No Troubles

Where to start?? The last week feels like several years worth of experiences. I visited the village where I'll be living for the next two years. It totally fits every expectation (good and bad) that I'd imagined. It's a really small village, about 400 or possibly 500 people. It's "in the bush" meaning far far from civilization. Needless to say there's no running water or electricity. The morning routine of taking a shower (which is repeated again before dinner) involves waking up with the sun to the sounds of roosters and donkeys (and if you've never heard a donkey, consider it a blessing), then I walk to the well with my bucket, hitch it to the rope, and drop it down. I'm going to have arms of iron soon, because, man, that bucket is HEAVY to pull back up, even with a pulley. Then I carry it on my head back to my house, and take a bucket bath. All of this is done in total silence, as you're not allowed to greet anyone until after you've washed your face. Once clean, I come back out of my house and greet everyone. This is not just a simple 'hello,' but rather an extended interview process with every person encountered. The dialogue is totally scripted and, loosely translated, goes something like this:

A: you and morning
B: N-say, you and morning
A: peace in the night?
B: only peace
A: are you in good health?
B: no troubles
A: is your father in good health?
B: no troubles
A: is your mother in good health?
B: no troubles
A: is your family in good health?
B: no troubles.
A: N-say
B: N-say
A: N-say
B: peace in the night?
A: only peace
B: are you in good health
A: no troubles
etc....

Then you move on to the next person and start over again. There is no variation. Even if your father is dying of malaria, you have to say 'no troubles.' There's also really no translation for "N-say." If you're a guy you'd say "N-baa" instead, but it's really just like a "yeah, man."

I can see that I'll have no lack of water/sanitation projects over the next two years. There are so many obvious things to be done, and more that I'm sure I don't know about yet. There are several wells in the village, all of which I'm told go dry after the rainy season (which we're in now). Also, many of the houses have negens (poop holes) that drain right into the street, which is muddy and covered in green slime where mosquitos like to breed. The village has been waiting for a volunteer for a long time, and I can sense that they're incredibly motivated. The hard part might be finding times to work; the women (just like in Missalabugu) work in the fields and cook all day, as do many of the men. The older men tend to sit around most of the day drinking tea and taking naps.



The food is terrible. Everyone eats a dish called "toh" for breakfast lunch and dinner. It's basically a grey paste made of millet that has the texture of play-doh and tastes like feet. Then they put a green snot sauce on it and eat it together out of a huge bowl.




I enjoy the communal aspect of eating, but there's no way I can choke down toh for every meal. So the last morning I was there, I borrowed a little stove and pot and made an omelette. The people in the village were so fascinated they started bringing over eggs for me to cook for them, and soon I had a small omelette restaurant going. It was unbelievable.



My house is totally pimp. It's made of mud, but it feels like a mansion. I've got 4 rooms, a negen, and a big courtyard with a tree. I've already decorated and furnished it in my head, and I've got plans to start a garden in the courtyard to grow some vegetables.



It's also pretty easy to get to Segou (the closest big city) from my site. I have to bike for an hour and a half to get to the main road, and then catch a bus into town (which is about a 30 min ride). But Segou is really an amazing city. It's much cleaner and more compact than Bamako, making it nice to walk around. It's also right on the Niger river, so there's some boat traffic and some terrific sunsets.





I spent two nights there with the rest of the volunteers in the region, eating pizza and going out to the dance clubs - quite a contrast to the slow pace of life in the village. Then on the way back, the bus made a stop so that everyone could get out and pray by the side of the road.


(this is the mosque in my village)

I can’t help but compare everything here to India. It’s the same in so many ways, yet lacking in certain details, the most noticeable and ruffling I attribute to what I see as a diminished appreciation for beauty, in an abstract sense. In Indian villages, even though poverty and sanitation are just as bad, there was always time to draw a pattern or a mandala on the ground, and there was a certain pride in appearance, a respect for design. I don’t quite see that here. It might be that it’s there hiding in a form that I’m not able to discern, but I find myself more stricken by the poverty when it’s mixed with this acceptance or lack of ambition for something better. They have nothing. And even if they have potable water and a lower infant mortality rate after I’m gone, I’m wondering how to give them beauty that’s sustainable.