Mask Festival, Animation, WAIST

1: The bus we chartered heading out to Dakar for WAIST

2: The Mali fan club - we totally had the best uniforms. Those are Dogon hunter's hats

3: Eric swinging the bat like a pro for team Mali

4: A bit of Atlantic coastline with waves. Someone told me the waves were double overhead while we were there, but unfortunately I failed to find a surfboard. Not that I would have survived double overhead anyway.

5: The crew relaxing after a game at the Club Atlantique/American Club in Dakar

6: View from the front porch of one of the houses we rented in Popenguine, Senegal, after the tournament

7: Two good-looking PC lads in Popenguine

8: The sunset over the Atlantic - quite different from the Atlantic sunrise we get at home but beautiful none-the-less

9: Our bus driver promised we'd leave Kayes at 4am, and we stupidly arrived in time to do so. This is about 10am, still at the station, when we seriously considered stealing the bus. We didn't leave until noon. TIA.

These pictures are from WAIST, or the West African Invitational Softball Tournament in Dakar. More on that later...

1/27/08

So I just learned yesterday that Heidi will be going back to her Bobo village on this coming Thursday for good. The women have spent yesterday and today putting extensions in her hair (normal for when they want to get dressed up) and I wonder - are they just doing that so she can make a good entrance, or could there be a future husband to impress? Is she going back to get married or is there some other reason? If she is going back to get married, is the husband already chosen or is she just going to make herself available to other Bobo men? It's weird, to be losing a sister (aunt, whatever), and I don't think it's quite hit me yet.

1/28

So I just had dinner with Danger, and he dropped some bombs. It all started when I remembered that Awa had told me between Xmas and New Years that Dao isn't her son, that she only has one child who's off in Boboland. I asked Danger if Awa was his first wife and he allowed as how she wasn't - his first wife, Dao's mother, died on January 15th 2005. In childbirth. Along with the unborn child. I don't know what the complication was, but she went to the Maternity in the morning, had to be rushed to the CSREF (regional hospital) for it (which took longer than it should have because the Ambulance driver there wasn't at his post when we called), and died there. Danger married Awa in October 2006, so they'd been married less than a year when I showed up here. Awa had been married in Boboland, and was the 4th wife in an otherwise entirely Minianka family. Since Minianka isn't just another ethnic group but also another language, imagine being the 4th wife (all present at the same time, if that wasn't clear) in a family where everyone else speaks a language you don't understand. Apparently things were going so badly for her that they gave her permission to find another husband, though since it's a paternal society she would have to leave her child behind. Further, Danger told me about my language tutor's first wife, who also died young and unexpectedly.

I find myself wanting to minimise all this by saying that the marriages were probably more or less arranged anyway, not like "true love" marriages in the USA, but that thought doesn't sit well. Danger was quite emotional about it (for a Malian man), even when talking about my tutor's loss. The fact that Danger's wife died in childbirth hits me particularly hard, since that's the very area I'm working in here.

1/30

Well it's weird, Heidi's leaving tomorrow and it appears she's not coming back - at least not any time soon. What's weirdest about it for me is that I miss her already. It just struck me as we had a photographer over to take pictures of us all before she leaves. The feeling is hard to describe. I've never been in a situation where someone else was leaving the house - it's always been me that leaves, being the oldest child. Even in my apartment with Dan and Toby, I left before they did. Even leaving the US to come to Mali (and to study in Paris before that) didn't feel like this - it's very different when you're the one leaving, going on to something new, than when you're the one being left behind.

2/6

Danger told me last week that the traditional Mask Festival of my village would be starting soon. Today I was riding my bike back home from language lessons as the sun was setting, and just before reaching home I passed a place where I could hear drumming and dancing on the other side of a wall, which I took to be another wedding. At home after eating, Awa put on Delta Force with Chuck Norris (dubbed in French), but as the other guys watching it were her Bobo brothers that don't speak French, it was quickly turned off and replaced with the Malian movie Sia, to my surprise and delight. A few of the younger ones mentioned going to the "dancing place," but nobody moved until a short while later when the solar batteries - and hence the movie - died. By then I had finally figured out that the drumming I could hear in the distance wasn't a wedding at all, but the start of the Mask Festival. Lasso mentioned that if I tried to go see it I'd be hit/attacked. Since he was not the first person to tell me this (my language tutor told me even he would be attacked if he tried to go, since he's Muslim and not part of the Animist crowd), when Danger if I wanted to go see the festival the following morning, I assumed it was because I wasn't allowed to go at night. Still, I asked if I couldn't go now, to which the response was "oh... okay!" Me, Lasso, Odile, and the others (who'd already headed out but been called back when it was discovered that I was interested) headed out towards the melee. Trying to be as respectful as possible I left my camera and phone behind, and didn't turn on my flashlight for most of the walk there, despite the moonless darkness that surrounded us.

As we approached the source of the cacophony, I could smell - taste even - freshly kicked-up dust in the air. The drumming was nothing short of ominous - whereas all the other drumming I've heard here has always been deliberate, measured, this drumming was dissonant, one might even say crazed, but with a dissonance that continuously fell into order and dissolved again like waves crashing on a beach - it seemed the more I tried to focus on the beat, the more obscured it became. Apart from the drums, there were also metal cow-bell type instruments, and something that gave off an otherworldly sound somewhere between a kazoo and a baby crying. Taken together it was all quite intimidating, even without the promise of being attacked. Still this was my host-family, and I reasoned that they wouldn't let me go if they thought I was in real danger.

Suddenly we rounded a corner and were facing the square - people gathered around the perimeter and two trees in the middle, each supporting a 20-watt neon tube-light that provided the only illumination, casting a strange glow into the dust-filled air. We stopped on the perimeter but in the road, and at first I couldn't see anything - the revelers were in the shadow cast over most of the square on the other side of the trees from the lights. Soon enough dancers twirled into view - covered in what I can only guess is a dried grass (millet stalk?) material that hung down and trailed behind them in the sand (we haven't had a drop of rain since October, so it's pretty dry), kicking up a cloud-trail of dust behind each dancer. The majority of the dancers (maybe 6 in all) wore a mask with a great crest on the top, like some giant bird - although I couldn't see the facial features of the mask in the eerie light. Before I could think "get out of here tubab," two dancers approached us. I was a bit unsettled to see that they both carried short whips in their long grass-clad hands. Though one kept his distance, the other walked right up to the man standing 3 feet to my right and reached around behind his head with both hands. Unsure of what was going on or what would be expected of me were I to find myself similarly embraced, I took a few steps back. Standing beside me, Lasso (who'd also taken a few steps back) said "don't run," to which my immediate thought was "why, because I've got nothing to worry about or because they'll single me out if I show fear?" Either way I stood my ground, and after a few minutes the bird-man dancer left and returned to the middle of the revelry.

Around the masked dancers came a line of young plainclothes dancers, bent at the knees and the hips so that the tube-lights created a strangely modern version of a cartoon cliche image, replacing a fire in the center of a tribal circle and casting 40-foot shadows of the dancers which radiated outward from the inner circle like spokes on a slowly turning, undulating wheel. Apart from these young dancers and the masked dancers, there was a third type - this composed of young men in plain clothes who did acrobatic, Capoeira-like spinning flying kicks, cartwheels, and spinning on their knees on the ground frantically, all the while kicking up more ghostly clouds of dust.

Trying my best to be respectful and as unobtrusive as the only white person for 100 km in any direction can be, I stood with my wrists folded at my waist, opting not to take the more aggressive stance of crossing my arms in front of my chest; nor the more passive stance of putting my hands in my pockets and slouching. Standing like this I watched in awe for who-knows-how-long, until the rest of my family and I quietly ducked out and headed home.

2/7

So I did my first Bambara animation this morning! Man what a crazy time! I arrived at 9am and there were already many women there, for the baby-weighing I assumed since we normally do that on Thursdays. I started shortly thereafter - 23 women and 2 men was the official count of participants, though that includes myself. I did a talk on the importance of colostrum and exclusive breastfeeding for the first 6 months of life, and it went really well. The women were engaged, answered correctly when asked to explain what I'd told them in their own words, and Mamu (my homologue) only interfered a little to what I said to make sure everyone understood, though I don't think that was necessary. It felt great to have finally done it, and with such good success. When I finished my armpits were sweating and my hands a little shaky - it's been quite a long time since I've done a talk of that size in front of anyone, much less a group of strange women and in Bambara - if felt good. The chaos didn't stop when I did though - with my talk over we started giving the women all their child vaccination cards back - the vaccination shipment hadn't arrived from the regional hospital. What did arrive from there a few minutes later was the ambulance, which pulled up in front of the assembled crowd, where the matrones helped a very pregnant women from inside the maternity climb into it. In all the commotion we never did do the baby weighing, not sure why.

Just before I headed off to language tutoring, the regular Animatrice showed up. I'd already gotten the feeling that she doesn't like me (I suspect she's just intimidated by me), and this was confirmed by her attitude here. When the matrones mentioned that I'd done an animation that morning, she asked disdainfully "Oh... did you translate for him?" To which they responded "No, he did it all in Bambara by himself." "Oh... did the women all laugh at him?" "No, he speaks Bambara very well as a matter of fact." "Hmm." Although I'd prefer not to fight with her, since we're on the same team after all, still it felt good to have the matrones stand up to her for me.

3/1

So I didn't so much mind chasing the occasional scorpion around inside my house - up until last night I'd seen 4 or 5 and killed them all. However last night I saw the 6th, and it escaped in a most distressing fashion. It was sitting next to the wall, so I figured I'd use my broom to sweep it outside before killing it so I wouldn't have to clean up scorpion parts from my floor. However, as soon as the broom touched it, it disappeared INTO THE WALL. Into one of the many (100?) holes that have appeared where the wall meets the floor inside and out, that I had been half assuming were ant-holes and half ignoring altogether. Looks like they're not all ant holes after all, and that's to say nothing of the two huge (2" x 4") mouse-holes that appeared while I was in Senegal. Looks like the scorpions aren't just crawling in through the space under the door, as I had assumed, but are actually living in my walls, and only come out after dark. Super. Ever since arriving I've been checking my bed for little beasties every night before lying down and tapping out my shoes the few times I've had occasion to wear shoes, and it looks like this has been a good idea even if I haven't yet found any surprises waiting. As hot season is approaching (it's hovered around 103 degrees for most of the day for the past couple weeks) and I'll be sleeping outside soon, this makes me slightly uneasy about the number of critters crawling around at night.

But I haven't yet written about WAIST. About it I can only say here that it was possibly the best overall week of my life, certainly in recent memory (sorry to all my friends at home). What is it? A giant slow-pitch softball tournament held yearly in Dakar that attracts both African teams, local private (white) high school teams, and most importantly Peace Corps teams. We from Mali brought about 55 of us, chartering a bus together from Bamako to Dakar, which took about 3 days. Still we paled in comparison to PC Mauritania, who brought 110 volunteers (to be fair, their Country Director charters the bus for them and they don't have to take vacation time for it. Mauritania is probably the toughest PC West Africa country to be in, though Mali's not far behind - for some, the unofficial slogan of PC Mali is: "PC Mali - at least it's not Mauritania"). There were also a sizable number of PCVs from Senegal, the Gambia, Guinea, and Benin. The tournament is held at the Club Atlantique/American Club in Dakar over 4 days. There are two leagues - one competitive and one social. We from Mali only had one team (we registered late), in the social league, but we did pretty well - we made it to the finals, where we were defeated by a local high school team (Dakar Academy I believe) who practice together year-round and have cleats. We found it a little strange that they should be playing in the social league, and would much rather have lost to another Peace Corps team, but we had a blast nonetheless.

A word on Dakar - it's an absolutely amazing city. Being the former capitol of all of France's African colonies (or at least it's West African colonies), the city center looks much like a European city, perhaps even a little like Paris itself. However added to that is much West African spice, in the form of a lively street-vendor and market scene, and the fact that the main means of public transportation, the "Hamdoulaye" vans, look just as old and oft-welded as your average Malian bache, only none broke down on me while I was there. Upon leaving the city center you soon find a more Bamako-like area, with street-vendors being the norm instead of store-fronts, and women everywhere balancing improbably large loads on their heads with no hands. The restaurants are many and are excellent, and the Palais Royal could have been plucked up from any European capitol anywhere and dropped here, with large marble facades and columns, and expansive lawns and gardens everywhere. As if that weren't enough to make a great city, Dakar sits on a peninsula jutting out into the Atlantic ocean, and has beautiful sandy beaches galore. The people that you find in Dakar are noticibly more cosmopolitan than is the average in Bamako - most everyone speaks French, and women wearing pants, jeans, and semi-professional attire is the norm rather than the exception.

The one thing that really takes away from the whole thing are the roving street vendors, who are far more persistant than I have encountered anywhere else in Mali or elsewhere in the world. Even after you kindly explain to the man selling Orange Senegal phone credit cards that you don't have a Senegal phone on which to use the credit, he will still hang around thrusting his wears in your face just in case you change your mind. Are you a girl? You must like beads, and you will never be able to convince the myriad bead sellers that you don't want any new necklaces right now, thankyou. Are you a guy? Surely that white girl standing next you you is your girlfriend or wife, and wouldn't you like to buy her a necklace? No? How about now? Or now? This is more or less constant if you stand in one place for more than 5 seconds, waiting for your friends or trying to admire the wears of the local artisan who isn't shoving them in your face. The best way to deal with them is to keep walking and brush off offers with a simple "non, merci," not that this will keep them from following you a couple blocks. Unfortunately this gets tiring quickly, and it's easy to lose patience and become rude, at which point you stand a good chance of being asked if you are racist. Although I realize this is just a ploy to get you to stop and talk, it can still get under the skin - that's precisely why they say it. But really, if we were racist what would we be doing volunteering to go to Africa in the first place?

Although I've just vented quite a bit about annoying street-peddlers, I think it's worth emphacising that this is only a relatively small drawback to being in Dakar, and despite it Dakar is now one of my favorite cities anywhere.

Following WAIST about 30 of us Mali volunteers went down to Popenguine, a sleepy village on the coast about 2 hours south of Dakar, where we rented a couple condos on the beach and just relaxed for a few days. It was strange to see the sun setting over the ocean, something I've witnessed only a handful of times in my life despite the number of times I've seen it rise over the ocean. Also it was good to be back to the Atlantic again after 7 months without seeing it - which was by far the longest time I've gone without seeing the Ocean, far longer than the 5 months I studied in Paris (over which I took a few trips and saw it), the only other time I've lived in a town or city that wasn't directly on the water. The water at Popenguine this time of year was comparable to warm Maine summer water, which means I was in heaven and everyone else complained constantly that it was too cold.

The ride back to Bamako was a tough one - we hadn't chartered a bus back together and were all kinda doing our own thing, so I ended up sharing the ride with 5 other volunteers which was good enough for company. The ride took 62 hours from the time we left Popenguine to the time we reached Bamako, and our ankles were all horribly swolen by the time we finally arrived. In the end I'd spent as much or more time on busses as in Dakar and Popenguine, but it was absolutely worth it and I will definitely be going back next year. For now it's time to get back to work at site! I did another Bambara animation, on child weaning, last week which didn't go over quite as well as the first one, and will be doing another this coming week.

For now cheers, take care and write me some emails! I'll be in and out over the next couple of weeks, I've got a lot to do before April IST starts, but I'll answer any emails as soon as I can.