Adventures in Africa

Grandchildren of God

2011-01-10T06:27:00.001-08:00

Ghanaians are an extremely religious people, with the path and principles of Jesus Christ being the way to salvation that a majority in the country has chosen to follow. Christianity, I imagine, is practiced in every corner of the world, so the fact that it is found in Ghana should come as no surprise. But the manner in which the religion is observed and expressed here seems quite extraordinary to me, and as such, deserves some special attention.

Offer someone a friendly “Hello, how are you?” anywhere in the city of Kumasi and he or she will almost surely respond with, “By the grace of God, I am fine” or “By the grace of the almighty Jesus Christ, I am fine.” Whether it is morning or night, Monday or Friday, or a man, woman or child, the response is certain to be the same. It is not enough to simply offer a short, concise indication of one’s current state of well-being, such as “great”, “good” or “not bad”—it must be made known and absolutely clear that it is only because of God’s immense and everlasting grace that one is feeling so fine. Thanks for clarifying that.

After such a response, the person will likely add “and you?” to which you, if you are me, will very shortly and concisely say, “great”, “good” or “not bad.” (If you are Ghanaian, you will likely repeat the words just spoken to you: “By the grace of God, I am fine.”) “Thank God” will come the last words from the friendly pious person on the street. This is the standard way that greetings are most commonly exchanged between Ghanaians.

Out of a sense of laziness to which man is so often prone, but in the name of convenience, the standard response to a greeting is often reduced to “By His grace” or even simply to “Grace.”

Imagine this:

Man: Good morning, how are you?

Woman: Grace, and you?

Man: By His grace.

Woman: Thank God.

An exchange like this would not, in itself, be particularly fascinating if not for the extraordinary frequency with which such greetings take place. One rarely hears an exchange of greetings that does not mention Jesus or God at least a couple times within the few short seconds that the affair lives.

Religion and God are not only heard in the constant exchanges of greetings around the city, but can also be seen virtually everywhere in the names of local businesses. Just as it is rare to hear a greeting that does not include God, one will also have great difficulty finding a local business of any type whose name is devoid of His name.

As you walk along the street that runs in front of my house, you will pass “It’s not my Strength, it’s God’s Strength” grocery store, which, quite strangely, sits just five feet from “It’s not my Strength, it’s God’s Strength” seamstress shop (the two are owned by different but apparently like-minded people). Both are on the opposite side of the street from “King Jesus” interior decoration. Walk a bit further and you will see a small shack selling mobile phone accessories. The sign at the top read, “Covered by the Blood of Jesus Enterprise.” At the nearby corner are two more small businesses: “Mary’s Immaculate Conception” copy center and “The Anointed One Touched by Jesus” grocery store. (I’m not making this stuff up.) On the next street over is “Dr. Jesus” grocery store, “My Redeemer Lives” catering service and “It is Jesus” electrical contractor. The effect of such as inescapable onslaught of religion-ridden names can be dizzying. Finally, at the end of the street, a short breath of fresh air: “Joe’s" grocery store. Thank God.

(Side note: I laughed when I first read the name of a small grocery store near my house: “Good Name is Better than Riches.” I agree, but apparently nobody told these people that a good name is also better than a bad one.)

As if you didn’t get enough God in the peculiar greetings of everyday individuals or on the signboards that decorate the thousands of businesses in the city, you can help yourself to an additional portion on the taxis and mini-buses that are the heart of the public transportation system. Stuck to the center of the back windshield or the top of the front windshield of most taxis and mini-buses in the city is a short, sometimes clever phrase made of large, adhesive letters. And if you are following the point of my writing even slightly, then you have already guessed, quite correctly, that such phrases most often refer to God. Here are some examples: “Clap for Jesus”, “No Jesus, no life”, “Glory be to God”, “By the grace of God”, “With God all things are possible”, “God understands”, “Pray without ceasing” and the list goes on and on. (A few slightly-comical, non-religious ones: “Poor boy no friend”, “Fear women” and “No food for lazy man.”)

Start conversing with ordinary Ghanaians anywhere in Kumasi and you will quickly come across some peculiar names that have quite clearly been inspired by faith. Blessing is a very common name for both boys and girls in Ghana. I have heard Moses, Theophilus, Glory, Godslove, Godsent, Godsway, Lordia, and my personal favorite, Gifty (as in a gift from God, I presume). I am sure there are more.

As you can see, religion and Christianity are seen, heard and felt everywhere in Ghanaian society. Some may describe such wide-ranging expressions of faith as spectacular—a clear indication of the strength of one’s convictions. I see them as intrusive and inescapable. They are the signs of a people that appear holier-than-thou but who are, in reality, nothing of the sort. Allow me to explain.

There exists in Ghana a very strong societal pressure to be pious. Regardless of the particular faith, most Ghanaians seem to believe that life somehow mandates that one belong to a religion. And if one doesn’t, there is a big problem. “It’s not good at all”, “It is really bad” and “Then I can’t trust you” are a few of the responses I have received after telling people that I am not religious. “But you have to choose one” say most people, referring to religion. And so a majority of Ghanaians have done just that—Christianity, to be specific, as it is the dominant faith here.

There is also immense pressure to attend church, and not simply on Sundays. Many Ghanaians visit the holy house of God several times per week, and most churches offer an all-night service from 6pm to 5am where worshippers engage in an exhausting, non-stop session of song and prayer lasting for hours on end. The public consensus is that those who do not attend church are somehow bad, and surely are not candidates for entrance into the eternal holy land that far too many of us here on this heavenly Earth are far too concerned with. And so hundreds of churches across the city are packed with hundreds of thousands of worshippers several days per week.

Read the Bible and believe it entirely is the pastor’s instruction at church, so most people do exactly that. I have spoken to many Ghanaians who are shocked at the idea of questioning even a word of the holy book. It is said that a good Christian must pray and pray often, and so a majority of people do this as well. Ghanaians often engage in fasting in order to get closer to God, and they spread the good word nearly every chance they get.

Put all of these facts together and you are lead to only one logical conclusion: that most Ghanaians are very strong and secure in their Christian faith. Model Christians, you might say, if such a thing actually exists. Some are surely this way, but I believe that many Ghanaians (I am tempted to say most, but I won’t) are not Christians at all, in a true sense of the word, or are bad ones at the very best. The evidence lies in the details.

Christ-like is what every true Christian must work consciously and tirelessly to be. A follower of the religion is obligated to study and know the life of Jesus Christ, and then emulate it. This means striving to be more compassionate, loving, caring, honest and responsible (among many other things) in all areas of one’s life; to dedicate a portion of one’s time to public service and to helping others; to give charity to the disadvantaged and disenfranchised. Faith is meant to encourage a person to be a better person—to help one cast out negativity and hatred, overcome hardship and embrace love and interconnectedness. But when I look closely at the way many Ghanaians speak to one another and treat each other, I see insult, jealousy, lies, discrimination and negativity hidden behind an unstable façade of smiles, handshakes and hugs.

Lying is an accepted and extremely common part of Ghanaian culture—so much so that many locals have told me I shouldn’t trust anyone in this country. I hear people accusing others of lying, from small children to elderly men and women, several times each day. It is so frequent, in fact, that otherwise-honest people tell me they have resigned themselves to lying simply because everybody else is doing it. And few people seem to recognize the damaging and destructive nature of an atmosphere where nobody trusts anybody else.

It is a peculiar fact that it’s illegal to insult a person in Ghana, yet insults are what you will hear pouring from people’s mouths far more often than positivity or praise. People regularly hurl painful insulting language at others for various offenses serious and small; young children not excluded.

A true Christian would, in adhering to the path and life of Jesus, make a conscious effort to refrain from lying, insulting people and engaging in all kinds of other negative and hurtful behavior that I regularly see average Ghanaians involved in. At the very least, an authentic Christian would attempt to contain such bad behavior, if a complete elimination seemed too extreme. But most Ghanaians do not seem to even have the thought in their minds that, as Christians, it is their duty to follow the principles of Jesus Christ and the Bible as closely as they can, let alone actually doing it. It seems many Ghanaians believe that in praying, fasting and singing songs of worship in church every week, they have fulfilled their Christian responsibility and are free to behave in whatever kind of shameful or negative manner they choose. This is absurd. I say this because of the alarming frequency with which I see so many people repeatedly acting in such bad ways, and the lack of remorse or regret they show for their actions. A true Christian would not and does not behave in this way.

I realize that nobody is perfect, and that all of us are susceptible to negative, dishonest and hurtful behavior at times. But when such behavior repeatedly comes from a group of people who each publicly profess to be nothing less than best friends with God, and who make no attempt to disguise their condemnation of those who do not pray, fast and worship exactly as they do, it is particularly hypocritical and offensive.

The prevalence of such negative behavior acted out so often, and with little or no remorse, leads me to believe that many Ghanaians have not allowed Christianity into their hearts. They pray, fast, preach and never miss church service on Sundays; they name their children Blessing and Godsway and they own businesses adorned with the name of Jesus, but they are not Christians. Why?

Someone once said that God does not have grandchildren, meaning that one must not, indeed cannot, believe in God and worship Him through the influence or pressure of another person. Rather, one must decide to follow a religion because of an honest and personal belief—a feeling in one’s heart—that that particular faith is right for that person. I believe that many Ghanaians are grandchildren of God.

There is a powerful and unspoken rule in many African societies that says one must accept and never question what comes from the mouth of an elder. Strict and complete obedience to the words of elders is taught from a very young age, and has a strong but hidden effect on the way that people in society relate to each other. Children in most societies are taught to obey their parents and elders, but in developed cultures, that obedience often exists alongside skepticism and healthy debate that creates questions and exposes both weaknesses in argument and new, original ways of thinking. In Ghana, such obedience appears to be blind.

I have illustrated the fact that most Ghanaians are very overt and extreme in the way that they express their religion. They pray morning and night, enthusiastically dance and sing songs of worship during church service several times per week, they fast to get closer to God and they preach the word of Jesus while condemning those who do not. But they do all of these things because they have repeatedly been told to do so by their elders; told to pray, preach, fast and never miss church. They have been told to be Christians, all the while adhering to that powerful, unspoken social rule and never, even for a second, questioning any of it; never looking within themselves to see if they really feel in their hearts that Christianity and all its praying, fasting and preaching is truly right for them. In doing so, they have failed to accept and embrace the path of Jesus Christ as their own path in their own hearts. They have become grandchildren of God.

An unpromising outlook.

2010-12-07T07:59:00.000-08:00

Imagine for a moment that you are sitting on a bench near the street outside of your house and a young girl comes to rest beside you. You notice a storybook in the girl's left hand, and she says she would like you to help her read.

The young girl opens the book and begins reading the first page, which says, "My name is Robert and I am seven years old" underneath a large, colorful drawing of a small boy's face. The girl reads the sentence without trouble, commenting that the picture reminds her of a boy she once saw begging for food in the city center as she walked with her mother. On to the next page.

The second page of the book is filled with a picture of a giant gorilla, frightening at first glance but whose gentle, warm face quickly reassures you that he means no harm. Above the picture, at the top of the page, are the words, "My name is Buddy. I am a gorilla." The girl begins to read. She finishes the first sentence rapidly and with ease, except for some help pronouncing the name "Buddy", which she says she has never seen before. As she reaches the word "gorilla" at the end of the second short sentence, the girl's eyes suddenly leave the page of the book and dart up into the sky. She is in deep thought. After several silent seconds have passed, she says out loud, and with enthusiasm,

"Grow!"

"No, not exactly," you say to her. "Look at the word and sound out the letters that you see."

Her eyes remain fixed to the heavens.

"Go!" shouts the girl abruptly.

"No, that's not it," you say. "Look at the word."

At this point, the girl brings her eyes back to page two of the story book, but only in a fleeting glance before returning her gaze skyward. She is, once again, in profound contemplation.

"Greet!" she blurts out loudly.

"No, try again," you respond.

The girl is clearly lost inside of her mind. You realize now that her strategy for reading, rather than looking closely at the word and sounding out each letter in order to pronounce it correctly, is to look only at the first letter of the word and then rifle through the filing cabinets of her mind in search of any word she is familiar with that begins with the same letter. She shouts out each of these words as she comes across them in her mental notebook (of which most of the pages are blank), effectively providing a complete and completely blind guess of the actual word on the page in front of her. This is absolute madness. Think about it.

By this time, the girl's mind is becoming tired and confused. After trying the word "greet" unsuccessfully, her mind pick up on the final t and, somehow forgetting that the initial word (gorilla) begins with a g, she quickly shouts "truck!", but before you have even a second to politely inform her, once again, that she is wrong, the girl tries her luck again, this time with something that incorporates her previous attempt, but which is not even a word.

"Trucklepus!" she says with satisfaction, as though she has finally gotten the word correct and can now happily move on to page three.

"No!" you yell with frustration, amazement and a tint of sadness. "What is a trucklepus?" you ask sternly.

"I don't know," says the girl calmly and in a tone that clearly reveals disappointment and defeat.

Feeling bad at the girl's sense of dejection, you give her a soft pat on the back and encourage her to continue reading. You tell her, optimistically, that she will get it one day if she only keeps trying. But as she gets up and walks away, you cannot help but feel with certainty, after such an odd and unfortunate incident, that the girl will, in fact, never learn to read.

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The story above is based on an actual event that happened to me not long ago-- the main ideas in it are all true. The "young girl", in reality, is not so young. She is seventeen years old and attends eighth grade at a public, government-run school in Kumasi, here in Ghana.

Working with many students over the past year, I have seen this reading strategy, which is unusual at best and completely ineffective at worst, time and time again. Nearly all of the students I recognize it in attend public, government-operated schools. I do not wish to suggest that all of the students attending public schools do not know how to read, but spend some time talking with young boys and girls anywhere in Kumasi, whether they be six or sixteen, and you will quickly see that the public school system here has big, big problems. Allow me to explain.

Rose is a young girl of thirteen years who lives in the house where I currently stay and attends sixth grade at a public school in the neighborhood. She has attended public school for the past seven years-- since kindergarten-- and the primary language of instruction during that time has been English. Her teachers speak English during lectures each day, they write class notes in English on the blackboard, and students are expected to speak English during class discussions. There are, in fact, penalties for speaking the local language of Twi in the classroom. Open up any of Rose's school notebooks and you will find page after page of notes neatly written in English. There is only one problem, and it's big: say only a sentence to her and you will quickly realize that Rose does not understand or speak English at all. Needless to say, she cannot read. What about the notebooks full of class notes written in English? Rose simply copies notes from the blackboard into her notebook, but she does not understand a word of what she has written and cannot read a single sentence of it to you. I am serious. How does she pass her classes and continue moving on to the next grade level each year?

In Ghana and in many other areas of the developing world, students learn through rote memorization. Schools usually do not have material resources-- books or other-- with which to go deeply into any subject, and individual topics often are not connected to larger ideas or theories, or to alternate beliefs. Students simply memorize facts as though those facts were fixed, and isolated from all other things in the world. What is a community? will be written on the board, and in order to memorize the response, the students will spend fifteen minutes of their one-hour of class time chanting the answer over and over again in unison, as though they were robots programmed to behave in this way. A community is a group of people who live together and share common activities, beliefs and space is all that they are taught. No mention of the many different types of communities in the world, their various purposes, cultural differences in the way the term is defined, or simply the fact that members of a community do not necessarily live together and share the same activities, beliefs and space. Back to the question of how on Earth Rose is able to pass her classes without even a basic understanding of English.

When a short reading passage and related questions are given on an exam, the questions usually do not require the student to do any kind of analysis of the topic or to connect different ideas and formulate a unique and thoughtful response. Rather, questions are written in such a way whereas the correct answer can be found, almost word-for-word, within the given text. So although she understands neither the reading passage nor the questions, Rose is able to look at a question and scan the text for a sentence or group of sentences that contain some of the same words as the question itself, and write those sentences down as her answer. What she has written probably is not exactly the correct answer, but it may be close enough to award her the points necessary to just barely pass the exam.

Rose's situation, as well as that of the girl who came to me seeking help with reading, may appear extreme, but I talk to children nearly every day who attend public school, and have done so since infancy, and cannot read, write, or speak English correctly or at a level that is anywhere near the proficiency one would expect in a child of their age. These are stark and sad indications of the quality of the public education that some 80% of Ghanaian children are receiving, and they present a rather bleak, hopeless forecast of the likely prosperity and quality of life for such children in the future. But what exactly are the problems facing the public education system in Ghana and what can be done to eliminate them?

There are, of course, many factors large and small that play a part in making the public education system as broken and ineffective as it appears to be today. But perhaps the largest cause is that students simply are not being taught in the classroom.

A recent BBC report found that students in public schools in Ghana-- a majority of Ghanaian children-- actually receive instruction by their teacher, on average, for an appalling seventy days of the one-hundred-ninety-day academic year. Barely more than two months of school each year. Something is terribly wrong.

This is probably due to the fact that public school teachers are often unqualified, uncommitted and simply uninterested in showing up for work nearly as often as they are required to. Growing up in the US, I tended to believe that it is most often the case that one chooses to be a teacher because of a passion for the field and a deep concern for student achievement and success. My experience working with teachers in West Africa, including Ghana, tells me that individuals rarely choose the teaching profession for these commendable reasons. I can easily recall several teachers over the past few years who made no attempt to hide their contempt for the stupid, ignorant students in their care and who openly insulted students that were struggling to understand class material, and who clearly needed patience and compassion rather than harassment. In a country where good work and a reliable salary are very hard to come by, it seems that the guaranteed monthly paycheck that teaching provides becomes the primary motivating factor for many who choose the profession.

I once heard the story of a teacher who came into the classroom, promptly filled the entire blackboard with notes and ordered the students to quietly copy everything into their notebooks. The teacher, meanwhile, took this opportunity to call customers on his cell phone. He is a business man who imports household goods to sell on the local market-- a job that he will tell you he does "on the side", but which, in reality, takes up more of his time and attention than his primary job of teaching. Students soon began raising their hands to ask questions about what the man had written on the board, but he sternly told the pupils there would be no questions and that they should copy the notes quickly and then remain silent until the end of the class period. No discussion; no interaction; no learning. Imagine this.

Another likely factor that contributes to the current sad state of the public education system is that the textbooks which are used in class are, in general, very poorly written and offer an extremely simple, sometimes incorrect explanation of the subject. The reasons for this are quite interesting.

In Ghana, just about anyone who knows how to pick up a pen and scrawl out his or her name can write a textbook, have it mass-produced quite inexpensively in a 9" x 7" 60-70 page soft-cover format, and distribute it to various schools to be used as the primary textbook for instruction in the classroom. And this is exactly what people are doing. The authors of these textbooks tend to be university graduates, but many of them hold only a bachelor's degree, and it is too often the case that the degree they earned is not in the same subject as that of the textbook they have written. Holding an undergraduate degree from a university hardly qualifies a person to author a textbook that will be used to teach students. Many of the authors of these books boast on the back cover of the book of having passed junior high school and high school with A's and B's, or sometimes with distinction-- facts that do nothing to assure me that the content on the pages of the book is quality, professional and correct. Dozens of these kinds of textbooks are produced in a variety of subjects and used in schools throughout Ghana.

I was once teaching an English class at the junior high school level using one of these amateur textbooks and I began noticing the occasional grammatical or spelling mistake as I was reading it and preparing my lessons. Upon closer inspection of the book, I discovered several of these errors-- grammatical mistakes, missing articles, incorrect subject-verb agreement, incomplete sentences, incorrect or missing punctuation, and words spelled incorrectly or used improperly-- on every single one of the sixty-eight pages.

A friend of mine-- a British man teaching alongside his wife at the same school as I-- was casually reading the science textbook he used in his class when he saw a basic scientific experiment presented on the pages before him. The conclusion of this particular experiment-- the main idea that it was meant to teach-- didn't quite make sense to my friend. He said it did not seem correct, though he doubted himself because he assumed that such a glaring mistake could not possibly be found in a school textbook. After briefly researching the topic on the internet, however, he discovered that the experiment presented in his textbook was, in fact, completely wrong. The conclusion simply was not true.

If the textbooks used in class do not contain quality, correct information, then it seems unlikely that students will receive anything but a poor, incomplete education. And if teachers do not care enough about their positions to follow proper teaching protocols, answer students' questions and provide adequate academic support, or to even show up to school at all, then Ghana's public education system likely will not make substantial positive progress in the foreseeable future. I am sorry to say that the outlook, in my view, is not very promising.

The costs of life.

2010-12-07T07:53:00.000-08:00

In the United States, we live each day in a culture of consumption. Messages coming from all directions tell us that if we are to be happy, popular, successful, valuable, we must buy and consume more and more things. And we have done exactly that. But because the numbers of things we desire and are told that we need in our lives are virtually endless, and our incomes are not, many of us-- perhaps most of us, I fear-- have found ourselves drowning and dying in debt. This debt creates in us a great deal of stress and anxiety that negatively affects our health, happiness and the quality of the relationships we have with those around us. Life does not have to be this way.

One of the things I love most about living in Africa is the simplicity of life here and the extremely low cost of living. Comparing the cost of living in the United States with that of Ghana can be tricky, because along with a large difference in prices also exists great disparity in the quality and variety of goods and services available. The comparison is interesting, nonetheless. Allow me to explain.

Food and beverages likely constitute one of the largest areas of expenditure in our lives, so let me begin there. If you are a bachelor in a large city in Ghana, like I am, you may not have family members who cook for you. Because it is almost exclusively the females that prepare food in most African societies, your status as a single adult male means you are left with little choice than to buy your meals from women who sell food in small shacks along the streets and in back alleyways in the downtown area of the city.

These shacks are called Chop Bars and usually serve the following items: rice, fried or boiled plantains, fried chicken and fish, beans, spaghetti, boiled or fried yams, salad, and local dishes called banku, kenkey and fufuo, each of which is made from cooked corn, plantains, or cassava (or a combination of the three) that is pounded into a thick dough (imagine raw bread dough-- the appearance and consistency is the same) and eaten with either puréed red peppers, okra stew or soup made with peanut butter. Other street vendors sell fried eggs and bread, porridge made from corn or millet, and coffee and tea in the mornings and late at night. I eat breakfast, lunch and dinner from these chop bars every day.

Street food can also be purchased in a different way: it is common throughout the day to see women roaming the streets of the neighborhood in the scorching heat of the sun with a huge, heavy cauldron of cooked food balanced carefully on their heads and a bell to call out to customer ringing repeatedly in their left hand.

For breakfast, two fried eggs inside a large piece of bread costs around $0.55 and a large bowl of corn or millet porridge, or oatmeal, with milk and sugar is the same price. A large mug of hot coffee or tea is $0.70.

For lunch and dinner, a large bowl of white rice with cabbage or tomato stew on top-- enough to constitute a meal-- costs about $0.50 at a chop bar or from a woman on the street. A piece of fried chicken or fish is between $0.20 and $0.50 and a bowl of spaghetti noodles with tomato sauce and beans and salad on the side-- again, enough to call a meal-- costs about $0.60.

Awaakye is a dish that comes from the northern, predominantly Muslim region of Ghana and is made of brown beans and brown rice mixed together with your choice of spaghetti noodles, salad, fish, beef, or avocado on the side. It is topped with a special kind of sauce and is usually eaten in the morning for breakfast (I eat it every morning-- it is delicious!). A large, filling bowl will set you back around $0.60.

Various food items purchased on the street are also quite inexpensive. A single large orange costs $0.07 and a banana is about $0.04. A large pineapple or mango will cost around $0.50 and a large, juicy apple is $0.70. A small bag of fried, sweet plantain chips is $0.14 and a small, homemade shortbread cookie is $0.07. A glass bottle of Coca Cola, Sprite or Fanta is $0.40.

In total, my food and beverage expenses for one month are about $60.

Other than food, rent and transportation costs probably eat up a sizable portion of your income. To rent a 15' x 15' single room in a house, with a shared bathroom, in Kumasi, a city of more than 2 million people, costs $7 per month, with an additional $4 for electricity and $3 for water per month. A 15' x 15' bedroom with an additional 10' x 15' room attached, and a shared bathroom, is about $10 per month, with the added electricity and water costs just mentioned. A private apartment with two large bedrooms, a full kitchen and bathroom, a large veranda and a small storage room costs around $100 per month-- expensive by local standards!

In regards to transportation, a majority of Ghanaians do not own a personal vehicle, so most people use public transportation, of which there are two main types: a taxi, either shared or private, and a 15-passenger mini-bus called a "tro-tro." Tro-tros A tro-tro from my house to the city center, which is probably only about 5 miles away, costs $0.14 and a taxi, shared with three other people, is $0.24 for the same trip. A tro-tro trip about 16 across town costs $0.45. The cost of a private, hired taxi varies because it is always subject to negotiation. If you are a hard bargainer, you can drive the price down quite low. The 5-mile trip from my house to the city center that costs $0.24 in a shared taxi is about $1.40 in a private, hired taxi.

In terms of long-distance travel, going from Kumasi to Accra, the capital, is a trip of 150 miles and about 5 hours, and costs $4 in a tro-tro. The same trip in a large, air-conditioned coach bus is about $10.

Assuming I use a taxi or tro-tro every day, my monthly transportation costs are about $12.

When it comes to health care, costs clearly vary greatly depending on the seriousness of the illness and the extent of the services rendered. In the United States, health care costs are generally extremely high-- far too much so, as most of those who do not have health insurance are prohibited from seeking basic health services because they cannot afford it. My limited experience with health care in Ghana has given me an insight into the general cost of services.

In late 2009, I was admitted to the largest and best public hospital in Kumasi extremely dehydrated and with severe abdominal pain that had not ceased for the previous 16 hours. It was later determined that I had kidney stones. While at the hospital, I received a general physical examination from a doctor and underwent an ultra-sound scan of my abdomen. I received an injection of pain medication and eight bags of saline solution administered intravenously throughout the one night that I spent in the hospital. The following morning, I was given a 10-day supply of pain medication and was discharged. The area of the hospital where I spent the night was newly-constructed and modern, with the look and feel of any reputable hospital in the United States. The total cost of services, including medication and an overnight stay in the hospital, was $60. Unbelievable.

Private hospitals are, of course, more expensive, but they still do not compare, in cost, to any hospital in the U.S. A friend of mine underwent emergency surgery at a private hospital to remove one of her fallopian tubes. The total cost of the surgery, 8 days in the hospital and medication was around $900. Amazing, right?

I should note that public hospitals here are subsidized by the government so that average Ghanaians, whose incomes are very low, are able to access their services.

I must also say that although modern hospitals that use modern medical equipment do exist here, the quality of health care in Ghana, and throughout the developing world, is quite low and the range of service very limited in comparison to the United States or any other developed nation. With this in mind, one would expect health care costs in Ghana to be lower than in the U.S. But the extreme degree to which they are lower is a surprise to me.

Medicines purchased at a pharmacy are quite inexpensive, but the way in which they are bought and sold here deserves a bit of an explanation.

First, although doctors at hospitals do write prescriptions for the medications that their patients require, those same medicines can be purchased at any drug store in the country without a prescription. So prescriptions are largely irrelevant, and are not needed in order to purchase any type of medication. (Example: I have asthma. To get an inhaler in the U.S., I must first visit a doctor and convince him that my need for an inhaler is genuine, at which point he will write a prescription. The doctor's fee is probably at least $50 and the inhaler itself is another $20 to $30 at the pharmacy. Expensive. Here in Ghana, I walk into any pharmacy and purchase an inhaler of the same quality as the one in the U.S. for $7. No questions asked; no prescription; no doctor's fees).

Second, medication here is sold in small quantities that are exactly what the customer needs at the time. Complain of a headache and the pharmacy will give you a strip of 10 tablets of Paracetemol for $0.07 or a strip of 10 400mg Ibuprofen capsules for $0.21. Want to buy a powerful prescription antibiotic but only need half of the dose/quantity contained in the package? The pharmacy will open the box (breaking the safety seal) and use scissors to cut the strip of pills in half. The remaining half will be sold to a different customer at another time--- without a prescription, of course.

A one-month supply of multi-vitamins is $0.42, Cod liver oil, a daily supplement, is $1.66 per month and garlic capsules, also a daily supplement, are $3.80 for one month. Doxycycline, a common antibiotic that is taken daily as a malaria prophylaxis, is $2 for a one-month supply. I once met an American man here who had paid more than $100 for a one-month supply of Doxycycline in the U.S. Ridiculous.

Most of the medications sold here are generic brands that are manufactured at a very low cost in India. Others are made right here in Ghana. But the chemical composition, and thus the quality, of any generic medication, is identical to that of the popular brand name that you know well. Am I wrong? The problem, I believe, is that in the United States, many pharmacies do not stock these ultra-inexpensive medications coming out of India, probably because the profit margin on them is low and because the pharmaceutical companies know that Americans, in general, are able to purchase more expensive, name-brand drugs, so that is primarily what is offered on the market. It could also be that the Indian large-scale producers of these inexpensive medications have it in their business plan to focus primarily on the developing world, perhaps as a kind of social responsibility to supply the world's poorest with medicine they desperately need and at a cost that they are able to bear. I'm not exactly sure.

Clothes. Most of us love to go shopping for new clothes, and we probably spend a lot of money in the process. In Ghana, a lot of new clothes come from China and are of a very low quality. The second-hand clothes market here is huge, however, and it is there that one finds quality, fashionable items for next-to-nothing.

There is a particular street in the downtown area where you will find huge piles of clothes on the ground lining the sidewalks for hundreds of feet-- all second-hand, imported from Europe and the United States, and all super cheap. Long- and short-sleeved button-up shirts are separated into piles based on quality and price. The lowest price is $0.70 per shirt-- all are free of stains and imperfections, but these tend to be older and less-fashionable than some of the more expensive shirts. The next price is $1.40, and it is in these piles that one can find some killer shirts. I once found two genuine Ralph Lauren long-sleeved polo shirts, each $1.40 and in perfect condition. Most of the shirts come from Europe, and some are even custom-made from tailors in Italy, France and the United Kingdom.

Second-hand jeans, also from Europe and the U.S., are around $3 per pair. A friend of mine once found a pair of Seven jeans for $5 (if you don't know, Seven jeans retail for something really ridiculous like $140 per pair).

Finally, let's talk about houses. If you are ever interested in building your own home in Ghana and staying for awhile, you can be sure it won't break the bank. A 3,500 to 4,000 square-foot (big!), two-story house with six or seven bedrooms and a few bathrooms, complete with a brick wall encircling the house and yard to provide privacy and security, can be constructed from scratch for around $60,000. Seriously.

School

2010-10-17T10:14:00.001-07:00

Hey people,

Just a quick update to let you know what I have been up to recently. I just finished two months teaching 1st grade at an international school in Kumasi. It was quite a challenge but a lot of fun, and I'll miss the kids dearly.

I have posted some photos of my kids under the Ghana: 2010 link in the right sidebar. Check them out! I will add a couple short videos of my kids in the classroom very soon. Enjoy.

-B

A peculiar encounter.

2010-07-12T09:31:00.000-07:00

As I sat on an old, rickety wooden bench at a road-side food stand, waiting for the woman inside to finish frying the egg which would become the sole contents of a less-than-impressive sandwich that I was about to chew up and swallow, an acquaintance from the neighborhood came to rest beside me. We happen to meet in this very place quite often, as neither of us has at home the fortune of an obedient, well-behaved wife that can cook and, of course, clean—the desire of most African men I have met.

“Good evening,” I said to the man. “How are you?”

“By His grace,” came the reply, as a fiery grin illuminated his face, showing clearly the large chip which, quite unfortunately, had made one of his two front teeth a jagged and unhappy half of what it once was. I understood the man’s words perfectly, as he had spoken them in response to every greeting I had ever sent his way. But to you, they may seem a bit strange. Let me briefly explain.

The people of Ghana are generally very religious, with the majority practicing a loud, intense, and intrusive kind of Christianity which is seen, heard and felt in all areas of both public and private life. Most people respond to greetings, regardless of the type or the time of day that they are offered, with, “By the grace of God, I am fine” or “By the grace of the Almighty Jesus Christ, I’m doing very well,” to which the initial greeter responds, “Thank God.” Walk down the street at any time of day and you will hear these exchanges, almost exactly as I have just presented them, taking place all around you. It is quite fascinating. Due to a kind of laziness to which most men are susceptible, the standard response to a greeting has been cut down to, simply, “By His grace”—the very words that this man spoke to me that night while sitting at the side of the road. Now, back to the story.

This particular night happened to be a rather cold one, with the clear, star-filled sky above made slightly imperfect by sporadic, swift-moving blemishes of thin, wispy gray clouds, and the wind a constant, unwanted companion.

“It is cold tonight,” said the man.

“Yes, it’s wonderful,” I replied. Tilting my head up towards the magnificent, black void above us, I added, “I would even love to see it rain, though it won’t happen tonight. The sky is clear.”

“But it can still rain!” said the man quickly and with a sense of surety in his voice.

As I sat there for the next few seconds, thinking back to my early years of elementary education when I learned all about the weather, including things like thunder, lightning, clouds, evaporation and rain, I thought to myself: no it can’t. I suddenly became curious at what motivated this man to make such a claim, which, in my mind, seemed quite absurd.

“We know that it rains when there are clouds in the sky, but that is only science,” he said. “It’s just a guy’s prediction. Someone predicted it and said it’s true. In the Bible, God says that any time a rainbow appears, it means it is about to rain. This is always true because it is one of God’s promises, but God didn’t say that clouds have to be in the sky in order for the rain to fall. That is just science, but it’s not one of God’s promises. So it can happen. It can even rain right now.”

Looking back up to the sky above, which, by this point, was completely! clear, I searched for some kind of divine intervention to help me make sense of the unbelievable words just spoken to me (intervention, I must note, from a God much different than the one who told this man that rainbows unfailingly signal the coming of rain). I found nothing, and at that moment, the only thought in my mind, quite ironically, was Ohhh Jesus! I simply replied, “Oh, ok. Interesting,” and left it at that.

On love, in alarm.

2010-05-01T09:38:00.000-07:00

As a small child, I did not know you at all. You were surely present in the connections and life-long commitments of men and women much older than me at the time, but my curious and ever-active young mind, which was busy discovering exciting and endless little wonders of a very big world, did not recognize you. You were yet another stranger in a world full of unknowns.

During later, teenage times, I had seen enough of you in others to unveil a hidden desire to locate you and invite you to reside safely and happily inside of me. And so I set out in search of you within others, eager to have them share a precious piece of you with me. But nobody that I came close to actually knew you in the authentic and powerful way in which I believed you existed, in your truest form, and so you remained a stranger to me in a world a little bit less unknown.

With a few more years of wisdom and the beginning of a new phase of freedom and responsibility, as I left the convenience and comfort of dependable, loving parents in search of higher knowledge and opportunity, came a slight depreciation of my belief that I would ever find you in your fullest and most delightful form. Most of those around me at the time appeared to have discovered you long ago and were busy losing themselves in you with more partners than it seems sensible or safe to do. But I believed then, as I do now, that the expression of you in the physical form, although certainly enjoyable, is only one small piece of your complex puzzle, and provides a kind of satisfaction that is ultimately unsustainable—it is a part of you to which I have never felt that one should pay the most attention. By this time in my life, we should have already danced together to the beat of at least a few different sweet but short-lived songs. But the reality is that throughout the years, I had made a habit of watching you move with others while my back remained firmly against the wall—always eager for you to guide me by the hand out onto the floor, and at the same time slightly ashamed that I had not yet learned to dance. And so we remained strangers in a world that, by this point, I had realized I would never fully understand.

Today, I still do not know you. It is not this alone which concerns me so much, but the fact that I have not seen you within others in a very long time. My experiences in Africa lead me to believe that in this part of the world, you are seriously and almost universally misunderstood. Here, your existence is inescapably linked to intercourse, as if the two of you are one and the same. And if it is not physical favors that signal your presence, then it is surely the exchange of money and goods, as though you reside within such cheap, material things. The postponement of sex or the absence of excess income is a clear indication, in the minds of most here, that you are nowhere to be found—in fact, that you cannot possibly exist under such conditions—and the abundance of both means that you have, at long last, arrived. But such a simple interpretation of you discounts the possibility that you may, in truth, be much more powerful, fulfilling, and longer-lasting than that, and it prevents those who view you in such a light from ever discovering you in your truest and most authentic form.

I reject this understanding of you. To me, it appears juvenile and unsound. It is distressing. But if most of those around me accept it, without question, then I cannot help but wonder, once again, if I will ever find you in your fullest and most delightful form—one in which nobody here seems to want to imagine you may flourish.

Dear Mother Africa

2010-03-15T03:10:00.000-07:00

Dear Mother Africa,

I am writing to you today with a heart that is at once hurting and happy, and a mind that is still at least a little bit unsure. For the past three years, our lives and hearts have been entangled as we shared in happiness, joy, sadness, frustration, loneliness, laughter, learning and love. We committed ourselves long ago to a life lived as one, and the time we have spent together has truly been a blessing. But after much questioning and careful contemplation, I have decided that the time for change has come. I am leaving you.

The standard line at a time like this is, "It's not you, it's me-- I am just not ready for a relationship right now. I need some time to be alone." But in this case, the truth is that it's both of us. Right now, I don't have the knowledge or experience that I need to help you and your extended family in a way that is sustainable, far-reaching, and real. And despite the wonderful experiences we have shared and the knowledge you have allowed me to gain, you are far too different than me in far too many ways for me to carry on living as your partner, lover and friend. I am sorry.

For those who know very little about you, the mentioning of your name evokes images of death, disease, poverty and powerlessness. But the privileged who have come to know you well, as I have, easily recognize that behind the sickness and worn clothing lies a woman that is incredibly kind and generous, and whose loving, lighthearted and undying spirit, visible in the harshest of environments and most trying of times, shines brighter than that of anyone I have ever met. Of the many things you have taught me, by far the most powerful and important is how to stay hopeful in conditions that are clearly desperate, remain resilient in the face of adversity that appears unbeatable, to laugh even when the hardships that invade every day of your life make you want to cry, and to have faith that life will one day be better. It will get better, I promise. Be patient.

Thank you, Mother Africa, for accepting me with your arms open wide, and for continually treating me with a level of kindness, generosity, and respect that now brings tears to my eyes. I will miss you dearly, but will return one day to see you again. Take care. Goodbye.

An Image of Unlikeliness.

2009-11-13T02:48:00.000-08:00

Exuding a quiet confidence, she contentedly moves about the Earth comfortably wedged in an on-going state of wonder. How could she not? The endless complexities of nature and of humankind, revealed to her through the simple, seemingly-insignificant interactions of each passing day, often leave her astonished, immensely appreciative, giggling. She is curious and ever-questioning; skeptical.

Unwaveringly optimistic, she views the world around her as a place where, contrary to widely-held belief, people are generally peaceful and loving toward one another, and where fear is most often unfounded. She believes undoubtedly that humans are good by nature and she views our shared desires—for peace, love, dignity, purpose, respect—as opportunities for the creation of dialogue, friendship, and understanding. She sees the incredible diversity in human thought, belief, and being as one of life’s greatest yet under-appreciated gifts; the diversity of non-human life simply astounding.

She is tireless in her efforts to offer hope to the many who hold none, awaken inspiration in the hearts of the ignored, and to give love to those who receive far less of it than they rightly deserve. Suffering and injustice, she believes, must be fought against, in manner large and small, by each and every one of us, as their victims, regardless of color, caste, or location, are our brothers and sisters of humanity, to whom we are inescapably linked. And so she gives herself—fully and without charge—to the causes that so often call her to responsibility.

Her heart, whose massive size is matched only by the extent to which it is blind, contains a very special place reserved solely for children, within whom she sees an intense, undying sense of curiosity that is both familiar to her and incredibly refreshing. And it is in the company of kids that her most-admirable qualities become unmistakably clear: she is gentle and patient, understanding and warm. What a wonderful mother she is sure to be.

A profound joy for learning and discovery, cultivated slowly during childhood years, sent her on an on-going personal quest for knowledge that is not likely to expire until the day that she does. She views the seemingly-endless capacity and power of the human brain as one of the greatest wonders of the world, and admires enormously those who set out to test its limits. From years of quietly observing the events and realities of the vast world around her has evolved one of her most firmly held beliefs: that the opportunity for personal enrichment, economic improvement, and expanded influence in an ever-accelerating world lies squarely in education. She believes that a sharp, intelligent mind is one of the most valuable assets one can possess.

Finally, she believes in love. Though fiercely independent—both in thought and in action—she recognizes easily the sense of fullness and deep delight that an honest and complete commitment to love another human being can provide, and she longs for the opportunity to surrender a small piece of her independence in order to have that feeling rest safely inside of her.

2009-07-07T12:15:00.000-07:00

I like this video.... a lot. I hope you do too.

2009-07-04T11:26:00.000-07:00

Hey people,

Just a quick update to let you all know that I'm alive and doing well. The community sanitation project that I had been working on since May, 2008 has finally come to an end, which means that my last two months in Mali will be spent watching CSI and swimming/fishing in the Senegal River-- good times!

Exactly two months from tomorrow, I will be jumping on a bus and leaving Mali for Ghana, where I'll be volunteering at a local NGO in the city of Kumasi, doing HIV education and working with some local orphanages. I'm pretty stoked! I'll be there for awhile- possibly a couple years or more.

I just uploaded a dozen or so new photos under the title "2009" in the right sidebar. Check 'em out.

Also took a few short videos of some kids in Bafoulabe. Click below.

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Oh, happy 4th of July:)

-B

2009-05-15T10:13:00.000-07:00

Hey people,

I thought I would check-in while I'm around an internet connection. All is hot and well here. I spent the last three days in Bamako planning my departure from Mali at a Close-of-Service Conference with the 50+ other volunteers in my group. It's difficult to believe, but my time in Mali will soon be over-- September 25 is scheduled to be my final day as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I love many of the people I have lived and worked with during the past two years, and leaving them will be unbelievably difficult.

As of now, I am still planning on moving to Ghana directly from Mali, but am still trying to figure out exactly what I will be doing when I get there. I'll keep you posted.

I just uploaded about 30 new photos to the "2009" album-- find it under the photos heading in the right sidebar.

I hope all is well.

2009-04-04T10:42:00.001-07:00

Hey people,

I just returned from vacation in Togo and Benin a couple weeks ago. Photos are under the title "Vacation II" in the right sidebar. Enjoy.

Life here in Mali is pretty alright. Hot season is definitely upon us-- it stays about 104 degrees inside my house during the day and down to about 93 degrees at night. The outside daytime temperature is crazy-hot and the nighttime low is about 80 degrees (which feels chilly enough to have to cover myself with a sheet-- I'm going to die when I return to the U.S.!).

I am expecting to be leaving Mali around September or October of this year (only six months or so from now!) and plan to move to the coast of Ghana, where I am hoping to find some type of development work.

I hope life is swell. Take good care.

-B

Vivant

2009-03-02T16:21:00.000-08:00

Hey people,

Just a quick note to let you all know that I'm alive and doing well. I'm in Bamako at the moment, getting ready to head out on vacation to Benin, Togo, and Burkina Faso. I'll be gone for about two weeks-- should be a blast.

Life is hot but good. Mango season is about to start, which will make things even tastier.

I just uploaded 50 or so new photos under the album "2009" on the right sidebar. Check it out-- they're pretty good!

Take care.

-B

Update

2008-11-25T07:25:00.000-08:00

Hey people,

Not a whole lot of exciting things happening in my corner of the world. The rainy season is officially over and the the cold season has begun, which is wonderful. It has been getting down to a low of around 60 degrees in the middle of the night, which feels cold! after being in the Mali heat for so long. It is still around 95 or so during most days, and doesn't get much cooler than about 84 degrees inside my house.

My phone number has changed, for anyone who is thinking of giving me a ring. Check it out on the sidebar on the right side of the screen.

I am in the process of uploading new photos-- check the "Vacation" and "2009" albums for a little bit of visual pleasure.

That's all. I hope life is treating you all well.

Take care.

PHOTOS

2008-08-28T09:50:00.000-07:00

Hey people,

I recently returned from a two-week vacation in Ghana and the Ivory Coast. The photos are posted under the link "Vacation" on the right sidebar. Enjoy:)

The story of a young girl.

2008-08-27T10:01:00.000-07:00

You have probably seen an image of the young girl on your television screen at some point. The well-dressed, neatly groomed man that appeared next to her told you little more about the child’s situation than her name and that she needs your help. The rest of her story you would simply have to imagine, drawing clues only from the picture on the TV screen in front of you: the bare feet, filthy clothes, the unmistakable look of despair on her small, weathered face. She holds a petite tattered teddy bear that appears to have been rescued from a landfill—perhaps the one you see sprawling out across the land that lies beyond her. An overwhelming number of buzzing flies occupy the space around her, and based on a quick glance at her arms, shoulders, and legs, it is clear that this child is severely malnourished.

The image is striking, to be sure, and is meant to invoke any number of intense emotions—sadness, astonishment, heartache, anger, disbelief—that will motivate you, the viewer, to contribute a small amount of money to help improve the life of this one child and those of the many other children who live each day in similarly-deplorable conditions. But within your life of fortune and general luxury, you may have never actually come face-to-face with a reality as shocking as the one depicted on the screen in front of you, and so such a scene becomes somewhat difficult to believe.

Conditions couldn’t possibly be that bad for a great number of people beyond this little girl and perhaps others that live nearby, you tell yourself. She must be “the worst of the worst”, chosen to be plastered across the TV screen in order to ensure a steady supply of sympathy and donations, right? Human waste and garbage doesn’t really fill all the streets and alleyways of this small town, does it? And there must be little chance that she is actually malnourished—there is so much food in this world!

You are told little more than her name and that she needs your help, and so you simply don’t know the extent of the poverty that this young girl lives in each day. You don’t know her story. If you will imagine that this child lives in a small rural village in Mali, West Africa, however, I will tell you her story.

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The young girl that you have seen on your TV screen is nine years old, and in a country with a death rate of 22 percent for children under the age of 5, you might say that she is lucky to be alive. The environment in which she lives can most simply be described as extremely isolated and inadequate; the resources, few. The small village that she calls home is situated at the edge of the Senegal River, which happens to be the only source of water—for drinking, washing, cooking, bathing, etc.—that the four-hundred-plus inhabitants have access to. The village itself is some sixty kilometers (thirty-seven miles) from the next town—a distance most often traveled, very slowly, in a small cart pulled by an under-weight and over-worked donkey. (The same mode of transportation is used for any items or materials too heavy to balance on the top of one’s head.)

The girl lives with her father, his two wives, and her nine brothers and sisters in three very small round houses made of mud and straw (note: polygamy is both legal and widely-practiced within Muslim society—a man can have up to four wives). Not far from their concession lie two large fields that act as a significant source of food for the large family—just before rainy season each year, the young girl’s father spends nearly ten hours per day plowing the earth with a small tool that fits perfectly in the palm of his hand. (Some seventy-percent of the country’s labor force does the same.) Other than the corn and peanuts that are cultivated on these two plots of land, the girl and her family eat rice or pounded millet (a grain) for lunch and dinner nearly every single day. Fruits and vegetables are extremely limited, as is meat.

Because electricity is not available, many residents of this small village navigate each night with the dim glow of a small flame burning inside a kerosene lantern. Food is cooked outdoors, inside of large caldrons that sit on three large rocks over a small (and extremely energy-inefficient) wood-fueled fire.

In the absence of any type of medical center or hospital, the only health care options available to this girl are natural remedies suggested by a traditional healer, or nothing at all. Malaria, Tuberculosis, and Cholera are a few of the sicknesses that all-too-commonly strike the local population.

A small six-classroom school is located at the edge of the village, but because of the extraordinary amount of work and energy that cooking, cleaning, and caring for five children under the age of six requires, this young girl’s father has decided that she will not be attending school in the upcoming year. Family is more important, and so she will remain at home each day and help her two mothers with chores—the opportunity for education denied.

Just as there is no electricity or clean water in this girl’s village, there too is no sewage or garbage disposal system—yes, the streets and alleyways really are covered with trash and waste. Children and grown men often urinate on the ground wherever they may be when the urge arrives, and the narrow dirt roads throughout town are spotted with puddles of stinking bath water that flows from the latrines of nearby homes. The sight of emaciated animals rummaging through piles of garbage looking for food is a common one.

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So that is the young girl’s story. If it ended with her and the others in her small village, then we would probably all feel pretty comfortable with the way the world currently works. But it doesn’t, and so we just can’t.

The story told above—of the young child you once saw on your TV screen—is similar, in many ways, to the stories of some three billion people on this earth. Many have dark skin. Many live in Africa or Asia. Many are living every day in conditions so deplorable they are difficult to believe. Believe it, and be upset about it.

If the well-groomed elderly man has already convinced you to donate money, I suggest you continue to do so. But beyond that, I encourage you to read books, watch documentaries, pick through the news, and put some sort of significant effort towards gaining an accurate image of the way the “other” half of the world lives. Learn about the mechanisms, policies, and government leaders that are keeping poor countries locked in poverty. Visit these places to gain the valuable insights that no other experience will offer. Take a step outside of the comforts of your own world and familiarize yourself with the very discomforting reality of another—one that you may know very little about, and which half of the world’s population knows far too well.

(Note: when I first arrived in Mali and began to witness and experience the many inadequacies and struggles that exist in everyday life in this country, I was shocked and bothered. After spending quite some time here, however, I must say that those same unfortunate realities now bother me much less—because perhaps more powerful than the sense of astonishment that such conditions exist in this world is the feeling of wonder at how the people in such harsh, resource-scarce environments are able to continue to live seemingly-happy lives. It is important to note that life in the developing “third” world is not all about poverty and despair. Life everywhere, after all, is largely characterized by balance and equilibrium. And if there is one thing that humans universally do extremely well, it is that we adapt to the environment in which we find ourselves. And so alongside all the hardships and challenges that are ever-present here in Mali also exist many moments and sources of joy and satisfaction. Children will sing, dance, and play, regardless of the state of the world around them. Men and women will always form friendships, families, and connections that they will celebrate with laughter and love, the best they know how. As humans, we naturally focus on the things that bring joy and happiness—I have done the same thing here in Mali. But in order to remain motivated and not lose touch with my primary reason for being here, I must remind myself that although life throughout the developing world certainly can (and, in fact, always will) contain laughter, happiness, love, and good times, it is still, overwhelmingly, marked by gross inequality, inadequacy, and unacceptable hardship. We should all be extremely bothered by such a fact.)

Photos

2008-05-30T10:38:00.000-07:00

Just posted a dozen or so new photos under the link titled "My Home" on the right sidebar. Enjoy:)

Latest and greatest

2008-05-29T10:59:00.000-07:00

Hey people,

I thought I better throw a message out to the world while I’m around an internet connection.

Things here in Mali are going pretty well— I’m still healthy, happy, and enjoying life. The last couple months have been super hot—probably around ninety-five degrees in the shade—but the fact that I have a refrigerator at my house (unlike ninety-nine percent of volunteers) probably means that I can’t complain a whole lot. Ice cold water is a beautiful, beautiful thing—don’t forget that.

I still help out with English classes at both the elementary school and high school in my town, which continues to be a lot of fun. I am also still giving private English lessons to two young guys a couple days per week. They have actually become pretty good friends of mine, which is nice. Almost the entire community of Bafoulabé (my town) knows me by now, but most of the connections I have with people are based primarily on a daily exchange of greetings and small talk—not much else—so it’s great to have some closer friends that I can actually spend time with and get to know on a more personal and deeper level.

I recently painted a large, colorful mural of Mali inside my house (sorry—I forgot to take a picture!) and it gave me the idea to get five or six young students together in the near future to paint one or two murals in a public space at the elementary school. I would like to do the same thing at the high school, also. I think a huge world map would be interesting, and would help the kids learn more about this wonderful world we live in. We will probably also do a huge hippopotamus (Mali means hippo in the national language of Bambara, and the animal is particularly famous in Bafoulabé—there is a huge hippo statue in the center of town).

My good buddy Ryan Shaw, who lives about six kilometers from me, recently taught me all about the magic of using urine as a fertilizer for crops. Our bodies expel tons of nitrogen and phosphorous through our urine, and both are what many vegetables, grains, and fruit trees need in order to grow big and strong (and produce lots of good food for us to munch on, of course). A decent bit of Ryan’s excitement about the concept rubbed off on me, and I am now about to begin the process of teaching the benefits and the application process to locals in my community, and helping them get set-up with the correct urine-collection equipment. My goal is to begin with a group of about ten people and then expand the project to many more once that first group begins to see an increase in their yields and starts to spread the word about it. Considering the fact that around seventy percent of economic activity in this country is agricultural, it seems to me that any new technology or technique has the potential to benefit a huge number of people (which makes me believe that every volunteer, regardless of which sector they are in, should focus some sort of energy and attention towards agricultural work). We’ll see how it goes. Should be fun.

A few days ago, I had a meeting with my homologue (a local Malian man that I work closely with) and some other community members in order to begin planning a large sanitation project that I am initiating and will be a part of. Our goal is to construct a soak pit for three-hundred different families. Right now you have no idea what a soak pit is, but you will in a quick minute. Read on.

Inside every Malian family’s walled concession is a “bathroom” which stands alone about thirty or more feet away from the house, and consists of a small room enclosed by four short mud or concrete walls. There may or may not be a door and/or roof. Inside the “bathroom” is a small hole cut into the floor (usually about a six-inch square) that acts as a toilet would, and waste drops down into a huge space (usually a couple meters long and wide, and a few meters deep) underneath the floor, where it sits and slowly decomposes. It functions like a port-a-potty does, except that it is never emptied with a pump.

Also inside this “bathroom” is where a person washes him or herself with water from a small bucket (running water inside of a family’s concession does not exist in rural towns and villages). Because of the frequency that Malians bath, it is not possible to have bath water run into the same large hole that human waste is deposited into, because it would fill up quite quickly. So, in the absence of any type of sewage or plumbing system, dirty water from bathing drains out of the “bathroom” through a tiny hole or short pipe and into the public street outside of the family’s concession (as most “bathrooms” are constructed on the perimeter of the walled concession). The result, as you can imagine, is an ever-present and ever-growing amount of disgusting, stinky water that sits stagnate on nearly every street in town and becomes a breeding ground for mosquitoes and, unfortunately, a water source for a variety of animals to drink from. It is quite a terrible sight. Now, a soak pit is a large hole (usually around one-meter cubed) that is constructed directly outside of the “bathroom” where the dirty bath water exits onto the street, and simply acts as a way to catch that dirty water and trap it underground, where it will filter through the earth and become clean once again. Each soak pit is filled to the top with rocks (which provide structural support to prevent someone who walks over the pit from falling in, and to prevent the walls of the pit from eroding into the hole), and a small pipe attached to the wall of the “bathroom” allows bath water to drain into the center of the pit. Each pit is then covered with two layers of thick plastic tarp and covered with dirt. So the finished soak pit is completely hidden from view and effectively traps all of the dirty bath water that exits the “bathroom”. It’s a pretty simple, inexpensive solution to a very wide-spread problem.

A majority of families in Bafoulabé do currently have a soak pit, but nearly none of them are covered, so as a result, they are all filled to the top with mud and garbage, which renders them useless—bath water drains into the street as though the soak pit didn’t exist. And imagine the scene during rainy season when it pours rain nearly every day and the streets are flooded with a mixture of rain and bath water.

So the project that I am initiating will involve the re-building of three-hundred soak pits over the span of three or four months. Working with community members, we will employ a small team of four Malian men who will actually do the physical work that each soak pit requires. Each family that decides they want to be a part of the project will be required to dig the hole, obtain the rocks (by either purchasing them or gathering them from the outskirts of town) and actually putting the rocks in the hole. The work team will then come along and attach the pipe with a bit of concrete and cover the pit with plastic and dirt. By the time the project is completed, we expect that quite an improvement will have been made in the appearance and cleanliness of the town. NOTE: If this project sounds like a worthy cause that you might like to contribute to, well, you’re in luck! A portion of the funding will come from a program called Peace Corps Partnership, which is fully supported by donations made online by ordinary (I mean, extraordinary) people just like you! Once I submit the proposal (hopefully within the next month), my project will be put up on the Peace Corps Partnership website, and I’ll post a direct link to it on this blog. Check back soon!

Thaaat’s about all for now. Oh, a few highlights for the months to come: For the Fourth of July, over one-hundred volunteers will be getting together to celebrate and have some good times—fishing, swimming with the hippos, playing with wild monkeys, eating good food, and making some good memories. I’m excited. And for two weeks in late July, I’ll be going on vacation to Ghana (an English-speaking country—wooo-hoooo!) and the Ivory Coast with three friends. Should be a blast!

Wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, I hope you are healthy and well. Take care.

The past few months.

2008-04-08T13:29:00.000-07:00

Here’s a little update of the past few months. I haven’t been very inspired to write much lately, so I don’t have a ton to share.

Life in Mali is good-- not wonderful but definitely not bad. We’re heading into the hot season now, which will be a bit tough-- it’ll be around 105 degrees in the shade for the whole months of May and June, and not much cooler than that at night. It has already begun getting hotter during the last month or so, and the heat definitely has a negative effect on the motivation level of everyone, including myself. It’s just too hot to go out and do any kind of work in the direct sun during the day.

Speaking of work, I haven’t done a ton of it up to this point. I think a lot of people have an image of development work as rapid, and improvements and change being life-altering and quick. The truth is that integrating into another culture takes many, many months, and progress comes very slowly and in small steps. Since being here, it has become clear to me just how much Americans measure success by tangible results and by doing things-- we constantly think we have to be completing tasks, staying busy, and always getting things done in order to have an impact and make a difference. But we’re called human beings for a reason, and sometimes we just need to be rather than do.

I have now been living in my town for about six months up to this point. The first three months were pretty much just spent learning about the surroundings, people, language, resources, and needs of the community-- I didn‘t do any real work. For the past three months, I have been occasionally teaching English to a couple of different classes at the local high school and also helping with English lessons at the elementary school three days each week. It’s a lot of fun-- I enjoy being up in front of the class, and the students love having me there. I have also been planning different projects that I would like to do during the next year, and that I will be starting to organize and get the ball rolling on within the next few weeks.

I’m going to teach my villagers how to collect and apply urine to their crops as a fertilizer. The supplies for collecting it (a large jug and funnel) are super cheap and affordable for most people, and the results are huge-- urine is a wonderful fertilizer! My goal is to start with a small group of about a dozen people and teach them all about it and get them committed to trying it, then once they see the results on their crops and gardens, they’ll be stoked and tell others about it-- I want to eventually expand to gardening associations and larger groups of people. I’m going to have the whole town peeing into jugs and putting it all over everything!

I would also like to explore a better garbage collection system for my town-- there is apparently one in place now but it doesn’t seem to be operating very well or efficiently. It’s a typical Malian town-- there is garbage absolutely everywhere. So we need to sensitize people to the benefits of a clean environment and get them to develop some sense of pride for a clean town. I do believe that people want their surroundings to be clean and sanitary, but there just isn’t the correct infrastructure and leadership in place right now to really make it happen. So I’ll be working with a small group of locals to try to improve the garbage situation.

Language is going well-- I didn’t know a word of French when my plane landed in Mali, and now I can understand most of what is spoken to me and can express myself well and as much as I need to. The language dynamic in this country is interesting. French is the official language, but is the second language of everyone here-- each Malian learns the local language of his or her ethnic group from birth. The result is that people almost never use French in daily conversation (since it isn‘t their first language and many do not know it well, if at all), which has made learning the language much more difficult. It’s tough to learn a new language when you are constantly surrounded by people who are speaking a completely different one. But I’m getting by well, and have started to learn Bambara, which is an ethnic language that about eighty percent of the Malian population speaks and uses almost exclusively.

That’s about it for now. I don’t have internet access in my town, and am only online for a few days every two or three months-- the next update probably won’t be for awhile.

Wherever you are, I hope life is beautiful. Take care.

Oh, I added a handful of new photos to the album titled “My Home.” The link is on the right sidebar.

Videos

2008-01-13T13:38:00.000-08:00

Here are a few very short video clips. Enjoy.

COUMBA.
THE RIVER.
DANCE PARTY.

NEW PHOTOS

2007-12-25T08:46:00.000-08:00

Hey people.

There's a new link titled "My Home" on the right side of the page, under "PHOTOS". There are only a few there now, but I will be uploading a couple hundred more at some point during the next two weeks.

Check back often.

Oh, and MERRY CHRISTMAS:)

TONGUE TIED

2007-12-25T07:57:00.000-08:00

Imagine this.

You have recently arrived in a land far from home, where the values, beliefs, practices, and way-of-life are a bit different than you are accustomed to, but where the people, thankfully, radiate with a sense of kindness and generosity that you are familiar with, and which makes you feel more at home. As you settle into your new life and adjust to the culture and climate that envelop you, it becomes clear that the largest challenge you face—one that you must overcome in order to be successful and retain a sense of connectedness with those around you—is communication.

A simple exchange of dialogue, which used to be effortless, frequent, and enjoyable, is now difficult, uncommon, and often marred by misunderstanding. Intellectual conversation, which was once a great source of satisfaction and connection, now ceases to exist. You may think of yourself as decently intelligent and capable of offering words and ideas that provoke thought and encourage discussion, but the broken, child-like sentences that now characterize your everyday speech show no indication of such intellect. In fact, they may suggest something of the opposite: a simple person with little to offer—not the way you see yourself at all.

But despite the general silence that seems to accompany you most places you go, the kindness and generosity from those that surround you remains ever-present—a fact that you are very much thankful for but which you begin to feel unworthy of. You haven’t done anything, and beyond the abundance of friendly greetings that you offer to (quite literally) everyone you see each day, you speak very little to very few people—held back by the vast amount of local language that you don’t know and surviving with only the small bit that you do.

The days, weeks, and months pass, you continue relying on the relatively small set of vocabulary that (by now) you know well, and the people around you continue to treat you as one of their own—with respect and generosity—for seemingly no other reason than that you are here with them, now, sharing space and time. But amidst the feelings of connectedness and belonging that naturally result from the actions of such kind individuals lingers a slight but definite sense of isolation. Because you have thoughts, beliefs, values, dreams, history, stories, knowledge, and advice that you desperately want to share and exchange—you believe they do as well—but a barrier of misunderstanding blocks the way, with only the occasional complete idea or sentence breaking through. With the many thoughts and curiosities that crowd your mind each day comes a feeling of frustration in knowing that you cannot vocalize them—at least not completely, correctly, or well enough to be fully understood.

Welcome to Mali.

THEY HAVE EACH OTHER.

2007-12-25T07:53:00.000-08:00

Before leaving the United States for Mali, I remember extensively researching the country online to learn as much as possible about the place I would call “home” for the next two years. Through all the information I found and the facts I discovered, the one feeling that remained with me (other than excitement) was that life in Mali must be difficult.

The United Nations Development Program’s 2006 Human Development Index ranked Mali as one of the world’s three poorest countries; a 2005 estimate put the percentage of the total population living below the poverty line at seventy-two; life expectancy at birth is very low and infant mortality very high. Adult illiteracy is around fifty-five percent.

As I began telling friends, family, and acquaintances about my upcoming adventure to the West African country, including some of the statistics above, I received the same response that had initially filled my mind: Malian life must be tough; perhaps primitive. How do they survive?

Yes, life is tough—no matter what part of the globe you may find yourself in—but after being in Mali for a few months and seeing the people, the land, cultural practices, beliefs, and way-of-life, I can now easily see how the people here survive: they have each other.

It is an unfortunate fact that a significant portion of the twelve million Malians that inhabit this country are living with very few of the basic resources and needs that most in the developed world have never lived without: paved roads, clean drinking water, electricity, access to adequate health care, a solid education system, an ever-present supply and variety of nutritious food, and the right to freely choose one’s profession, partner, or path in life. These are the basics, and they are in serious short supply. If you are wondering about available luxuries, the answer is that, in the rural areas of the country (where a majority of the overall population lives), there aren’t any.

But what Malians lack in luxuries (and unfortunately, basic needs) they more than make up for in family. No, they don’t have Starbucks on the corner, a shopping mall down the street, or a good friend named Google that they can go to at any time for answers, comfort, and advice, but they have each other, and the value of companionship and genuine human-to-human connection far outweighs that of any latté I’ve ever had.

In fact, I would even argue that in many areas of the United States (mostly urban, but some rural as well), if you looked past the Starbucks and Wal-Mart, past the 105-inch flat-screen Plasma TV, and in between the millions of pixels on the computer screen that you sit in front of for far too long every day (reading this blog, of course), you would see that we don’t have each other. How do we survive? In a culture that is completely over-saturated with luxury goods and services, we, as Americans, have a serious shortage of what matters most, and with what Mali appears to be wealthy in: real relationships with the people around us. Sure, we have our family, close friends, co-workers, and acquaintances, but beyond that, we are virtually isolated from those that surround us—too much so to even offer a friendly “hello” to the person we pass on the street.

In rural Mali, very much a communal society and atmosphere, everyone is viewed and treated as family and a friend. Walking through the village, you will be warmly greeted by virtually each person you see, and not simply those that pass nearby—friendly greetings shouted from afar are as common as those spoken softly and within close distance. Greetings, it turns out, are an extremely important part of the Malian culture, and are constantly and consistently exchanged between everyone in the community. The mentality: a friend of yours is a friend of mine.

When you enter a family’s compound, whether your relationship with them is long and well-established or not-yet existent, you will be treated with kindness and generosity. If you are hungry and ask for food, you will likely be fed, and if the family happens to be eating a meal at the time, you will definitely be invited to join them at the communal bowl. The mentality: the food that I prepare is not only for me, it is for everyone.

In the rare occasion that a serious crime is committed within the community—theft, assault, harassment, etc.—the people will swiftly join together and organize a plan for dealing with the problem and reaching a solution. The mentality: a threat to you is a threat to the entire population.

It’s easy to look at the resources, money, goods, services, and luxuries that a community, country, or continent doesn’t have and to feel sorry for the people that live there—to wonder how they survive. But what is more challenging (and more important) is to look closely at what it is that the people of those places do have which keeps them generally happy, satisfied, and surviving despite the severe shortage or absence of the important resources on which you may believe that happiness, satisfaction, and survival are dependent (but in fact, as I have seen, are not).

The people of Mali have each other—something that I believe the United States, which has a ridiculous over-abundance of everything else, could use a whole lot more of.

A TONGUE THAT STRENGTHENS YET RESTRAINS

2007-12-25T07:50:00.000-08:00

It is an interesting fact that although the official language of Mali is French (who the country was colonized by), it is actually the second language of virtually everyone here—there are six or seven main local languages spoken by ethnic groups of varying sizes in different regions of the country (Bambara, considered the national language of Mali, is used by around eighty percent of the country’s twelve million inhabitants), and children are raised from infancy in their ethnic group’s native tongue.

It isn’t until around the age of nine or ten that children begin learning French in school, but if you take the fact that a number of females don’t attend elementary school and a large number who do attend do not continue on to high school, and couple it with the fact that French is almost never spoken by children outside of the classroom, you arrive at an unfortunate conclusion: a large majority of adult women, and some men, do not ever speak French, either because they don’t know how to or because the small bit that they do know would be riddle with mistakes that they are afraid of making. And so what you have, interestingly, is an official language (French) that is virtually only used by people—mostly men—in government or other official business positions (in other words, a very small portion of the country’s population).

The tendency to prefer one’s own ethnic tongue over French (or any other language, for that matter) makes perfect sense—I think it represents a large part of the unique cultural identity that Malians value so much, and which separates them from others (after all, they are neither White nor French). But when the focus on one’s local language comes at the expense of understanding and being able to speak French—a much more useful language—I believe it becomes a poor choice, and one whose disadvantages are perhaps greater than the value of the cultural identity that the ethnic language helps to define.

First, the local languages of Mali are largely unwritten—their speakers begin learning them naturally from birth, and are exposed to them only briefly in school (if they attend). What this means is that those who do not learn to speak French are also likely to never learn how to read or write—adult illiteracy in Mali is around fifty-five percent—and the effects of this are clearly negative and potentially far-reaching. And so the exclusion of French, I believe, has a stifling effect on literacy.

Secondly, while an ethnic language (such as the national one of Bambara) carries with it a great deal of cultural identity and value, such tongues are spoken by few in Mali’s neighboring countries, and (surprise, surprise) virtually nobody in the expansive (and opportunity-filled) world beyond that. And so the ethnic language acts as a kind of restraint, keeping its faithful speakers from ever accessing relationships, resources, people, opportunities, or life outside of Mali and Africa.

The point is not at all that Malians should abandon their native language—the identity it helps give them is extremely important and must be carried on through the generations—but that if such tongues were accompanied by a solid understanding of, and ability to speak, French, it would open the doors to opportunity and improvement that they could then walk through with strong cultural identity and pride in hand. Unfortunately, those who cannot read, write, or speak French are likely to find those doors closed, and opening them again will surely prove difficult.

A DIFFERENT SORT OF DYNAMIC

2007-12-25T07:44:00.000-08:00

Of all the new and unique things I have experiences and seen in Mali—people, places, animals, ceremonies, culture, climate—one of the most interesting, which I have spent a lot of time observing and thinking about, is the dynamic of “love” (specifically the relationship between a man and woman within the context of marriage) and the primary qualities that are valued and desired in a potential long-term partner.

If I were to make a list of all the different characteristics that my ideal partner might have—the person I may spend the rest of my life with—I have to admit that it would probably be rather long and complicated (hey, in an ideal world, we can have everything we want, right?!). But at the very top of the list, above the abundance of less important items like must love ice cream and will sing with me in the shower would be those relatively few qualities that I respect, and am attracted to, the most—things like honesty, sensitivity, a compassionate and caring heart, genuine respect for one’s self and others, a craving for mystery and adventure, a sense of humor, firmly held beliefs and values, goals and dreams (and the motivation to chase both), and a set of interests that are at least slightly in accord with mine. These are the traits that are most important to me, and whose presence or absence are, at least in some part, the basis on which a potential long-term partner is judged. And although this “list” is mine personally, I assume that a vast population beyond myself would settle on very similar (if not some of the same) qualities—that is, that they are nearly universally valued and sought. After all, they are human characteristics—respect, honesty, a system of beliefs and values, humor, kindness, compassion—and therefore transcend race, gender, class, culture, and geography, right? Perhaps not entirely.

What I am beginning to realize, after noticing a much different and smaller set of valued and desired qualities among Malians, is that many of the traits just mentioned are, in fact, largely shaped by one’s culture and environment, and are at least partially dependent on both the availability of resources and opportunity, and on a knowledge of the expansive world beyond one’s own. A closer look:

It would be very difficult (and in fact, probably nonsensical) to develop and keep a sensitive, soft heart when the environment surrounding you is saturated with struggle and inadequacy. Disease, death, very little (if any) health care, a severe lack of clean drinking water, and a harsh, flood- and drought-prone climate characterize much of Mali—such conditions demand resiliency and create tough and hardened individuals. And so Malians, as far as I can see, are generally not sensitive or soft people—the trait is both valued and sought by few. The result: sensitivity does not make it on the Malian list of desirable traits in a romantic partner.

When a serious lack of resources, money, and knowledge keeps you firmly locked in your poor, routine daily life, it becomes extremely unlikely (although certainly not impossible) that you will develop dreams and goals that lie beyond such an existence—either because you don’t expect to ever break free of poverty or because you simply don’t know what exists in the larger world that you could possible dream about or strive to make a reality. Your goals, in effect, are limited by the absence of the resources that would be needed to achieve them. Here in Mali, where resources and opportunities are scarce and where knowledge of the outside world is rather limited, it appears that goals and dreams are in serious short supply—their existence is both valued and sought by few. The result: goals and dreams (and the motivation to chase both) does not make it on the Malian list of desirable traits in a romantic partner.

A shortage of resources, money, and knowledge also severely limits the hobbies and interests that a person could potentially have. Some of my own interests include photography, music, the studying of psychology, reading, and writing. But the existence of each of these as an interest of mine depends entirely on an environment and a host of resources that, together, have (thankfully) provided me with the opportunity to access and enjoy them—such conditions are clearly not present in many parts of the world. You won’t find reading or writing on a list of the hobbies of someone who never learned to do either; photography is not going to be the interest of a person who hasn’t ever seen a camera; and the studying of psychology (or any other subject/discipline) will not be the favorite of somebody who is the product of a broken education system that never taught, among many other things, the value of knowledge and discovery. And so your interests are both defined and limited by the quantity and quality of the available resources in the environment around you. The result: a set of interests that are at least slightly in accord with mine does not make it on the Malian list of desirable traits in a romantic partner.

So what does all of this mean? Well, besides the fact that I will almost surely not find my future bride in Mali, it means that in the absence of the qualities discussed above, each partner in the rural Malian romantic relationship, interestingly, is both sought and valued for having one primary (and in my opinion, meaningless) characteristic. The details:

Thanks to the rules and dynamic of the religion of Islam, marriage in Mali (a country that is nearly ninety percent Muslim) can almost entirely be described in terms of rigid, firmly established roles. For the man, it is to work—perhaps in agriculture, small commerce, or government service—and earn enough money to support himself and his family completely. He is the sole money-maker, and all the financial needs of each family member depend on him. The woman’s job, in contrast to that of her husband, is to stay home every day and cook, clean, and care for the couple’s children. Her duties likely include sweeping and cleaning shortly after waking up in the morning, walking to the market (where you will rarely spot a man) to buy food, cooking each meal, washing clothes and dishes (by hand, of course), walking some distance to a well to collect water, and bathing her children. When her husband is home, she has the added responsibility of bringing him food and water (or anything else he might want) whenever he demands it—a sort of servant, the way I see it (and one who rarely, if ever, disobeys her husband’s orders or questions the subordinate role she is in).

The dynamic of this typical marriage, although often male-dominated, seems to be one of mutual dependence—men, who never cook and rarely clean or take care of their children, inarguably rely on their wives to do these things each day. Women, who generally do not earn money, depend on their husbands for any need that is financial. And so it is precisely these qualities—in a woman, obedience and the ability to cook and clean well; in a man, the means to make money—and nearly nothing else, which are valued and desired in a potential long-term partner. Their presence, in the eyes of many Malians, seems to create “love” and signal the likelihood of a quality, successful marriage.

But one of the many problems I have with this dynamic is that these qualities can be found in almost any Malian man or woman—yes, she is obedient and can cook and clean well- she has been taught the importance of such things since youth, and yes, he can support you financially- he knows that men like himself are obligated to work and earn money. And so what you have, it appears, is “love” and the conditions necessary for a quality marriage within nearly every person you look—not at all the special and uncommon kind of love that I would like to believe in.

When love and marriage are primarily based on such things as money and the willingness of one partner to be the obedient servant of the other, I believe that they become cheap and meaningless. But this is only true because I am not the product of a society in which love and marriage are commonly this way. For many (perhaps most) Malians, this dynamic is simply life and love the only way they know it. For me, however, it seems rather unfortunate and empty.

ALIVE AND WELL

2007-12-25T07:36:00.000-08:00

For those who have been wondering what happened to me for the past few months—why I haven’t posted anything here—let me put an end to your worries: I’m alive and well. Now you can sleep better at night. You’re welcome. :)

Unfortunately for both of us, there is no internet connection in my village or anywhere nearby—the only time I can get online to give you new exciting stories and photos is when I travel to the closest large city, which doesn’t happen very often; probably every few months. Sorry.

I’m away from village for the next three or four weeks, so if you would like to send me an email or message, I should be able to reply fairly quickly. Here’s an update of the past five months in Mali:

FÉLICITATIONS!
For the first two months after arriving in Mali (on July 20), I lived with a host family near the capital city of Bamako and attended a variety of training sessions—language, health and wellness, safety and security, cross-cultural and technical education—intended to prepare me for the next two years of service. During this time, I was constantly among other trainees (our group began with seventy-two—a dozen or so have since gone home) and Peace Corps staff, and the days were very scheduled and full. Finally, on September 21, pre-service training came to an end and I officially became a Peace Corps Volunteer.

The swearing-in ceremony, which was held at the United States Embassy, felt a bit like high school graduation. Our host families came dressed in their nicest outfits, clearly proud of their newest sons, daughters, brothers, and sisters for having made it through such an exhausting and difficult time. Speeches were given, tears were shed, plenty of photos taken, and a few hugs were even exchanged—something very rarely seen in Mali. The only thing missing was the diploma. Emotions were mixed: among the strong sense of relief, excitement, and accomplishment remained a feeling of unease in knowing that we would soon, in a few days, be leaving the company (and comfort) of each other—fellow trainees—and venturing out to our respective villages, where we would once again face many of the struggles we had recently endured, only this time without the support of those to whom we had grown the closest. Nevertheless, it was a time of celebration. We made it!

LA VILLE
On September 23, I left Bamako and the other volunteers and made the fourteen-hour trek to my new home: Bafoulabé. The town itself is located in the western Kayes Region of Mali—the hottest in the country—not too far from the Senegal border. Bafoulabé is the capital of the Circle of Bafoulabé, a collection of seven communes (each of which consists of a few dozen small villages), so although the town is fairly small (the population is around 3,200) there is electricity available throughout, and many houses—maybe around half—are made of concrete, as opposed to the mud brick huts that are found in most small, rural villages. While nearly every family here eats rice with sauce for lunch and dinner each day, there is a nice supply of fruits and vegetables year-round—bananas, mangoes, apples, watermelon, oranges, papaya, tomatoes, cucumbers, corn, eggplant, potatoes, sweet potatoes, peanuts—thanks to the Senegal River, which lies at the edge of town (a five-minute walk from my house).

Bafoulabé has an elementary school (which serves around seven hundred students, ages seven to sixteen), a high school (of several hundred students), a small public library, bank, small outdoor market, a few dozen tiny boutiques (a couple of which sell fabric and small hardware; most of which sell food), a hospital, hotel, a few small restaurants, a bar, a post office, two mosques, and two small Christian churches. The main religion of Bafoulabé (as well as Mali as a whole) is Islam, which is practiced by around eighty or ninety percent of the population. Christianity is practiced by less than ten percent (one of the Christian churches, operated by two Norwegian missionaries, has a regular Sunday attendance of around twenty adults), and Animism by only a few.

LA VIE COLLECTIVE
As you may guess is the case in a communal society, everyone in Mali lives, eats, and socializes together at pretty much all hours of the day—it is fairly rare to see a Malian alone. It is common to find two or three generations of the same family—brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, parents, nieces, nephews—all living in two or three houses within the same walled complex, sharing space, time, food, clothing, and resources, and all referring to each other as “brother” and “sister”. The dynamic at my house is similar—I live with two Malian families within a large walled compound, and sharing is pretty much mandatory (which has taught me that sometimes when you make a big batch of delicious peanut butter chocolate cookies or caramel candy, it isn’t necessary to tell anyone else about it—there are just too many mouths to feed!).

The communal way of living is nice—it’s comforting to always have people around that you know are willing to share in friendly conversation, laughter, food (usually rice, which I will probably never eat again after leaving Mali!), tea, and life.

LA ROUTE: LONGUE ET LENTE
Before leaving the United States, I had a certain (perhaps slightly romantic) vision of traveling to another culture and quickly (and somewhat easily) beginning to help—starting my work shortly after arriving and seeing positive results not long after that. My destination was Mali, West Africa, and I was going to make things better for the people there—to bring new ideas, perspectives, creativity (which is in serious short supply here), resources, and inspiration.

But after being in Mali for a few months and learning more about both the Peace Corps and development work in general, it is now clear that, in contrast to my initial beliefs, change (which is, to some extent, necessary for improvement) is a very slow-moving, difficult process which is not uncommonly resisted, to some degree, by those that you are working with and for the benefit of. Because in order for development to be effective and successful, it must be sustainable—able to continue on in the hands of locals long after outside aid and resources are gone—and so the focus must be on encouraging behavior change (perhaps something as small as convincing a family that washing their hands with soap before eating will reduce the risk of becoming sick) and building the capacity of locals—that is, getting them to recognize and truly believe that they already possess the skills, knowledge, and creativity needed to make improvements in their lives. Neither of these is by any means an easy task.

Perhaps the largest roadblock, as I see it, is communication—speaking and understanding the local language well—but beyond that, there is a host of other hurtles that threaten to slow or even bring to a halt the process of improvement.

Superstition, for example, keeps many Malian families from washing their hands with soap, as they firmly believe that it will rid their lives of good fortune and luck, and long-held family values keep the process of “washing” one’s hands before eating unchanged (and unsanitary)—each person rinses his or her right hand in a bowl of water before passing it to the next, who does the same. This routine, done before each meal, is thought by some to help keep the family together, and any significant deviation is seen as threatening. But as you can imagine, the practice is anything but sanitary—in a large family of eight or ten, the last few to dip into the bowl may be doing themselves more harm than good. Did I mention that Malians eat meals—mostly rice and sauce—from a large common bowl with their right hand? (Note: the left hand is used for cleaning one’s self after using the bathroom, and should never be used for eating or greeting).

The refusal to sign any official paper document, for fear of it somehow being used against them by a mal-intentioned person in some unknown (and probably non-existent) way, prevents some men from opening a bank account that could allow them to save money and greatly help themselves and their families in times of sickness or misfortune (which, I’m pretty sure, are not a result of washing your hands with soap). The examples go on.

But enough about hurtles and roadblocks—life is challenging no matter where you are or what you’re doing. Here’s a bit of what I’ve been up to during the past three months in village, and what I hope to accomplish in the next two years:

CAISSE D’EPARGNE
The local leaders of Bafoulabé originally requested a Peace Corps Volunteer in order to help them re-launch a small, informal bank—savings and credit—that has been out of operation for quite some time, thanks to the former president stealing and running away with everyone’s money—not nice.

Although this now non-functioning institution isn’t the only one in the community (there is a formal, corporate bank here), its small size and informal structure make it extremely valuable to locals, who would benefit greatly from its return. Here’s why:

A large number of rural, working Malian men and women live day-to-day with very little money and virtually no savings. They earn, spend, and loan to friends small sums of cash each day, often without keeping track of any of it—personal money is mixed up with business funds, profits are not calculated, and spending happens whenever there is money in one’s pocket. There is little to no consideration for the value of saving money, and so people often don’t do it. In fact, some do not even understand the simple idea that if you save a small amount of money each day for a certain period of time, you will, by the end of that period, have accumulated the sum of those savings—possibly a substantial (and very useful) amount of money. And so this daily “earn some, spend some, save none” routine continues, and the reason it does so is because, for the most part, it works—people take care of each other, free food is readily available from countless neighbors, friends, or family members, and expensive luxury items, which would require saving money in order to afford, simply don’t exist in many rural towns and villages.

But what does exist, unfortunately, is sickness, drought, flooding, low crop yield, death, and a number of other unexpected occurrences that demand large amounts of money—money that those who earn some, spend, some, and save none do not have. I saw an example of this several weeks ago when a friend of my landlord asked if I could loan him 10,000CFA (equivalent to about $20) because his young son was very sick. This man didn’t have $20—the problem is not that he doesn’t work (he’s an electrician and handy-man) but that he doesn’t save.

So the value of saving money can be huge, especially during emergencies or other sudden, unexpected times of need, but people don’t do it on their own—the presence and guidance of a savings institution is necessary to convince individuals to begin saving and encourage them to continue into the future. But the high account activation fees and required minimum deposits (and account balances) that are standard at most large, formal banks make such institutions useless to the many who cannot afford such charges and demands. The small, informal bank (like the one I will be working with) allows one to create a savings account free of charge (or for a very small activation fee—much less than the larger bank requires), deposit any amount of money as frequently or infrequently as wished, and even receive small loans, despite possibly not having a great deal of cash in the bank. The benefit to one family can be substantial—multiply that by a few hundred and you have the potential to improve the lives of many by the simple act of saving money.

PARLEZ-VOUS ANGLAIS?
Shortly after arriving in Bafoulabé, with everything (and everyone) around me being new and unknown, I naturally gravitated toward the familiarity and comfort of English. I visited the local high school and elementary school and learned not only that English is taught at both, but that the teachers at each school were excited to have me here for the next two years, and wanted me in the classroom with them soon. For me, it would be a great opportunity to work with kids, which is where a lot of my interest is, and to more quickly become known in the community—somewhere around forty percent of the Malian population consists of children under the age of fifteen, and regular visits to both schools would definitely help me integrate into the community. For the students, it would be a chance to hear English from the mouth of a native speaker—something that doesn’t happen very often (I am the only American here, and the only native English speaker—there are two Norwegian missionaries who speak some English as a second language, and the English teachers at both schools are Malian).

So for the past five or six weeks, I have been in class at the elementary school three days a week, for an hour each day. So far, I haven’t really done much—the students learn very basic vocabulary and sentences, and there isn’t an opportunity for me to play an active role in the class—but I believe that my presence along encourages the students to make more of an effort to speak well, and they clearly enjoy having me in class with them. One young student, whose motivation and intelligence inarguably sets him apart from his eighty-or-so classmates, asked if he could have one-on-one tutoring with me a couple days a week to further improve his (already impressive) English speaking and comprehension. We now meet at school for a couple hours every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon.

At the high school, where the students speak and understand a decent amount of English, I come to class on discussion days—every couple weeks—and spend the hour talking (very slowly) to the students and encouraging them to ask questions and contribute to the often one-sided (mine) discussion. An unfortunate aspect of communal society, as I see it, is that people have a fear of standing out among others—of an individual spirit—because of the way they may be perceived by the community: as radical, rebellious, or just simply weird. And so often times the norm—the (perhaps only) established way of doing things—is accepted and taken up by the entire population, which is generally unwilling to experiment with, much less accept, any deviation. In English class, silence is the norm, and the alternative—speaking, asking questions, contributing to discussion—is not often attempted by many. Nevertheless, a handful of students do eventually speak up and begin asking questions (although perhaps not about the day’s topic. How old are you? Why are you here? Are you married? Do you want to be? Do you love Malian women? Are there a lot of jobs in America? Can you take me back there with you?).

The high school currently does not offer computer access to students—few even know how to use one—but they do have a closet full of about fifteen dusty computers, which, with my help, will soon be used to create a large computer lab. Once the room is ready and all the machines are up and running, I will begin teaching the staff and students how to navigate a computer, and about the benefits and uses of various programs.

AVEZ-VOUS L’ARGENT?
Although the primary goal of Peace Corps work is to help build the capacity of locals and to encourage them to utilize their own thoughts, creativity, and resources to improve their lives, the truth is that the one thing which prevents a large number of projects from becoming a reality is a lack of money. Fortunately, Peace Corps Volunteers have access to a few different potential sources of funding that can be used for a variety of much needed construction projects: latrines, hospitals, schools, wells, gardens, fences, etc.

The Mayor’s Office in Bafoulabé has already identified a few dozen such large construction projects that the citizens of various villages within the commune would benefit from—within the next few months, I am hoping to identify the most important of these and begin exploring the idea of making it happen.

LES AUTRES CHOSES
Aside from the small savings and credit bank that I was sent here to help repair and bring back to life, any other work that I do during my two years of service (and the Peace Corps encourages a lot) is completely undefined and will be shaped by my own areas of interest, the needs of the community, and the willingness of local citizens, businesses, and organizations to work with me.

As of right now, I am interested in exploring the accomplishments and needs of the local health center to see if there is an appropriate place there for me (perhaps helping with vaccination campaigns, general health and sanitation education, or even baby-weighing).

I also plan on looking into fruit and vegetable dehydration—possibly teaching some locals how to build a dehydrator and package the dried goods. During the months when crops are largely done producing and food is in shorter-than-normal supply, it would be great for families to have a stockpile of dried fruits and vegetables to rely on.

A few weeks ago, I was told that a volunteer in a nearby village recently started a project to build a school, but is about to reach the end of her two years of service and will soon be leaving. Another volunteer and I are apparently going to be taking over the project for her. Should be fun.

We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike.

2007-09-19T03:48:00.000-07:00

As humans, I believe that we often find little to no difficulty in quickly recognizing differences between ourselves and others, and our judgment of these differences creates a sort of organized ranking system from which some of us draw a part of our identity and self-worth. This skin tone is better than that one; the religion of those people is inferior to that of ours; my gender is more powerful than yours; our way-of-life is superior to theirs. It can be easy to fall into the routine of judging others and finding security and stability in your reasoning. After all, people are different, right?

One of my main motivations for applying to serve in the Peace Corps (aside from the simple desire to help others) is that I wanted to experience something different. As someone who had spent the first twenty-three years of his life in Northern California, I was excited to venture far from home and begin something fresh and completely new.

Upon arriving here in Mali, I, like most people, instantly noticed the strangeness and unfamiliarity in the physical environment, climate, animals, activities, and people that surrounded me. This, I initially thought, is the different kind of life I had imagined. As my first several weeks passed, however, I began to recognize something that had, up to that point, almost entirely escaped me. In observing the Malian people around me each day—men, women, children—I started to see many similarities emerge from beneath the glaring differences that had first seemed so abundant and overwhelming.

What I saw were children playing in the streets, lost in laughter and the joy of youth; friends greeting each other in the market, sharing in a moment of genuine connection. On many occasions, I saw people come together to help a stranger in need, and on one unfortunate day, I witnessed a family gather to offer strength and support to a woman mourning the loss of her young daughter. I saw values being taught and put into action, and the behavior of people clearly dedicated to their faith. I saw compassion and kindness; I saw humanity.

Years ago, I remember reading a poem called “Human Family”, by Maya Angelou, which focuses on the many differences that exist between people all over the world. What struck me the most about this poem was the final line, which captures Angelou's belief perfectly: “We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike.”

Since being in Mali, a country that is very different than the United States (and many other areas of the world), I have seen the truth in Angelou's words. We are alike; we do share common values, experiences, hopes, fears, and dreams with people everywhere. Spend time considering the differences between people, genders, countries, religions, etc., but set aside more time to focus on ways in which we are alike. You might just discover a feeling of comfort in knowing that you share something special with the rest of the world.

Jigiya

2007-09-07T11:06:00.000-07:00

A note about the disabled: In the country of Mali, the physically and developmentally disabled receive absolutely no assistance-- monetary or otherwise-- from the government at neither the national nor local level-- an example of this being when a group of disabled citizens went to the local government office in a small village to ask for help, and were told to leave immediately and not return. Aside from this, many disabled Malians are completely shunned by their fellow citizens. This leaves them with little choice but to become beggers in order to receive the money and food necessary to survive.

A note about Jigiya: Jigiya, which means "support" or "help" in the local language of Bambara, is a group of more than 200 physically and developmentally disabled Malians-- both men and women-- from the Segou Region who have organized themselves in order to come together and provide encouragement, inspiration, and support to each other so that they can all improve the quality of their lives. The members of the association teach each other technical and business skills and share in the joy of music, dance, and laughter. The group has also pooled their resources together in order to provide small loans to members in need-- another way that they are improving lives and helping fellow disabled Malians. Jigiya, with the help of current Peace Corps Volunteer Stephen Andersen, have connected with the Self-Advocacy Association of New York State (SA), a group of similarly-disabled Americans, and the two groups now exchange regular communication, thoughts, stories, and support. Please visit THIS site to learn more information about Jigiya and SA.

Last night, about a dozen or so members of the Jigiya group performed a showcase of singing and dancing for the current Peace Corps Trainees. It was inspiring to see a group of people so full of energy, joy, and life despite the struggle and discrimination they are faced with each day. It was also great to see the connection and companionship that these otherwise-ignored individuals have found in each other.

Click HERE to see a short video of the performance. Enjoy:)

My new home.

2007-08-28T13:56:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I returned from my first visit to the town that I will be working and living in for the next two years. I'm about 15 hours by public transport from the capital city of Bamako, and fairly close to the Senegal border. I met all of the important people in town-- the Chief, law enforcement, school administration, Mayor, and others-- and it sounds like I'll have some interesting projects to work on once my language skills have improved. I just decided that once I permanently move to my site, in about a month, I'm going to stop studying French and focus entirely on Bambara, which will be easier and much more useful for me. I'm expecting to study continually for around six months before I begin doing any type of substantial work.

My house is great-- the structure itself is made of concrete, and I have three large rooms with a light and electrical outlet in each. I also have a personal bathroom-- detached from my house-- that is covered and enclosed by walls and a door. My house is inside of a huge walled compound and two Malian families' homes are connected to mine, which is wonderful for a few reasons-- the most important being that they seem really nice and appear to eat really good food, and will be including me in all of their meals:) They will also protect my house from the possibility of being broken into whenever I'm not around. Nice!

My town-- Bafoulabe-- seems really nice. Two rivers come together to form the Senegal River right in town, and during dry season, there are a pretty decent number of hippos and monkeys around the banks of the water. The town appears to be pretty clean, and there aren't too many people around, which is nice. I'm also about 6k from a current Peace Corps Volunteer who seems great-- he'll be a good friend and support system. He already taught me how to make ice cream, which is going to end up making my wallet a lot skinnier and my life a whole lot better:)

That's about all for now.

My new address and phone number are on the right side of the page. If you continue to use my old address, I will still receive mail, but it will take much longer to get to me-- please use the new address.

This is Africa.

2007-08-06T15:01:00.001-07:00

A quick update: I'm currently living with a host family in a medium-sized village (about 6,000 people) and taking French classes 4 to 5 hours per day, 7 days a week-- I'll be here for another 7 weeks, at which point I'll officially become a Peace Corps volunteer and will move to my permanent work site (where I will be for the next two years). I'm learning a ton, but still can't say all that much to my family, which is unfortunate.... and difficult at times. They are amazingly generous though, and have treated me very well. Life is very different here, but I am adjusting to the Malian culture and way of life more and more each day. Overall, I'm healthy, hydrated, and experiencing some challenging but good times:)

Click the photo link on the right side of the page for many more photos.

The Niger River-- the location of my language classes.

We sit in the shade under a mango tree.

The area surrounding my village.

My brothers and sisters.
These kids LOVE the camera!

My brothers and sisters.

About half of my host family:)

I'M HERE!

2007-07-21T12:16:00.000-07:00

07/20/2007. Day one. Mood: exhausted, excited, HOT, and sweaty!

It is currently around midnight local time and I am sitting on my bed under a mosquito net in our training village of Tubaniso. We flew into the airport in the capital city of Bamako about 3 hours ago, and at the moment, I'm very hot and sweaty and about to spend my first night in Africa! A few highlights so far: (1) the toilet is called a "negen" and consists of a 6"x6" square hole cut in the concrete floor of a tiny structure, and we either stand, aim well, and pee into it, or squat, aim really well, and do our deed. Should be interesting; (2) a huge 1-eyed tortoise lives in our village and sleeps right outside of my house. Awesome! I have yet to see him. I'll take pictures when I do. There is also a small gazelle roped up around here somewhere. Haven't seen him yet either; (3) the locals have all been very friendly and helpful so far-- I love it! That's all for now. Long day tomorrow. Goodnight from Mali, West Africa. --Brookeabroad

IT'S OFFICIAL:

2007-05-22T19:23:00.000-07:00

Today I accepted an invitation to serve as a Peace Corps volunteer in the West African country of Mali. I will be departing for my adventure on July 17th, 2007 and will return about 27 months later. While in Mali, I will be working in the area of Small Enterprise Development-- partnering with small businesses to assess the needs of the community and find ways to meet those needs while improving business practices, entering new markets, and increasing profitability. I will also be involved in a secondary project, which may include HIV/AIDS and health education and/or working with local youth.

I likely won't have regular access to the internet or a computer, as my home will probably be without electricity (and running water, for that matter), but I will try to update this blog as often as possible with photos and stories of my travels and experiences.

No worries-- the mail system in Africa is reliable and I will be able to send and receive mail (including packages) throughout my entire time abroad. You can find my contact information in the column on the right side of the page.