blasts you in the face, but in this case you don't smell the cookies you smell hot garbage. In rainy season it's just as hot, it's 100 times more humid, and the roads are ankle deep in "mud". So, when we arrived in Cinzana on Thursday to find that a freak rainstorm had washed over the village I was not in the best of moods. We arrived with the brick press, two wheel barrows, two shovels, two bicycles, our baggage and ourselves. We were uncertain how we would get to Tongo with all this stuff considering the brick press itself probably weighs over 300 pounds. We spoke to my homologue, Adama, and he suggested we speak to a man in Cinzana who has a truck he uses to sell Mangoes throughout the commune. We sent a runner and the chauffeur arrived approximately 15 minutes later. As he approached and began speaking I could smell alcohol on his breath. This is not very common in Cinzana and I was startled for a second as we spoke. He said he could take the brick press to Tongo for 12, 500 CFA (about 25 dollars). It was a ridiculous price considering I can get from Cinzana to Bamako (A six hour bus ride) for 2,500 CFA. The longer I'm in this country the less likely I am to bargain. I am truly tired of bargaining, I've been in Mali for over two years, the guy has seen me here, he knows I'm not a tourist, but he still wants to bargain. In my mind when you give a ridiculous price you are basically saying, "you're and idiot you have no idea what this costs, so I am going to put the screws to you." I wasn't having any of it and after we yelled at each other for a few minutes he walked away and there I was in a soggy field with a brick machine sinking in the mud. We decided to wait until morning, haul it to the road and try our luck with any cars that might pass on the way to the market in Katiena. We woke at 6 and put all our gear on a donkey cart and headed for the road. We waited for an hour before we decided it would be easier to pay a donkey cart to take it to Tongo. Mary and I would leave and Adama would put all our stuff on a cart and make sure it got on it's way. We probably wouldn't be able to set the press in cement until the next day, but at least it would get to Tongo. We caught a ride and headed for Tongo. Just as we were leaving, we saw a huge truck pull up covered with men. as we turned down the Tongo road, we saw them hoist the machine on the back and come up behind us. We would arrive in Tongo at the same time, and it only cost us 4,000 CFA.

We arrived in Tongo tired and dirty from the ride. We left all the gear by the road and headed into the village to get some water. As we arrived in the village square we noticed all the men milling under the hangar where village meetings take place. We headed over to greet the men and tell them the brick press had arrived. As we approached, I swear I could hear The Doors playing in the background..."This is the end... ". The dirt in the village was stained dark red and the rusty smell of blood hung heavy in the air. As we got closer we saw the men hovering over an entire dead bull carcass. The head had been lopped off and tossed to the side. Hundreds of knives worked over the meat as it was cut in to small chunks and placed in large wash basins. As they were filled, women would put them on their heads and head home to prepare the feast. As the women walked away I could see the blood overflowing and running down their arms. The men were all very busy, so we did a quick greeting and told them we would begin setting the brick press when they were ready. We went to Mary's house and began killing the spiders and scorpions who had taken possession of her house. After an hour or so, the men who were going to help set the press showed up and we headed to the school site. Once there we explained what we were going to do and began mixing cement. we set the press fairly quickly and headed back to Mary's house. We sat there for a little while and then we heard the village square began to come alive with movement and laughter. We stood up and looked over the wall to find the entire village was sitting in the square about to eat lunch. So, we did what any self respecting volunteer would do, and went looking for free food. It only took a second before we were invited to sit down with a group of old men. We washed our hands, and a huge bowl of couscous was placed in front of us. We were told to eat and we obliged. A minute later a man walked up to me and said, "Seydou, Sogo". I stuck out my hands and at least a pound of meat was placed in my palms. I threw it in the bowl and picked out the good pieces. There were a couple young boys eating with us and I gave them the liver, stomach, and brains. You never can tell what you're eating in this country. We finished and sat among the old men until they had finished. We were told to join them in prayer and listened as they asked for peace in the village and a good harvest in the coming season. We held our hands in a bowl shape and repeated after them, then as if splashing water on our face we swept our hands over our head three times completing the prayer. We turned and shook the hands of those surrounding us and thanked them for the food. We headed back to the brick press and put a second layer of cement on the machine. We returned home, passed the day reading and talking to those who came to call on us and then went to sleep under a full moon. We awoke the next morning and closed up Mary's house. Pumped up our tires and rode our bikes back to Cinzana. It was a difficult ride into the wind on a bad road. We arrived at the paved road just in time to see a Peace Corps vehicle passing. We tried to flag it down, but they just kept driving. They must of thought we were just some really excited white bikers, or he just didn't want to have to put our bikes on the roof. Anyways, we had to sit on the side of the road in the sun until a car finally passed and we squeezed in. We made it back to the Segou bureau around two o'clock and fell asleep until the sun had set. We woke up and began figuring out how we would get 14 truckloads of sand and gravel shipped to Tongo on Tuesday. As our COS date approaches the work picks up, a dozen times a day I do the math in my head, "if we start building on June 1st, the first 3 classes will be done by the end of July, then the second block the end of September. that gives us a month to build latrines, built the cisterns, water harvesting system, paint, big party, COS, fly to Spain, delete the Three Dog Night song from my I pod, get on a big boat, eat a lot of food, arrive home, find a job...".

Heck of a Job Brownie!

What follows is solely the opinion of the author.

This is the time of year when future Peace Corps Volunteers (PCV) find out where in the world they will be living for the next 2 years. Many volunteers are fresh out of college and intoxicated by the romantic ideals of living in the bush of Africa or the jungles of South America. I am going to share with you my experience over the past 2 and a half years living in Mali under the Peace Corps (PC) banner. I admit Mali is not indicative of every PC post in the world, and my experience living in a small village differs from someone who lived in a city, with running water and electricity. So here are the things I feel are the most important to understand about PC life in Mali.

DISCOMFORT- There isn't a single chair or bus seat in this country that won't hurt you in some way. There are rarely days when you won't be soaked in sweat with sand and dirt embedded in every pore. At some point, maybe on a bicycle, you WILL shit yourself. Don't be ashamed, everyone does it.

LOSS OF ANONYMITY- I grew up in New Orleans, and I would regularly go to the Audubon Zoo. I would lean over the railing and stare at the gorillas wondering what they were thinking. They were thinking, "QUIT STARING AT ME, I CAN PROBABLY HIT YOU WITH THIS ROCK FROM HERE!" I know this because here you are the gorilla. There are days when I sit in my village and all day long children just stare at me. Everything you do will be interesting to Malians, reading a book, washing your clothes, sweeping the floor, flying a kite, everything. Also, you will never be able to forget you are different. Anywhere you go people of all ages will yell, "WHITE PERSON!, WHITE PERSON!" as you walk down the street. Also, as a consumer everything you purchase, or any service you require will cost you exponentially more than a Malian because you are a "Rich American". I know a kid who paid a "sick" 1,000 CFA for a watermelon! Thats the average daily wage for a laborer digging wells. Way to go Coulibaly!

-As a side note, I recently saw Ricky Martin in New York city, people were passing him and screaming "SHE BANGS!, SHE BANGS!" I walked up to him and said "I know Ricky, I know." He smiled and walked away. You will have more sympathy for celebrities after this.

BOREDOM- You're gonna hit the tarmac in Bamako like a college football team running through a banner. You are gonna be so pumped and ready to start saving babies, but in all honesty most days you don't do anything. Things that you could get done in a week in America will take 6 months here. Believe it or not I have done more work here than most volunteers. You spend most of your service trying to find the best spots of shade to put your chair in. I have spent entire days here sitting at the bank, for no other reason than they have Air Conditioning. I have read more books in the last 2 years than I have in my entire life. I spend most of my time scaring Malian children. I usually get on my bike and troll my village waiting for a kid to start running, and then the chase is on. It usually ends in someones courtyard where the child has sought refuge from me. We all handle boredom and loneliness in different ways and you will have to figure it out on your own, but the volunteers in your region are the only one's you can rely on so get to know them and understand you are all in this together. They will be your friends for the rest of your life.

PEACE CORPS- I have been here 3 years and I have yet to figure out what my sector supervisor (APCD) does for a living. One would assume that they are in their position to assist volunteers, I mean if there weren't volunteers they wouldn't have a job, but alas it is impossible to get in touch with my APCD. They are usually "out of the office", so I can only assume that they moonlight as Dogon tour guides or Drive a Bittar bus on the side. Let me give you an example of this. I am being replaced when the next stage comes, but my service doesn't end until the end of October. As it stands now, in September when my replacement arrives and takes over in my village, I will be homeless. I have a great deal of work to do in Segou for the school project, so logically I feel I should be able to move into Segou. I have been trying to remedy this situation early because everything moves extremely slowly here but I can't get a straight answer from my APCD, because I can't get in touch with my APCD. So, I am preparing myself for a few months of squatting at the transit house in Bamako. Another example involves a fellow volunteer. They went home for Christmas and returned in early January. They next saw their APCD in March and the first question their APCD asked was, "Did you just get back from America?" These are the people charged with our safety and security and they don't even know if we're in the country or not. I would like to share just one more story with you. Early on in our school project we had raised half of the 60,000 dollar budget. (This is the largest amount of money PC would allow us to raise through the PCPP program.) We were searching for an NGO to work with to help us raise the remainder of the funds. We decided to go to Bamako and ask all the APCD's and administrative staff for contacts within the ex-pat or NGO community to help us with our project. We were promised help that never came through and a lot of people didn't know how to help us. Really? It is your job to help us, you have networks and contacts in this country at every level, but you can't think of a single person who might be interested in building a school in Mali? The final straw was a meeting we had with an APCD who said that our project was too large in scope and would make other volunteers look bad. I was shocked, this person was in essence saying that the standard expectation for a volunteer was so low that by doing a project this big, we would make most volunteers feel inadequate. Basically, screw the Malian kids who might get an education in the school you want to build and go on to a better life, you might hurt Timmy from Vermont's feelings because all he did for two years was paint a map of his village. If we continue to settle for the status quo what is the point? What makes America so great is that we don't set limits. The man who created the Peace Corps John F. Kennedy said ,

"We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too."

As he walked off stage do you think he was grabbed by Robert McNamara and told if he went to the moon, it would make Eisenhower and any other President who followed him feel inadequate? Hell no, he set the bar high and dared others to follow him. In Mali at this moment there is a "Dream team" of talent. We have kids here from the best schools in the world who want to work and improve this country. But as long as the Peace Corps tells people not to tackle a project because it's too big or daunting, then we are wasting all that talent.

"Heck of a job Brownie!"

Remember you are now an employee of the United States Government and are subject to all the bureaucracy and red tape that goes along with it.

INCOMPETENCE- You are about to enter into a world where nothing makes sense. Everything is done backwards. Words like efficiency, consistency, reliability, and logic do no exist in this place. This includes everyone from your taxi driver to ATT, but is not limited to only locals. I'll give you an example. We found a man with a machine we needed to finish a project. We offered him a reasonable rate, but he refused. He said, "I would rather let the machine rot than give it to you at that price." Does that make sense? I would rather make at least some money than none at all.

PACKING- In all seriousness the only things I use on a regular basis are a headlamp, and a mosquito net tent. Everything else is found in this country. I suggest you fill one suitcase with as much non perishable food as possible (Tortillas, chili and taco mixes, velveeta, soup mixes, Cookies, BBQ sauce, etc.) and fill the other with clothes (underwear, t-shirts, jeans, shorts(Guys))

I know this might not be the most uplifting blog you've read in the last couple of weeks, but this is how I see it. Like most things in life you are quickly going to realize that things aren't exactly what you were expecting. Don't get me wrong, there are days when the sun is setting and a pink haze falls on the horizon, cool air blows down over the Atlas mountains, you're sitting in a families' courtyard laughing and talking about the project you finished, a project you've been working on for months, as your host mother sits by the fire making Tigadiga Na and there is nowhere in the world you'd rather be. But in the grand scheme of things, those days are rare.

Good luck at PST, I won't be there, not enough experience!

Blacky

There are approximately 5 male first names in this country with multiple variations of each.

ex) Muhammad= Muhammado= Mamado= Amado= Mado

So it is very rare when you hear an original name in this country, especially one like "Blacky". I admit I giggled and then asked them to repeat the name when I first heard it. I am very mature like that sometimes. Let me explain. We finally started the shipment of supplies to the school construction site in Tongo, and the next step is to begin making the bricks. The bricks we are using are not the traditional cinderblocks used in most school construction, we are using compressed earth bricks. These bricks must be made using a special machine that has a form and compression chamber. There are only a handful of these machines in Mali and we found one in a town about 150 km east of us in Koutiala. We have been working with a contractor for the past two years called Yaya. We were under the impression that he was the owner of this machine but it has been made clear to us now that he is just an underling of the all powerful Blacky. We negotiated the price of renting the machine last year and factored that into our budget. We were going to rent the machine for 60 days at 7,500 CFA/day and pay two laborers 1,000 CFA/day to teach the people of Tongo how to use the machine and how to make the correct cement/earth mixture. The day before we began shipping the cement to Tongo, we called Yaya and told him we were ready to begin and asked him when he could bring the machine to Tongo. He said he wanted to meet with us and discuss the prices, so we set up a meeting with the mayor and chief to sign contracts and take pictures.

When Yaya arrived he gave us very different prices. The price of the machine rental went up to 12,000 CFA/day, we would now have to pay 7 men 3,500 CFA/day, we would have to pay him 125 CFA per brick the machine produced, and we would now have to pay for the transportation of the machine to Tongo. He then dropped the the knowledge on us that these were his instructions from Blacky and that if we wanted to negotiate them we'd have to speak to Blacky himself. After I let Yaya out of my mental choke hold, we decided to contact old Blacky ourselves. Yaya then proceeded to tell us about his new cell phone and how Blacky's number was left in his old phone and he had no way of contacting Blacky. We told him we needed to get the project started, so we'd drive to Koutiala and talk to Blacky face to face. At this point Yaya magically remembered Blacky's number.

Blacky does not work well with others. The following is a conversation with the illusive Blacky.

Us- Blacky?

Blacky- Yes

Us- Hi, we are here with Yaya...

Blacky- Whatcha want?!

US- We were wondering why the prices...

Blacky- I've been waiting on you for two years, the prices changed, take it or leave it!

Us- We're sorry about that it took us a long time to raise 60, 000 dollars.

Blacky- Not my problem, I eat!

Us- You eat?

Blacky- I don't need your money to eat!

Us- Ok, so....

Blacky- I'd rather the machine sit in my courtyard then deal with you!

Us- ok, we're trying to build a school to help children and will build 150 more with your machine if you help us.

Blacky- No! (he hangs up)

At this meeting are the Mayor of Cinzana, the Chief and representatives of Tongo, The Malian director of BuildOn, The American director of BuildOn, Mary and myself. After the phone call we all look at Yaya. He is terribly embarassed and ashamed. We begin to tell him how all these people have invested time and money into this project and because of their greed we might not be able to finish it. Yaya promises to talk sense into Blacky, but we are not holding our breath. So, we have decided to search for a different machine somewhere else. Every day we wait the rainy season inches closer and closer. 60 tons of cement sit in a room in Tongo covered by a leaky roof. If we wait much longer there is no way we will be able to prevent that cement from being ruined by the rains.

Napoleon, a Ham Sandwich, and 40 Tons of Cement

More than 2 years of hard work have finally begun to pay off. This week we have begun the first phase of our school construction project. We began the week like most others, in the backseat of an old Peugeot station wagon with a plastic bag full of cash. Finally after several hours waiting at the bank, we stood at a bank tellers window for 20 minutes as he counted out 14,000,000 CFA in front of us and deposited it into the construction account. We walked outside and hopped on the first bus that pulled up. We lucked out and got a Somatra bus which are pretty dependable. The only thing is Somatra uses old French Renault buses which must have been designed by Napoleon himself, because I can not fit in the seats. I have to turn sideways with my legs in the aisle and the armrest digs into my hip. Good news was there were no crying babies or dying sheep on board, just Malians. After three and a half hours in a bus with no windows in Mali I was not in the best of moods when I got a very interesting phone call. It was BuildOn ,the NGO we're working with, saying that they've decided to buy the cement in Segou, the city we just left 250 kilometers ago. We sighed deeply and shrugged as we bargained with a taxi driver in the Malian sun.

(I would have put a picture here but somebody else used it already. Just imagine a big stack of Malian Money.)

After showering and sitting in the A/C for a while we decided to do something wild, so we hopped in a Taxi and headed for the grocery store. This might not sound like a big deal to you, but in Mali grocery stores are rare and expensive, designed for foreign embassy workers and wealthy Malians. I usually go to the grocery store and stand in the frozen food section trying to figure out how I could get Ice Cream home before melting, then I realize it costs more than I make in a week here so I weep a little and head for the more reasonably priced canned corn. But on this occassion I was feeling a little saucy and stopped at the meat counter. There it was pink and smoked...HAM! I tried to decipher the metric system doing math in my head. The tag read 1325 CFA/100 grams, how many grams of ham or on an average American sandwich? How many grams are in a pound? Will Mary let me spend this much money on ham?
I got 400 grams of ham and headed for the cheeses. I chose the cheapest one they had and found a couple sandwich rolls to complete this behemoth. Mary bought hair dye.

(Imagine a photo of a ham sandwich being held by a blond woman who now has black hair.)

We spent the night in Bamako and then caught a bus back to Segoou, so we could meet up with our construction supervisor and purchase cement. We arrived early at the cement vendors warehouse to begin negotiating the price of cement and transportation. We had already met twice and each time the price had changed, so today we would try to get cement for the lowest price possible. We agreed on 130,000 CFA (290 USD) per ton including transportation. We shook hands at 10:30 and he said a truck was on its way to begin loading the cement. Right on schedule the truck arrived at 1:30, and they began loading 800 bags of cement one at a time, no forklifts or palette jacks for these young men. It took three hours of grueling work in the sun but finally they finished and we were ready to head to Tongo. It is 40 Kilmoeters to Cinzana and then another 20 kilometers of bad road to Tongo. We arrived as the sun was setting and the entire village greeted us as the truck pulled into the village center. They made quick work of the cement and had it unloaded in two hours. Though we were eager to get back to Segou we ate dinner in Tongo and waited as they made a fresh pot of tea for us. We finally returned to Segou after midnight and exhausted passed out in our office. The next day we shipped another 300 bags of cement to Tongo and returned to Segou for a meeting with BuildOn's directors. It was a long week but it felt good to have work to do, and it also felt good to know that all those months of beggin for money, and the hours spent in meetings with the people of Tongo and Cinzana, as well as the many budgets we submitted and resubmitted finally brought us to the cabin of a truck with three strange men pulling 40 tons of cement down a dirt road.

(Imagine a montage of photos, Malians carrying cement, a big truck in a village, a truck cabin, people smiling, etc.)