New Eyes and Ears

Just as I had to adjust to living in Mali, I'm adjusting to living back in America. It's my first time coming back in 1 year and 9 1/2 months and not much has changed. More things have been accumulated and people have grown older, had kids and gained or lost weight, but overall, things are the same, but I've changed. I'm still processing the past two years and I'm processing the now. I think it will be a lot easier for me to share the things the I'm processing now, at the moment, but I will be reflecting on my last month so I can share that with you all soon.

 For now:

This morning, I woke up and listened to the sounds around me. There was the chirping of birds, the humming of the furnace and the refridgerator, the ticking of the clock and that's about it. When I was in Mali, every morning I'd wake up to the sound of kid goats hopping around, chickens clucking and roosters crowing, women beating millet, the radio, people getting water from the well, chatting, babies crying and donkeys braying.

What's the difference? There's much more life in Mali.

I took a walk this morning and made similar observations. Even though I was outside, I mostly heard machines rather than living beings. Where were the people? They were all in boxes. If you want to see other people in this world, you have to go inside these boxes (offices, schools, stores, cars etc.). As I continued walking, I saw a man coming towards me. Finally, "A person not inside of a box!", I thought. However, he had in headphones (no judgement here, because I'm a music freak and need it constantly in my life), and had created his own "box" to keep some distance. And I noticed that as he saw me, his eyes began to dart back and forth, as if he was looking for a place to hide. I think we've all done this. We don't like having to talk to strangers, but what makes us so uncomfortable to do so? In Mali, if you don't greet a stranger, you could be shamed by that person (I've been!). And now that I've been conditioned to speak to people, to show some humanity and I don't feel so awkward encountering someone I don't know.

Another observation I made is that of the two people that I encountered in my quarter-mile radius, elderly, retired, white men. This spoke a lot to me. I am happy to see that everyone goes to their little box to be successful or whatnot. It is a lot better than seeing young people wasting their potential over several glasses of hot tea when it's 115 degrees out, but why is it that Americans look forward to enjoying their lives once they retire? Why not now? There needs to be more of a balance between work and play. And play doesn't necessarily mean fluffing off responsibilities, but play can be used to hone our skills, our talents, contribute to the greater community and just be overall happier. Just think about how many dreams have been snuffed out, just because we want more money so we can buy more stuff? Lame.

As a society, I think we have set some serious limitations on ourselves. That is a much headier chain of thought, I won't go into that (maybe later), but I remember that one thing I tried to understand about Malians is, what is happiness for them? I feel like most of the people I met were generally happy, but with projections of Western Society shoved in their faces, I could tell that the youth are questioning their happiness.........and now, I've gotten completely lost in my thoughts.

So, if you're reading this, just take a moment to think about how you're living or how you want to live your life. We can all make this world a better place if we get out of our boxes and share.

Identity

Part of this whole experience has been in search of myself and people trying to categorize me. Well, I guess another name for this is, life. However, as a person of African descent, a part of me has been searching for acceptance in Africa.

Growing up in the suburbs of Detroit, in one of the most affluent counties in America, my black peers would tease me, calling me "white" because of where I lived, the way I talked and the music I listened to. Along with that, I would get the occasional stare of people trying to guess what I am. I would often be asked if I was Hawaiin or Asian.

In Mali, it is no different. The other day, a group of girls yelled "hee-hong!" to greet me in Chinese; a man asked me if I was Malaysian (I was thoroughly surprised that he had even heard of Malaysia). Only a few times has someone called me of the Malian ethnicity, Peul; I felt proud of that, although I'm not. What a strange way to feel.

Then again, maybe it wasn't so strange. Why can't I be Peul? I have a caramel complexion, thick curly dark hair, and I like milk (cultural joke). I actually feel the most comfortable around this group. They are less in my face, quiet and more chill than the Bambara. I could fit in with them, but I know it's not me.

Another reason I semi-accepted this group could be that I get tired of sticking out all the time. Every day I've been called, Toubabou. Can you imagine being called "white person" at least 5-times a day for 19-months? What must this be doing to the psyche of one who is descendant of African slaves? (If only my ancestors could hear this.) Anyway, it was just nice to know that some Peul see me like they see themselves.

Now, going back to the aforementioned question, what has being called "white" done to my psyche? Honestly, sometimes I like it, because I'm not being called black. When I first realized that, I wondered if I was self-hating or had become a bit racist, as strange as that sounds. But, then I realized that it had nothing to do with race or color, but I liked being separate from them.

It's a lot more, "me and them" than "we" going on here. Honestly, being called Toubab has kept me from being swallowed up and forgotten in this African abyss. The name reminds both of us of who I am, a stranger. I've found that as important as it is to integrate into this community, I'm glad to be a misfit.

Karamogo (Teacher) Jade

I realize that I haven't talked much about what happens in my class for girls. Class is held every Thursday afternoon, from 3:00-4:00pm. It's a sex education class, where we talk about everything from, "how to deal with pressure to have sex" to "how the immune system fights off sexual diseases".

How do I teach when my Bambara sucks? Well, luckily, there is a lesson book written in English and Bambara and I simply follow along. Plus, I have my translator/mentee, Awa "Gaffou" to help me out. Honestly, without her, we would get nowhere.

The girls in my class seem way more interested in sex, at ages 11, 12 and 13, than I was. But, these girls also have much older boyfriends than typical American girls. These girls want to know how they can have sex without getting pregnant. They want to know if white and black people can make babies together. They think that I have the cure for HIV/AIDS. They think that Toubab men come to Africa to buy and sell African women as slaves and that Toubab women come to find African husbands. And they want to know allllllllll of my business.

The questions that these girls have are great. In the beginning, it was hard to get them to say much, but now they seem to be having fun with it. Even Awa is having fun with it. The class is really interesting and it's fun to see these girls willing to ask us these questions and to laugh about embarrassing things. It's a really good health practice for the girls to feel safe expressing themselves, even to an untrained individual like myself.

I'm really hoping that this will continue once I'm gone.

The Egg in the Road

I was taking my daily bike ride, when I saw an egg in the road. It was perfectly whole and I assumed that it fell out of a crate on the back of a moto. But it looked as if someone had just rolled it onto the street. I couldn't believe that it was just sitting there, totally unscathed from the impact of its fall. It was a miracle, an eggy-miracle.

As I passed it, I felt that I should have stopped to grab it, save it from it's bleak future, but I couldn't. And what I don't know is if this decision I made was to keep the miracle going, having faith that it would survive or if I've become completely cynical, thinking that the egg would just have to take it's chances without my help.

This might sound a bit extreme, but as I pedaled further along, I wondered if I was being selfish (I'll explain this seemingly ridiculous statement). I began to think of it as not just an egg, but a thing that needed help before life crushed it.

I had been pedaling for the past 5 km uphill and I was at the last haul, struggling to reach the pinnacle, where I could finally turn around and coast downhill. I didn't want to stop from making my own gain to help the egg. And I figured that whatever would happen, would happen and it wasn't my responsibility. But then, I reached the pinnacle and took a quick break, that was suddenly interrupted by my conscience that told me I didn't have anymore time to waste. I needed to try and save that egg!

As I raced against time, I saw massive 12-wheelers, cars and motos pass me by, drive over the egg, but I still had hope. I know that this was silly, but I didn't care. I wanted, I needed a miracle. I came up to the spot where I'd seen it, but it was gone. I began to think of a group of kids I had passed along the way, perhaps they had picked it up? I didn't see any trace of the egg. No egg shell. No egg yolk. I couldn't believe it. I even made a U-turn to double check, but there was nothing.

I continued downhill, where I caught up with the kids. I stopped to ask if they had seen the egg in the road and if they had picked it up. They had seen it, but they didn't pick it up. I had to ask why, because it seemed strange for a kid not to have. I would have. They said, they didn't for no particular reason. I was kinda disappointed that they hadn't grabbed it. Maybe they didn't for the same reason I didn't, without giving it as much deep/crazy thought as I had, probably.

With that, I'll never know what happened to the egg. But I do know that I was the only one that would've saved it.

Names/Psychology

The power of words has been tested since the beginning of time. God said, "Let there be light" and there was light. We can speak many things into existence. I admit, I'm not the best at using words, but when they are used properly, one can do powerful things. Names are also words, and these too have great meaning.

In many ways, our names define us. For example, my name is Jade, which is defined as a precious green stone or gem (other definitions, I'm forgetting at the moment). When others define me, they say that I'm pretty reliable, I don't waver easily, I tend to stay calm when others are shaken up. I'm also reliable, sometimes stubborn (or a jerk, depending on who you talk to), and wise (because rocks are old and if they were animate, they would be wise) like a rock. And some would also say that I'm cool as a cuucumber, which is green :) I think that the name, Jade, suits me well.

Knowing the meaning of my American name got me curious to know what people are calling me in Mali, when they call out Djeneba. I haven't find out much, except that it's derived from Zenab, the name of the prophet Mohammed's daughter. I can only assume that she was a good woman, considering every other woman in Mali has this name. And when I think of all of the Djeneba's I know, I like them all.

Some other names that I've found the definitions for are Abdoulaye, Moussa, Aminata. Abdoulaye means "Servant of God," and when I think of my friends named so, I can honestly say that they are helpful and kind people. Moussa is the arabic name for Moses. Moussa was a leader, strong, wise, reliable and someone liked by the people. When I think about Moussa, the pharmacist in my family, I can say that this fits him perfectly, hence he is called as such. Next is Aminata, this was the name of prophet Mohammed's mother. In the Koran, it says that a son should kiss his mother many times more than his father. I can only imagine that Mohammed was thinking of his own mother when he wrote this, so it must be a good name.

There are a couple more names that I know, but I'll spare the reader. The point I'm trying to make is that names are important and we should all know what we're being called out to be. What is out Manifesto Destin. It's really cool, at least when I think about it.

Public Humiliation

Sometimes, I work with an English teacher named, Genevieve. She is one of the cruelest, frightening, most hilarious teacher I've ever met. She can cut you down with one look from that lazy eye of hers, oh my gosh!

Today, she called out a girl whose hair was sticking out. She told her to make sure she got her hair done by tomorrow because she can't look at that. I busted out laughing!

The other day, she called out this boy for wearing dirty clothes in her classroom. She chewed him out for a good solid 5 minutes, using impressive grammaticaly correct Frambra. I couldn't help snickering a bit. She was saying things like, "Don't you ever come in class looking like a dirt-child! Don't you know I'm with foreigners all the time? They come and they take photos and you expect me to be pictured with you, bastard-child? When you go home you need to take soap and water and scrub until your hands hurt, you hear me?" She went on and on like this, and that poor boy began to cry, so then she chewed him out for that!

All the kids found this pretty amusing as that poor boy started to tear. I did feel bad for the kid, but I started to look at this situation from a cultural stance. Teachers are actually more of a parent to these kids than their actual parents.

I think I mentioned before how kids are really left to fend for themselves. It's a harsh world, and they need to learn how to survive it. All day long, these kids are running all over village with their friends or doing chores at home or in the fields. Parents and kids don't even eat together, so when do they ever get parented? In school.

In school is where kids learn the morals of society, in an actual class called "Morale." The teachers spend a lot more time with the kids than the parents do. So, I can see how Genevieve has the relationship that she has with her students.

In this culture, it's important to look good in public. Clothes must be clean and unwrinkled (I don't always fall in this category) and so Genevieve felt the need to instruct her students in this way, as a mother-figure. And when I look from that point-of-view, I only see tough love and I like tough love. But man, I would hate to be her student.
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What is happiness?

The other day, I saw my host brother, Diaxari, helping his younger brother write a correspondance letter to his Canadian pen-pal. First, I read the letter from the Canadian. This young boy recounted stories from his summer. He talked about going to the zoo, going on hikes, swimming at the pool and doing a peace walk. He also gave some info about his family and what his parents do.

In response, Diaxari wrote similar things, but as I read what he wrote, I noticed that some of these were lies. Why was he lying? I asked Diaxari a couple questions about what he wrote, but I felt that he was trying to hide some humility, so I didn't ask him why he was lying. For example, he told the Canadian that over the summer, he went to the National Park, he also did a peace walk and when he talked of his family, he said that his mother was a vendor and she had sold a lot of tomatoes (FALSE FALSE FALSE FALSE FALSE!).

I began to wonder, why he felt the need to lie? What was wrong with saying that he played soccer with his friends, played cards with his American and Canadian friends, and helped his family in the fields? What did he think of the Canadian's letter? How was he imagining the life of this boy? Did he think it was better and so he wanted to fabricate his own life to sound more like the Canadian's? Is he not happy with his own?

I often wonder, what is happiness here? These days, more people have televisions, and they can see the Western life-style. It looks so clean, so shiny, so colorful and there's a bunch of stuff. And then, you look around here and see dust and dirt, rust and cracked ciment, it's dull and there's a whole lot of nothing. It's hard not to compare. Maybe, Diaxari was just trying to make himself feel better......

Thoughts on God/Love

I think that one big difference between God and us is that, he gave first and continues to give without expecting anything in return. But, in order for us to give, we have to have had something given to us first. So, God had to give first to make the world go 'round.

I came to this realization today, as a shared three meals with three different groups of people. I've never witnessed this type of sharing in America, and I'm still a tiiiiiiny bit hesitant when food is first offered to me, but this is one particular aspect of Mali that I truly admire and appreciate.

It's the "It takes a village to raise a child mentality," that has such a strong presence here and it's so awesome. Everyone (mostly) invites others to eat with them, because they know that their children are being fed at someone else's home. I see this as a true act of love.

Furthermore, I think that whoever receives, should give, and it doesn't have to go the other way around, but it does, someway or another. Which got me thinking about my service here, as it comes to an end, what else can I do? Who else can I help? With all of my general projects, I like doing them and I see purpose in them, but I would really like to find a young person who I can really pour into and see flourish.

There is this young girl, Awa "Gaffou," who I've taken a real liking too. I've come to know her since I've asked her to help me conduct my Girl's Empowerment course. She's a senior in high school who plans to continue her studies at university to become a lawyer for women and children's rights. Sounds like an awesome girl, right!? She's a nice, respectful and vocal person, who seems to have a good head on her shoulders. And I'd like to help her stay motivated, even after I'm gone.

Okay, so I know I've gone on some tangents here, but my point is, with all this love shown to me over this 1.5 yr, there's still so much I want to give back. And I hope that the love that I plant here will continue to grow, and contribute to the greater good that keeps the world spinning.

Inheritance/Emirati-Miracle

One thing that really gets on my nerves is the nerrrve of Malians always asking for their share. Whenever I go out of village, people are always asking me to bring them a gift. Whenever I come back, people are always asking for their gift. Where does this sense of entitlement come from? If I ever asked that after the age of 10, I think my mom would've slapped me. It's just rude to ask, at least from a Western perspective. But, a recent conversation I had sparked a new way to think about this.

Although I still find it rude, the African nations are owed a lot. I mean, this entire continent has been (and still is) ripped off and so many others have made their riches off of a land that doesn't belong to them. Very few Africans have benefited from the many riches this land has, but why only a few?

I know that there are many different reasons as to why. I mean, the same situation has happened to many other indigenous people taken over by colonization, but I couldn't help but notice that the Emirates stand out. How did they escape being robbed by the British?

The Emiratis are a small nation, and 40 years ago, the United Emirates didn't even exist. They were a migrant culture. They moved with the sands, ate dates, rode camels and lived in tents. Now, they take vacations to Austria, eat anything they want, drive Bentleys and live in mansions. And although the Emiratis are only 20 percent of the population, they are the biggest shareholders of their oil dynasty. How in the world did this small nation, with very few educated people, outwit the British?

The British had found the oil in the Emirates and they told the people, brought in drilling equipment, took their share, and they left. Luckily for the Emiratis, colonization wasn't looked upon very kindly in the 60's and they flourished. But, how did they protect themselves from being taken advantage of? They have written in their law that no non-Emirati can be head of any governmental position, and any business venture must have an Emirati partner, that's how. The Emirati's have their hands on all operating powers in their country.

When I learned all of this, I felt so proud of them for learning to protect themselves from theives. I only wish that some of the African nations had had this luck too.

Islam

In my travels, I've seen many different faces of Islam. I have seen Islam in a fairly liberal setting and a strict, conservative, and from the mouths of some Muslims, even crazy, setting. And from having several conversations with friends and listening to the happenings of Egypt and Syria lately, I'm beginning to wonder how a religion so caught up on not manipulating the words of Prophet Mohammed, can make up so many man-made, pseudo-religious laws? And from seeing Islam practiced in different settings, I'm beginning to wonder, when does culture become a religion?

When I visited Dubai, I was shocked by the seperatism of sexes. Men and women can't socialize in public. They can't flirt, they can't even stand in line together. In fact, an employee will call the women to the front of the line so no one will be uncomfortable! It is illegal to flirt in public! At first, I thought that this was Islamic law, only to later be told that this was merely cultural, by my Muslim-American friends. They told me that no where in the Koran, does it say that men and women should be seperate to this extent. I began to think of Malians in this respect, they are Muslim, but I see men and women flirting all the time, I'm flirted with all the time. So, where does this seperatism come from if it's not Islam, and why is this idea spreading within the Arab-world?

As my friends gave me further insight, of how the population is being effected by these ridiculous rules, I was shocked. How can the government think that they can nullify lust by restricting all contact with the opposite sex? Nature will prevail folks, and it does, secretely. In this secret, underground world, with the help of technology, most flirting is initiated using one's Blackberry. With one glance and one push of the bluetooth setting, the lines are open to hook up. And according to my sources, things have gotten so bad, that people are hooking up with random strangers because the families are so intertwined and they don't want everyone knowing their business.

Furthermore, the incidents of rape are growing because of this secrecy and build up of hormones. Some men have met girls, raped them and in some incidents, killed them to hide their own shame.

Also, there is a higher rate of homosexuality because of this suffocation. They are so starved of contact with the opposite sex, that they go for each other. In fact, I later learned that an Iman was accused of raping a young boy. I don't think that Islam approves of any of this behavior, so what does this say about the laws put in place?

What's funny, is that my friends told me that it didn't used to be like this. Things have gotten worse and worse over the past 10 years, as far as they know, given that they're only in their early-20's. So, again, I wonder why this is happening, not just in Dubai, but in Egypt and other Arab countries? What is there to be gained from this restrictive culture? What is there to gain from shutting women up and hiding them under a veil? According to my friends, the Koran specifically speaks to the importance of reading, not only the scripture, but to also seek knowledge. And it does not say that women are subservient to men, in fact it says that Muslims should kiss their mothers many times more than their father. To me, that says that women should be educated, respected and loved. So, where is all this other stuff coming from?

Adjusting to Being Back in Mali

After a month of adjusting to being back in the "real world," I now have to adjust to being back in village. It's hard having to make the switch so suddenly, especially for my body. After having access to all the food I could ever want, I'm limited again, and when I sleep, I dream of food! I never had such vivid dreams about food before, and with such intensity. For example, the other night, I dreampt that I was in KFC World (which does not exist) and there was fried chicken every where. What torture!

Another thing that I've noticed is that I'm more sanitary. When I was away, I could feel clean all day, I really missed that feeling. It was so good to be able to rub my fingers together and not rub of dirt. I had gotten so used to having dusty hands and feet, that I got used to not washing them all the time. Now, I'm washing and using hand sanitizer about 10-times a day, including washing my face about 4-times a day.

Also, while I was with my sister, I hung out with mostly girls, whereas in Mali, I hang out with mostly guys and old women. Even after being away in "magical-France," a place that everyone would like to go, only men have asked me about my trip, what I did, what I ate, whether I got a new boyfriend.......sigh, girls just don't care about me.

Although, there is one girl who loves me, DAWA! Man, I wish I could've video-recorded her welcoming me back. As soon as I entered the compound, Dawa ran over to me, screaming, bright-eyes, jumping, smiling and laughing and I just wanted to die. She's so cute! I picked her up and twirled her around and for a long 10 minutes she wouldn't leave my side, haha. Best welcome EVER.

Well, "Hello, again, Mali." We have 6-months left with each other. On the agenda, we have planned: Career Day 2 (bigger and better), Girls Empowerment course, and Academic Olympics. Let's go!

The Malian in me

There have been times when I hated Mali. There have been times when I loved it. This time, I missed Mali.

It's amazing how humans can adapt. During this round, in Europe, I felt somewhat out of place. Now, I'm back in Mali and I feel like I'm where I'm supposed to be.

Today, I rode the soutrema (city bus) and walked around the market. I listened to the sounds of Bamako. I heard the swooshing of the brooms, the rattling of mufflers, the beeping of motos, the rolling of cartwheels and the people bargaining above the kicked-up dust. I couldn't help but smile at the sound of the orchestra playing around me.

I even missed the smells. The smell of grilled meats, mixed with the smell of manure, exhaust, burning charcoal, urine and sweat. These are the smells that I can only equate with being in Mali, and I truly missed it.

I can only imagine how hard it will be for me to leave this place in July.

6 months left/New Years Resolution

Over the holidays, I visited Paris, Lyon, Marseille, and Dubai. I had a lot of fun, ate a lot of food, drank a lot of french wines and champagnes, I felt clean for the first time in months and overall, I was happy! But, I was living a dream-life that none of my Malian friends could even dream of and I felt like a jerk and I didn't know why. And I couldn't figure it out, until after this chain of events:

In the beginning of my trip, I got pick-pocketed of all the money I had been saving for 6-months before my trip! I was initially shocked, then devastated when I realized the depth of my situation, but I have family and friends who reminded me that I'm not alone, and I thank them for that. But, I still questioned why God would allow this to happen to me?

My unfortunate circumstance didn't end there, as I got ticketed on a train, then purchased an expensive discount pass the next day to avoid another ticket, only not to have my ticket checked on my return trip! I was pissed and wondered why I was losing all of my money? Why me!?

Then, one evening, in Dubai, I drank an espresso with shavings of gold and as much as I wanted to enjoy the experience, I couldn't help but think, "What am I doing!?" Here I am drinking gold, while many people I know eat toh in the dirt every day! I felt totally disconnected from the people who have cared for me the last 1.5 years. What's worse, is I felt disconnected from who I have grown to be over the last 1.5 yrs and I felt guilt.

It was at this moment that I realized that, there I was in one of the richest nations in the world, drinking gold, when I had no money the week before and I realized that I was so upset over nothing. I was drinking GOLD! I realized that all of the money that I had saved was not for me, I had no need of it. I would have liked to have had it, at least some of it, but I really had no business having all of that cash. At that moment, I realized how blessed I am, how rich I am in life to be able to say that I didn't need that money.

Now, when I think back on the man who took my money, I can only hope that my money did some good for his family. It was Christmas time, everyone deserves a nice Christmas. I sure had a good one. But, it hurts to think that the money, taken by a stranger, could have been given to those in my community. Those who need money to buy medicine for their kids, those who don't have money to eat, those who need books for school. My heart ached thinking of all of those that I ignored, not the few that I gave to. I felt so selfish, even though I've given 1.5 years of my life to help others.

I just know that I can do more, give more, be more and I hope that for those of you who read this, you'll realize this too. We all have so much to offer, we can all spare to give more this year.