So, Paris was unexpectedly awesome. I really didn't think I'd care much for Paris, but oh did I care. A major cloud came and rained on all of the good feelings I had roaming around Notre Dame—that cloud being the staff at the Paris airport. After being cleared in the US, all of a sudden we have to check our bags that have made it as carry-ons until now, paying almost $150 extra. So frustrating. Not only that, but we were sent back and forth and back again trying to deal with it. We were thirty minutes late departing. Now I’ll try to recall all the positive.
Walking around Paris wrinkled my brain. First, about the language itself. It’s so hard to fully comprehend a world outside of my own. What sounds like gibberish to me has context and meaning to the Frenchies. There is also a lot of diversity there. I don’t know why that always surprises me. But as a whole, they are much classier in France. Even the window washers looked like they led classy and glamorous lives. I had this urge to talk to everyone—which I haven’t had since being a missionary. I just felt like everyone would have a story that would fascinate me.
We went to the Notre Dame. I felt like I was walking on holy ground while we were there. I looked at it with my mouth open—I couldn’t believe I was really there! Lessons from Mrs. Allsop-Day in art history flooded my mind, and so I got to act as a rusty tour guide. We were there really early—Paris was still asleep for the most part. I loved that because then I felt like I was on a movie set. Except everything feels authentic there, whereas when we have similar settings in the US we’re just posing. Our culture is awesome in its own way, but having a melting pot makes it feel like we don’t have claim on anything.
As I watched people start the hustle and bustle of their day I watched them walk past the Notre Dame without even looking at it—I guess we’re all guilty of not appreciating what we have around us fully—and that transcends all cultures. And I know you're thinking, "Wait, I thought you went to Africa?" Thanks to a six hour layover skillfully planned by yours truly, I was able to kill two birds with one stone.
Apparently, when I go abroad I have to break the word of wisdom. This time, the flight attendant took a liking to making fun of me (because I had a stuffed animal as my travel companion). He found out that I don’t drink and he took it upon himself to give me wine instead of apple juice. I did not like the taste, so he has definitely not persuaded me to start drinking. Ugh. I have gone 25 years without ever having alcohol even close to my lips--minus NyQuil. My whole life feels tainted now. So, before even getting to Africa I already had a title for my experience in Africa: “Drunk for Africa!”
Next thing I knew, I was in Africa. It didn't feel like Africa and France could be in the same world. Just like John Lewis said, when we arrived here and stepped off the plane it became very apparent very fast. And I thought to myself, “I’m in Africa. This is Africa.” My frame of reference for foreign experiences is Qatar: it’s not as hot here—I expected to walk off the airplane and into what felt like an oven. Nope. It’s actually cool (it got hot later in the week to where we felt like we were cooking, especially as we sat buildings with mud walls and tin roofs), and I needed the jacket that I had barely taken off. The sky looked like there were rain clouds overhead, but those were just dust clouds.
So, it’s different from Qatar, but there are also a lot of similarities that almost help things to feel familiar to me. One thing that was different is that everyone approached us—they were all trying to sell things. In Qatar, no one really acknowledged us, which is the opposite in Africa. We draw a lot of attention to ourselves thanks to being glow in the dark. I was totally overwhelmed with people wanting to earn money somehow. It broke my heart for them. It’s hard not to help, but that only feeds the perception of Americans if I had given everyone that approached me something. Just because I am from America does not mean that I have an indispensable amount of money—and they just don’t understand that. But I can understand why they don’t understand that—they have so very little here when it comes to material items, so of course they think that every American has everything. That’s what they wish and hope because that is the American dream and they want a piece.
Anunou picked us up from the airport and took us to his house. I felt very safe with Anunou. Anunou is the director of the Alliance in Ouelessebougou. When we arrived at Anunou’s house everything felt familiar in an unfamiliar way. I’m not exactly sure how to explain it. It was like a mix of Mexico and Qatar—more like Mexico in the sense of the level of poverty that people live in, and like Qatar in the style of homes and other things.
Before we even set foot out of the car we already had a major wake-up call to the realities that these Malians face every single day. Anunou’s neighbor passed away during childbirth--THIRTY MINUTES before we got to his house. He was sad for her, but at the same time he said it in such a way that made me feel like these are situations that are to be expected, and he’s seen it too many times to loose himself over it. The baby survived. It was very heart breaking.
We went into the home to check on the baby—Amy being a midwife and all. The men were all in the front room of the clay hut—and the baby and the women were all in the bedroom of the mother who had passed away (men and women are always separated). She was only 20. The women were wailing and grieving and chanting things I didn't understand. I was at such a loss of what to say. There wasn’t anything I could say. I didn’t want them to feel like I was imposing, so I mostly stood quietly until Amy finished checking the baby. The baby was beautiful and strong. There was one girl, who was the mother’s sister-in-law who spoke French. She lives in Paris and came for a visit. Her brother (the father) was also in Paris—so he wasn’t even there for the baby’s birth or the mother’s death. The girl that was taking care of the baby was so incredibly beautiful. These women’s beauty takes my breath away. As we left I told the family that they were in our prayers. Even though I couldn’t really communicate or offer any real comfort, I think it helped them to feel like they were being thought of and supported in whatever way we knew how.
This is not the girl I was just talking about, but this girl is from one of the villages we went to. She just captures the beauty that is in Africa.
On Saturday, we went to the market. That was a tad bit overwhelming. For the same reason that leaving the airport was overwhelming—we just get pounced on. And saying no to anyone is so hard because then they look at you like you are a selfish monster. Some people were really nice just to be nice, but most just want money. And this has all given me so much to think about.
I’ve been wondering a lot about what holds this country back?
- Resources. And it’s not even LACK of resources. It’s not knowing how to use what they have. As we’ve talked to Anunou he’s shed a lot of light on some of the problems the people in his country face, such as poor money management. He talked about how people aren’t careful with what they have. Their obsession is to have money, but they don’t know how to keep it. In a third world country with people who wonder if they can eat from day to day, they have cell phones and head phones listening to their MP3 players. He also talked about how people don’t spend the money on things to keep them healthy—they’d rather eat the cheapest food that doesn’t help them nutritionally so they can spend their money on other things. Every culture has status symbols, and every culture struggles with priorities.
- Education.
- Mentality. There are those who are resistant to change because of tradition. And it’s not their tradition that’s a problem, it’s when someone becomes stagnant—when people stop trying to progress they die in a sense. They become stuck. They forget that they can do anything that they set their mind to because they don’t know that to be true. They just don’t know any different. Their vision of possibilities is near-sighted.
- Corrupt government. Really, I keep thinking about how much of a difference government makes. We absolutely need an honest government.
- Record keeping. They don’t have paper in this country! They can’t keep record of the things they have learned in order to make any progress at all.
I will never see the world the way they do. I will never understand what they see. I wish I could blend in better in order to get a better idea. But I will always be an outsider and I will always only be able to see their world with the experiences that I have had shaping how I perceive things. I can observe and observe and observe, but I can never experience what they do. I can love this culture, but I will never be a part of it. It’s like trying to get in on someone’s inside joke. You just can’t force your way into those sorts of things, you can appreciate them, but they can never be totally yours.
For Mali, this is luxury. There is nothing like trying to pee in a hole in the ground.
Public water bowl.
But that is what is so great about this Alliance—they don’t come in and say how things should be based on their standards. They ask what the Malians want—they give them the opportunity to OWN their ideas and desires. And THAT is what makes what the Alliance does with these people sustainable. It’s impossible to help someone that doesn’t want to help. It’s impossible to create change when the change can’t be something that they can maintain on their own. Sustainability, ownership, and accountability.
Emily is the leader of our expedition, and she is such a saint. She works so hard for these people. She is just very kind-hearted. She gives so much. And she sees so much good. That is something I have to work hard at—it’s interesting because sometimes the first thing that I feel is the resentment coming from some people we meet. Not all, just some. They’ve made assumptions about me and my life and who I am. But it’s a good reminder to be conscious and aware to not do the same.
Emily is a great leader. She is not pushy, and she helps people feel good about themselves. She is able to present ideas in a non-threatening way so they feel like it’s their idea rather than resisting the idea at first. She’s not pushy, but she’s not a pushover either. She gets things done. She’s not afraid, or she doesn’t act afraid. She is always calm, which puts everyone around her at ease. She is generous at paying compliments and giving credit. She’s shy, but not awkward. She genuinely cares and is extremely thoughtful. She puts others before herself. She truly exemplifies Christ-like labor of love and service. I just want to be Emily when I grow up.
But Amy, Emily, and I seem to make a great team. We got along very well, and we're all signed up for next year. We have so many plans and ideas, and I can't wait to see them through.
We walked around the village when we arrived at the compound Saturday night. It just doesn’t feel real. I feel so removed from how they live. I think I have to stay that way a little bit in order to handle everything I see. Otherwise, I would be overcome with sorrow. There is garbage everywhere, kids are dirty, and their houses are merely huts or made of mud. Their full time job is to survive.
And that is part of what has me already enchanted with them—they are HAPPY. They are so very happy. They find every reason to rejoice, even when they have so little materialistically. As Americans, we have a lot to learn from them. These people’s average annual income is $210 American dollars—but what they lack in money they are rich in language and culture.
We made tea and hot chocolate to share with Buba, Bakary (pronounced:Bakahree), and Alu the first night we were at the compound. They all work at the Alliance. Buba is over education, Bakary is our translator, and Alu is over finances. We ate our dinner with them. They were SO much fun. They love to joke and to kid each other—and when they laugh, they LAUGH. They don’t let anything hide. You'll probably hear me say that over and over again. I love that when you look a Malian in the face, you can tell exactly what they are thinking. I just fall in love with them more and more each minute.
Alu has the BEST laugh.
On Sunday we woke up to the sounds of donkeys. There is nothing like waking up to the sound of African children singing traditional songs back and forth to each other. I went outside and looked at the mud houses that are next door. Their doors were curtains and the roofs are made of tin. All I could think over and over was, “This is their real life.” I am humbled to the dust.
As a side note, if you re-watch the video I posted last time, one of the little girls that is my new best friend is in it. She is with the kids that are sitting out by the gate of compound. She is in yellow and she's the second on the left. Her name is Masa Samake. I'll tell you more about the kids later.
Masa's home. Her home is smaller than the size of a bedroom. Her door is the one in the middle.
Also, there is nothing like taking a bucket shower to wake you up in the morning. If we wanted warm water, we had to boil it. The donkey is also favorite. Trying to crawl out of a mosquito net is also pretty entertaining when all you can think about is how badly you have to use the restroom and this net is the only thing between you and the wonderful relief that comes from going to the bathroom.
We had our own church with each other the first Sunday we were there. We read President Uchtdorf’s talk from last conference entitled, “You Matter to Him”. It was unbelievably perfect for the circumstances that we are in now. It’s amazing how that talk takes on completely different meaning now with a completely different view of life. Also, we read Alma 37. That chapter is actually what the theme of the expedition is based on, “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass”.
We went out and played with the kids while we waited for all of the staff to get here to go over everything that will be happening this week. They (the kids, not the staff) would all crowd around me and imitate what I was doing—so I taught them the hokie-pokie. I forget how much I love kids until I have 20 kids surrounding me. Literally. And the hokie-pokie was such a huge hit, we taught each group we trained--the hokie-pokie has never been so much fun.
When I ran out of things to dance and words to try and teach each other, I went and got my computer. I showed them pictures of my family and then I let them watch an episode of Bobby’s World. They LOVED that. I’m not sure how the word travelled to the kids in the village, but they ALL started coming. I got a little worried that the little kids were going to get hurt and pushed around. But they loved it. And I loved getting to looking into their deep dark eyes while they intensely watched the computer screen. Their eyes say EVERYTHING. They really are just so beautiful—there is no other word to describe them.
As I held my computer on my lap for them to watch, I thought that for just a moment they could be distracted from the things that make their life so hard. The littler kids would hold my hand and just stare at my fingers. They started to fight over who got to hold my hands. There were so many kids, so not everyone could see. There was one little boy who had been trying so hard to get a view of the computer, but eventually he gave up and just rested his head on my shoulder and just would giggle to himself at the funny voice of Bobby. That was a great moment in my life, and I would dare say it was probably one of my favorite moments. I actually thought a lot about 3 Nephi 11 during the time I got to spend with them. I’ll never forget their big deep brown eyes. Never, never, never.
Everything and everyone back homes seemed so forgotten and far away. I guess sometimes the things that are out of sight can be out of mind—so whenever I need that, I guess I’ll just hop on a plane and go somewhere. Ah, if only it were that simple.
Everything with the trainings went really well on Sunday. Emily said that my training was actually one of her favorites ever given--I did a listening exercise with them. That made me feel so good to hear because I was so worried about being able to be a valuable contribution to this expedition. But every group we did this with was my favorite group ever--like I've said, the Malians LOVE to laugh. And they had lots of reasons to laugh as everyone was yelling and shouting trying to get the blind-folded person to go off course. It was AWESOME.
We went to the town of Missagiobougou on Monday and completed a phase III health plan with them. Emily said it was the most effective phase III that she has ever done. These people were hungry for knowledge and eager to do their part. It was amazing to walk around their village and continue thinking to myself, “This is their life.” I will go home and live my life the way I was before, and they will go back to their villages and continue to live their lives the way they have. It is absolutely incredible to see the stark differences in our way of life. They labor hard—all day everyday. Their worries they shared with us revolved around being able to afford and grow the right foods that have the nutrients they need in order to stay healthy so they can work hard in their village and contribute to everything that needs to get done in order to survive. And they kept saying, "When we are healthy, we can be happy."
Brothers of the chief. The chief passed away last month.
Listening to them list off the things that they would like to have to keep themselves happier was tremendously humbling. A pulley system for their wells so that the women can pull the water up when the water gets too low. Bleach to put in their wells so they can kill the worms and diseases that can infiltrate them. In general, they just wish they had water. Three of the six wells they have in their village dried up from the lack of rain this last rainy season. They want a broom that has a long stick—their brooms right now are just the broom part, so they spend their time hunched over when sweeping. Soap to wash their hands. Mosquito nets. These people use sticks to brush their teeth. Just let all of that soak in for a minute.
The only way I can think of how to explain what I felt listening to them was remembering how I learned about people living in these circumstances in school. It was difficult for me to wrap my head around the fact that instead of just talking about these people who live far away from me and my reality, these people sitting in a semi-circle around me were the ones that are actually living these stories. It is very hard to comprehend, but I kept experiencing mini slaps in the face that challenged my reality.
This village showed such strong characteristics of initiative, leadership, proactive-ness, unity, desire, etc. They completed everything in their previous health plans—100%. They completely did their part. They showed that they understood that while the Alliance had provided them with some things they wouldn’t have been able to get otherwise, what the Alliance provided them with was knowledge—which is much more powerful. They said, “We provided the efforts.” They understood that it was THEM who determined the successfulness and that they could continue these efforts once the Alliance has less of a presence in their village. And that attitude is crucial to determining whether this program will be successful and continue to make a big difference in the lives of the villagers now and in years to come.
Making shea butter.
Plus, they were just so much fun. As I listened to their concerns and was amazed about the things that they deal with—there really are no words to explain how humbling this experience was—I loved watching them laugh. They are so happy and they LOVE to joke around. They had such a blast with the listening game, and then we taught them the hokie pokie during one of our stretching breaks—boy did they love those activities. They were doubled over laughing--and not just laughing AT us, but WITH us. I already love them so much—and I just met them today. I am so grateful that this got to be the first village I got to see. I was so sad to leave and think that these people have had such a profound affect on me, and realistically I might never see them again.
I am proud to say that I got myself a boyfriend in Missagiobougou. Finally. His name is Salim Samake. He also gave me my Malian name—I am Worokiya Samake. Meaning, I belong to this village because I have their family name. My heart nearly burst with happiness when I got this name. I will treasure it for always. Amy also got hers from the girls in the group, mainly from the most beautiful girl I have EVER seen, Asetou Samake--Amy's name is Aminata Samake. Emily has had her name for awhile (this is her seventh time to Mali), she is Assitan Kone. There are certain families that are your "joking cousins" and the joke here is that you're a bean eater. They LAUGH and laugh and laugh at calling people bean eaters--because eating beans means you have gas. But, they learned in our training how to make beans so they won't get gas. So, they'll have to come up with a new joke.
Salim Samake!
We had them pretend that they were writing us a letter a few years down the road to tell us what they hope they will be able to report. They struggled with the concept, but everyone said they wanted to write to Worokiya because “She is our friend,” which absolutely touched my heart. It’s so hard to not be able to communicate—I just hope I can convey what I am feeling and that they can feel it too. I want them to know that I love them! Once they understood a little more they said, “We were in a hole, but we are now emerging.”
What a good day that was. I just wish I could download my thoughts and feelings so that they would be adequately represented and articulated. That seems like an impossible task after experiences like these.
These people have NOTHING--but they have nothing but happiness, and yet, whereas in the states we have EVERYTHING, but we seem to have everything BUT happiness.
At the end of the training on Tuesday, I could hear that all of the kids had gathered back at the fence. They all stand by the fence until we acknowledge them. They have started chanting, “Stephy! Stephy!” When they opened the fence they started dancing the hokie pokie like we taught them. So, I went over and we danced together some more. It’s pretty cool because we communicate with each other through dancing—it’s like dancing IS our common language.
I went back inside to grab my notebook and took some of their names. They all gathered around and were so excited to see their names written—some of them were probably seeing it written down for the very first time. But now, I have their names to keep with me for forever. Even COOLER was that when I was getting all of their names a bunch of the kids were Samakes—we’re FAMILY. Masa Samake, Tante Samake, and Aminata Samake are my favorite girls to see. They even went back to their house and brought me a baby to hold—my life is complete.
We got done pretty early on Tuesday, so we got to have a nice relaxing evening full of laughter. I really like Amy and Emily—I couldn’t imagine coming to a place like this with a better group than those two. I was very worried about not knowing them, but it has turned out better than I could have ever imagined, and for that I am so grateful. We make a good team. At the first village we went to, we met the brother of the chief and he pronounced a blessing that the three of us would stay together for a very long time—so I hope that is a premonition about our future work here together!
I showed the kids Claire’s video where she makes Indian noises when Jenny would put her hand up on her mouth. After seeing that video, the kids waiting at the gate went through the moves we’ve done together: hokie pokie, blowing kisses, and then Claire’s noises. Jenny will be so excited to hear that they’ve fallen in love with doing that.
Anunou is an incredible person. I want him to meet President Monson. Anunou is so selfless—he is always thinking about the problems of his people and the solutions he can offer. At a staff meeting before a training, he shared his thought saying,
“I believe in the power I have to help myself and to help others.” He is an amazing leader and has a commanding presence. We all had some pretty incredible missionary experiences talking to him. His kids are in the states going to school, and two of them have already been baptized. Anunou is so excited to have the church in Mali someday so he too can join.
Anunou took us to his home before taking us to the airport. On the drive to his house and all during dinner, we answered questions that Anunou has about the church. His face shows how excited he gets when talking about the church. He and his wife read the Book of Mormon every night together. Anunou has so many great questions that show he already understands so much and that he is eager and hungry to learn. He already knows he wants to be baptized, he just wants to wait until the church can have a presence in Mali. He even told us that he has a plot of land that he purchased from the government that he wants to build the church on that he’ll donate. Wow. He kept rolling up his sleeves and showing us the goose bumps that he’d get on his arm. After talking about the temple with him he said, “I feel like I am floating in the sky.” We explained the Spirit and the many ways the Spirit talks to us to testify of truth—and that he was definitely feeling that, and that that feeling will only get stronger as he continues to live his life in a way that shows that he is inviting the Spirit to dwell with him. He is incredible and he is going to be such a force for good in Mali.
It just felt so great to get to be a missionary again. Anunou is going to be a fantastic member of the church someday, and I know that he will be very influential in getting the church to Mali in the first place. Yet another person that I am honored to have had the opportunity to learn from.
There is a lot to fall in love with here. The idea of Africa can be kind of a romantic one. But I almost started crying when Anunou talked about how some of these women won’t look the same next year—some won’t even be here. Starvation is very real for these villagers. This last rainy season didn't allow them to produce enough crops for this year. Their wells have dried up, and the ones that remain have cholera present in them. Their food is running out. Every group we had had someone in it who had recently lost someone due to starvation. Even though coming to Africa has a bit of a romantic idea—but the problems and sorrow these people face are very real. It’s not okay for them to go through this. We try to make ourselves feel better by saying they still find some way to be happy and laugh in the midst of all of this. If I’m ever feeling sorry for myself, I will think of these people. I don’t know how to explain the moment of realization that I had while I was sitting in that school today. It literally made my heart ache for these people as I looked around the room wondering what these people were really facing when they would go home after these trainings. I tried to read their faces and it just made my heart ache and wish that I could do so much more. But going along with this theme, I have to believe that the little I can do will somehow make a difference.
The way lunch is served--everyone eats out of the same bowl. Boy am I glad that we teach about washing hands.
DON'T EAT WITH YOUR LEFT HAND. Ever. Notice, mine is tied behind my back.
Make no mistake about it: coming to Africa was NOT a vacation. We worked ten hours (at least) a day. I like this kind of work though.
Even though this has been hard and completely exhausting, it’s been nice because it’s been a different kind of worry. I haven’t felt anxious at all here for any reason. I am not looking forward to going home and getting nervous about everything again. But even though it was so tiring, it was one of the most rewarding—at the end of the training when they were so appreciative. They talked about how this was the best training that they have had with the alliance and that they will never forget us. They said they would stay all day and all night because we came from across the world to teach them things that they have never known before for free. I got chills all over as we listened to them share their thoughts and gratitude. I just wish I could express how much I feel the same way towards them. They are amazing.
The villagers we train have all caught wind about the hokie-pokie, and have started requesting it. Word travels fast in villages, I've noticed. They just LOVE that dance! And
I love that they love it. After we finished, the ladies gathered around Amy and me and danced and sang for us. That was SO fun. My love just keeps growing and growing. The crazy thing is, I loved these people so much before I ever even met them. I worry about all of the same things though, I worry that I won’t be able to communicate that love in a way that they will know and feel that I love them. I always feel like I am failing in that department. But I hope and pray they can feel it—love is its own language. But at least I have the Bamanikan greetings down--I can communicate for 2.5 seconds on my own without the translator.
We visited the village of N’Korobougou on Wednesday to start phase I. Just like with Missagioubougou, we were received very well. My impressions from this village was that they have already learned a lot from neighboring villages about health and sanitation, and they are eager to learn more about how to keep themselves healthy in order to promote happiness. That is something that comes up in every meeting, they want to be healthy so they can be happy.
During one of the lulls of the training, Amy renamed one of the older men sitting close to us. He seemed like the wise man of the village—that’s how he carried himself anyway. She thought he reminded her of Howard W. Hunter, and when I said that I could see that resemblance, she had Bakary translate that his American name is Howard Hunter. He sat up straighter and immediately announced that no one was ever to call him by his Malian name ever again because he would not respond. I wrote him a new nametag, and the health planning resumed.
He disappeared for a while, which we had been told he would because he had to leave for a job somewhere. He returned sooner than expected, but he did not return empty handed. There are these cough drop-y things that are used as candy here. He had a bag of candy and he passed that around to everyone in celebration of his new American name. I had no idea that this was such a big deal, but it seemed as if he had been waiting for this day for his whole life.
Thursday, Howard showed up in the middle of annual training with the health agents and matrons. I watched him as he got out of the car, knowing immediately it had something to do with his name—it was just a feeling I had. He went to his trunk and pulled out a chicken. A chicken. He walked in and spoke to Anunou—Howard brought the chicken to show his gratitude (I guess?) about his new name. Amy named the chicken Henry. I hope Hentry gets to live for a very long time.
Let me explain what we do. When we go to the villages, we make a health plan with them. They tell us what they would like to see happen in their village relating to health. Generally, the goal is to reduce disease and sickness—like malaria, cholera, and diarrhea. The concept that the Alliance is introducing to these Malians is new—and for that reason they start small and they help them learn how to facilitate a discussion. They don’t come in and just them a bunch of stuff that they could probably really use—they help them learn how to sustain the help they receive on their own. They teach them to evaluate making realistic goals that are reliant upon themselves rather than dependent on other people giving them stuff. I really like the philosophy behind it all. So, they set goals like sleeping with mosquito nets, washing their hands before every meal and after the bathroom, eating beans, eating the fruits and vegetables that they grow, bleaching their water wells, focusing on nutrition for pregnant mothers and their babies, etc.
During the annual training, health agents and matrons come from 25 different villages—and we split this group up into three days. In the annual training, we introduce the theme (small things make a big difference) and trained them on the digestive system, CPR, how to cook beans so they don’t give you gas, what to do if there are complications during labor/pregnancy, how to keep mother and baby healthy before, during, and after labor, how to weigh babies, and how to chart their growth on a growth chart. It was a lot of new ideas to go over, but every day I was continually impressed that these people who can barely read can learn and understand concepts so well. We would give different scenarios and problems and they were always able to come up with the correct answers. And when it was there time to teach, they would basically teach back to us word for word what we taught them. That shows me how hungry they are for this knowledge.
In addition to all of that, we (Emily) has gotten all of the materials we went over translated into their local language—Bamanikan. This will be extremely helpful for them because the goal is that they will go home to their villages, gather their councils, and teach them what they learned—thus creating a ripple effect of change. Today’s training was particularly powerful. Emily shared an experience that she had when preparing to come to Mali.
She was aware that this year has been a difficult year for the Malians and she prayed about what to do to help the people of Ouelessebougou. She got emotional as she shared her answer. She explained that she felt impressed that the answer was not going to come from America. The answer is in Mali with the people in Mali. They are the ones who are experts of their culture and their land. It is important that they believe in themselves and as Anunou said during our staff meeting before the villagers arrive, to believe “in the power [they] have to help [themselves] and to help others.”
Needless to say, it was a very power and it showed me more of a glimpse into the love that is in Emily. Aside from my mother, she is probably the most Christ-like person that I have ever met. As I thought about this, I learned some things. First of all, Emily is very quiet. She goes about quietly serving and quietly loving—but she never stops doing either of those things. She might not be like Amy who is usually the first to try and break down guards and walls that people carry around—Amy is remembered and usually gains favor quickly with people. But there is just something that is different about Emily and the compassion that she has in her heart. Emily is the silent force that is actually producing change. I really am so honored to know her and to have had this experience to learn from her. Amy is just as amazing, just in her own kind of way. That's why we make a good team, we all bring something different to the table. And me, well, I always serve the same purpose in people's lives: I'm tall and can reach things that they can't reach on the top shelf.
Sometimes during the trainings I'd wonder if they are even listening to us. Most are tired from their long journeys (one man biked
80 kilometers to be at our training) and so it’s hard for them to stay awake. But in the end, there is an outpouring of sincere gratitude. This one matron approached me after the meeting and started pounding on my heart while telling me something. I frantically looked for Bakary because I felt like she was telling me something I’d like to understand. And she was. She was pronouncing a blessing on me to live long and to come back and continue to help them. I pray that I will never forget the feelings that I have had here and that I will be able to have a way to come back next year. I would love to get more and more involved in this project.
Friday is market day. Everyone from all over comes to the market to sell their goods. The market is like the rest of Mali, dusty, buried under garbage, overpacked with people, all of the buildings are barely being held together by faith, and so smelly. Going through the market made me SO sad today. There is something about the animals that make me the MOST sad—they can’t help their situation and they will be the last to ever get food. They live their lives hoping something good got left in the leftovers. There is SO much poverty here. It’s hard to not get overwhelmed and wonder how it could possibly ever get better. Sometimes I worry that as a result of those feelings, I end up numbing myself to not feel as much, thus becoming immune, or unaffected, to what I see and hear.
I read Moroni nine in my scripture study one night. It was amazingly applicable, and it helped calm my feelings that I had been having as a result of our walk through the market where I was face to face with the awful situation of some of these people. And animals.
Moroni 9:25-26 spoke to me as if Heavenly Father was saying, “Don’t worry. I got them.”
I woke up around six Saturday morning to the usual noises—a donkey that serves as an alarm, prayer calls, African music, kids crying, and bells ringing. I fumbled my way around my mosquito net to get my earplugs and eye cover. When I laid back down I felt extremely unwell. At first I thought it was just my usual bought with morning sickness—I don’t know why, but I always wake up feeling a little unwell, but it goes away very quickly. Instead, this did not go away but it only increased. I made several trips to the bathroom that didn’t really help. I felt dehydrated and feverish. I laid on the floor because I wanted to be closer to the bathroom. Then, the feeling hit me. THE feeling. I went into the bathroom and threw up several times all over the floor. I hate throwing up—but I love how much better I feel afterwards. I felt unwell all day—I was feeling weak and dizzy. But I knew that I would regret giving in to sickness instead of going to N’Korobougou. And after the day we had, I would have regretted missing it for the rest of my life.
The bumpy car ride to the village was extremely difficult for me to stomach, but I managed. When we arrived, the whole town had gathered under their largest mango tree that has wood logs set up like stadium seating. We were summoned to take our seats in the front row so the festivities could begin. Before any of the dancers came out, Anunou announced that Moussaj had told him that after the training we had with them on Wednesday, his wife gave birth to a baby girl. And he wants to name the baby after Emily—Assitan Emily Kone. WHAT AN HONOR.
Name-sake.
The Gomba dance was INCREDIBLE. There are not enough words in all of the languages combined to describe how awesome it was to get to be a part of such an important ritual of these villagers. I think this is one of the most amazing things I have ever seen, and there is no way to give it justice with my descriptions. Someday, I'll have the video of it--when Amy gives it to me. But my new goal in life is to learn how to celebrate like an African.
After we got settled in the school I started looking around at our new location (they moved us into the bigger school since the other school was too small to fit us and our new-comers of the administration team)—dirt floors, uneven doors, uneven windows, tin roof, random pillars located inside to hold the roof up, cracks in the mud walls exposing the outside, flies, flies, and more flies. But, I looked at their chalkboard and tried to figure out what they were learning about—angles. Above the chalkboard I saw something written on the wall very faintly. I looked harder and recognized what it was: the digestive system! That shows how excited the health agents were to share what they learned—they went home to their village and immediately shared their knowledge. What great examples of not taking something for granted.
We got henna tattoos Saturday night. I didn’t think mine through very well. I kept thinking, “Oh I can get it on my hand, my work won’t care since it’s not permanent.” Plus, the henna I've been used to is the wimpy kind that goes away after a week. Not this kind--my left hand has beautiful intricate designs--that are black and stay for five weeks. Oops. I kind of forgot about working at the temple. Uh oh. I guess I’m going to have to pull a Michael Jackson and just wear one white glove.
Apparently henna means I’m going to get married soon. Along with the marriage theme, after our heart-warming staff debriefing on Sunday, I went on an outing with Ozzie (an awesome translator about my age that I wish I could have taken home with me) and some of the board members clan. We heard all sorts of drums and tropical-y sounding musical instruments, so Ozzie volunteered to calm our curiosity. There was a wedding going on down the street! Everyone looked INCREDIBLE. It’s amazing what people can look like when they aren’t covered in dust! The women were especially breath-taking. They were in the most elaborate dresses made of materials I have never seen before. Their hair was masterfully weaved. Big shiny earrings hung from their ears and weighed down their ear lobes. Best of all, they all had henna on their arms and feet, too. Theirs looked better than mine—things just look better with black skin. But the wedding party was very welcoming and treated us like we were the guests of honor.
After we all went back to the compound, I went with Emily to see the wedding—she was working out some final details about something so she couldn’t come with the rest of us. As we walked, we collected several neighborhood children. They joined us at the wedding celebration. When we left, I looked at the kids that I had gathered around each hand and noticed one girl I hadn’t seen before. I stopped our walking and asked Emily if she remembered the little girl in orange. As we are trying to figure out how on earth we can determine where she belongs, we see her mother cut through the crowd and come get her. She was smiling, so she at least knew that we had stopped because we recognized that she didn’t belong to us and we were actually not trying to kidnap her. She clung to my leg as her mother pulled her away.
We said our good-byes to the staff. I hate good-byes. Saying good-bye to the kids was the hardest. I am going to miss seeing little Masa Samake poking her head out of her curtain door seeing her over the wall that we share. I’m going to miss the handshake we taught them. I’m going to miss hearing little African kids try and pronounce my name and calling me every time they saw me, “Shtuffy! Shtuffy!” And hearing, “Bonju, bonju!” every morning for "Bonjure!" Those kids are a big part of my favorite parts of this whole trip.
I feel like I have lived a lifetime just in this one week. I felt like Africa WAS my life now—it’s like Utah was nothing but a dream. But alas, I woke up--I guess Africa was the dream.
On Friday I felt scared because I was aware of how much weight I had lost. My bones were sticking out more than usual and I felt weaker than I ever remember feeling. I couldn’t speak above a whisper and I was even too weak to open my eyes. That scared me.
After being released too soon with a diagnosis of basically a bad tummy ache and a prescription to take half of a Flinstone vitamin, Dr. Ford finally was the one to hear me. Now, I’m being treated for cholera. The correct antibiotic produced almost immediate results. What a difference a correct diagnosis makes. It doesn’t help to give up trying to figure out the cause—treating symptoms is not a long term solution.
On Friday I felt scared because I was aware of how much weight I had lost. My bones were sticking out more than usual and I felt weaker than I ever remember feeling. I couldn’t speak above a whisper and I was even too weak to open my eyes. That scared me.
After being released too soon with a diagnosis of basically a bad tummy ache and a prescription to take half of a Flinstone vitamin, Dr. Ford finally was the one to hear me. Now, I’m being treated for cholera. The correct antibiotic produced almost immediate results. What a difference a correct diagnosis makes. It doesn’t help to give up trying to figure out the cause—treating symptoms is not a long term solution.
