Today, I began my community baseline survey. This is Peace Corps speak for: go out and try to discover problems in your community by asking questions far above your language level. It’s also a good opportunity to physically get to know the village, meet people, work on language skills and practice working with your homologue.
I started my day like I do most days here at my site: I woke up at 5:15 to the sound of susu. My host family pounding rice or corn into powder. I usually fall back asleep or roll around fitfully until the sun rises or it gets too hot in my bug net. Then I take water from the well and wash. Today I cooked eggs and made an egg sandwich (one of the many things I’d never eat in the states, but is getting me through Mali). Most mornings I head to the CSCom and sit around doing nothing (or watching people give vaccinations, or telling people I’m not a doctor, or that I don’t speak French), but today I reviewed my community baseline survey questions instead.
I also spent four hours on the phone with people from the Peace Corps office, because get this: the US Ambassador to Mali is coming to my site. It’s a logistical nightmare, my community is so excited and has a million questions, and everyone seems at least a little confused.
I made a lunch of Malian PCV mac and cheese (which is more mac and cheese in theory, rather than in practice). After I was done cooking, I came outside to talk to the kids on my compound (I gave them bubbles yesterday, so they were being needy), and I talked to a strange man in French about his desire to eat my cat (the meat is good!) and what on Earth I am doing here.
Later my homologue came, and we went to seven different concessions and interviewed people. My survey is kind of long: 45 questions, but everyone was incredibly patient, willing to answer the questions, and in most cases thankful for me being there. Most people I interviewed today are from the poorer end of my village. They’re the people who are shocked I can write (I don’t tell them I can in three languages), who don’t know which vegetables you can buy when (because they can’t afford to buy them), who tell me they wash their hands after every time they go to the bathroom (immediately after telling me they have no soap because it’s too expensive). But they’re also people who greet me as their friend (even if I’ve never met them), offer to feed me (even if they’re struggling to feed their families), offer me a seat (even if it’s the one broken stool), and welcome me into their village and homes (even if I ask them prying questions).
When I came home, I realized the strange man was back on my compound. My host brother asked me who he was, and I said “he’s the guy who wanted to eat my cat earlier.” My host brother yelled at him, and told him he can’t eat my cat. Now, usually I’m not actually worried about this. Malians don’t like cats, but they don’t usually eat them. Unless they’re traditional healers. Then they eat them and use their bones for spells. Guess who this guy is? The village traditional doctor. Then, he used some bones (maybe another cat’s) to place a spell on me to help me understand all Bambara and speak well. This involved him holding my hands (and squeezing surprisingly hard), chanting, asking people to say “amen” with him, and giving me a mirror as a gift. So far, I have not noticed the effects.
The traditional doctor ate dinner with us, probably not because anyone wanted him to, but just because he wouldn’t leave.
This was a significantly more exciting day than most, but it was a good reminder of some really important things. A lot of people say “as a PCV you’ll never get to sit in the shade of the trees you planted.” While I don’t disagree (in most respects), I find this a really negative view. I prefer to think more along the lines of the beautiful, eloquent people who make up Jack’s Mannequin: “There’s a piece of me in every single second of every single day.” It’s enough for me to be here, and to be giving parts of myself to this country and its people. Even if there’s no tree. Even if the tree does exist, but is struck by lightning. Even if I never sit under its shade. I was here. I’m part of this place. Every second, of every day.