Religion

I can hear the call to prayer at this very moment.  It has become so routine that I hardly noticed the blaring arabic chanting coming from the loudspeaker of the nearest mosque.  It is so normal for Malians to go to Mosque and do their daily prayers and celebrate muslim holidays and use the word 'Allah' that I forget it is actually Islam I am witnessing, and not just a weird cultural quirk that is unique to Mali.

Mali is 90% Muslim, though animism is influential enough to constitute most of the remaining 10% and skew a lot of peoples Islamic believes.  It is sort of strange to see groups of black people practicing Islam since the stereotype in my head of a muslim is a white arabic looking person.  Looking into it, I was surprised to see how far into 'Black' Africa Islam extends.  My first guess would have been that the Sahara desert would have been a barrier to prevent the spread of Islam from entering black Africa.  However, the maps below show that it is not the dryness of a desert the can block the spread of religion, but instead, the diseases of the tropics (exemplified by comparing the reach of Islam with the range of the disease spreading tsetse fly).  Islam was unable to penetrate the tropical areas of Africa, allowing for Christianity to take root in many regions of subsaharan African during the colonial era.  Mali, though considered subsaharan Africa, is certainly not tropical, and therefore, was heavily influenced by the spread of Islam.

Coming to Mali I had mixed feelings about becoming a part of a community that would probably be Muslim.  It figured it would be fascinating to observe, but maybe a little stressful to explain that I would not want to partake in Muslim stuff.  I was wrong.  Islam has been insignificant enough in my life in Mali that I have waited seven months to even write a blog post about it.

It is very noticeable, the Islam all around me, but like I mentioned at the beginning, the muslim stuff becomes so routine that I forget that it is Islam I am seeing.  When I greet neighbors in the mornings and evenings we give blessings to each other.  To me it is just a part of the greeting and not really connected to religion in any way.  My friend is suffering from a nasty snake bite and so I offer blessings of recovery whenever I greet her.  For me, using a blessing that translates to 'may God make the pain go' is the only way I know how to say 'I hope you get better,' and so again its hard to realize that the phrase has any connection to religion.  I see men in my village go to Mosque and pray, or pray outside there homes, several times per day (sometimes I see women pray too, but not often, and they are not allowed in the mosque in my village and during the mass prayers on holidays they pray in a separate area than the men).  But to me it is just a form of meditation I am observing.  When Muslim holidays come around and we slaughter sheep and eat good for a few days, I have trouble realizing it is a Muslim tradition I am partaking in and not simply a Malian thing.

The stereotype is that Islam is a religion of extremism, but in rural Mali I have found people to be very open minded towards people's personal spiritual beliefs.  It may be that in the western world we over exaggerate a muslims attitude towards religion, or maybe Malian culture is less intense about its religion than other Islamic nations, but either way, my villagers have no problem with me not being muslim, or christian for that matter.  I explain that I don't go to mosque.  And sometimes I explain that I'm not really even christian.  I say that I'm not anything.  It creates some laughs and maybe a little interest, but overall, no one really cares what I say when it comes to religion.

Lately I've even become braver about being honest with my religious attitudes.  I even tease my friends about going to the mosque.  Yesterday I was trying to determine if I should ride my bike into town today and figured that wind would be the determining factor.  So, when I saw my Homologue on his way to the mosque I told him to ask Allah if it would be windy the next day.  He told me I should ask, and so I explained that Allah probably doesn't understand English.  Such a comment said in America would be strange, maybe even offensive for some people, but when asked in Mali, by a white person speaking an obscure Dogon language, the result is a lot of laughter.  I like asking where Allah is and when they say 'the sky' I look up and tell that I can't see him; again laughter.  When asked about religion and praying I can usually admit that I am not into religion and that I don't know how to talk to Allah and that I never pray.  Sometimes I chicken out though and say that I do my prayers at home instead of in the mosque, because I get scared that people will respect me less or something if they find out that I am not religious, but they really aren't fears I should be at all worried about.  Mali is pretty opened minded towards white people and our strange behaviors.

I know religion probably plays a very important role in the way my villagers understand the world around them.  There are four mosques, they pray several times a day, they mention Allah always...  but for some reason I no longer really connect these actions with religion.  Its just part of the stuff that makes up Mali.  Religion, something I thought we affect my lifestyle in Mali greatly, I hardly notice.

Seasonal Migration

Different seasons have the power to dictate where one lives.  In the 21st century, choosing where to live is mostly based on economic factors.  In developing countries, like Mali, the result is a movement away from the country and to growing regional capitals.

When I first arrived in village in August the rainy season was well under way and there was plenty of work to be done in the fields.  Nearly all the villagers were home working on their families plots of land.  Though no money is earned for the village in rainy season, the families work 10 hours per day 6 days a week from June until October.  The food produced in the harvest will be stored in granaries, and is suppose to last a family all year up until the next harvest.  If crops fail, a village can experience malnutrition and starvation.  For this reason few villagers leave in search of work during rainy season.  They stay to do what they can to ensure their family has a successful harvest.  Unfortunately, no matter how many family members are working the fields during the rainy season, it will be the amount of rain that falls that determines whether the kids will go hungry before the next harvest.

By November the work in the fields is over and village work focuses on repairing and building houses and granaries.  The work is less intensive than field work, and so many of my villagers move away to earn some money for their families.  Some go to nearby Mopti to work in the rice fields, others go to Bamako (the capital), and some even leave the country entirely.

The rice harvest occurs after those of other Malian crops such as millet and sorghum.  Along the Niger River, extensive fields of rice require extra work in November.  Women and men, parents and children left my village to live near Mopti, on the Niger, and work the rice fields.  After a month, they returned with lots of rice.  Generally they would have stayed longer and had more work, but a lack of rain this year resulted in insufficient flooding of the Niger River to fully irrigate the rice fields.  A lot of the harvest failed, and my village will have less rice this year.

When searching for work it is the city that offers the most opportunity, and in Mali no city compares to Bamako in work potential.  Bamako is the fastest growing city in Africa and has a population of nearly 2 million.  Sikasso is the second largest city in Mali and its population is only 130,000.  The younger women in my village have mostly all left in search of work in Bamako.  The will be able to find work as house maids.  Hopefully they will be treated fairly by their employers.  Lots of men are also currently in Bamako since they are more valuable to the family earning a little money in the city than by helping out with work in village.  Some are barely teenagers, and have never been to a city.  Their adventure to Bamako in an effort to make extra money for their families must be terrifying.  

Even Bamako sometimes isn't the best option.  Places like Senegal and Ivory Coast are much more economically developed than Mali, and their cities present even greater opportunities.  A few weeks after arriving in my village, a friend left to go to Abidjan (Ivory Coast's commercial center) for work.  Others went with him and they met with friends who were already living there.  Most of the men in my village have been to Abidjan for work for at least a year or two.  It is the nearest somewhat developed urban center, and its opportunities for work are even more appealing than Bamako's.  However, I do not think that my village's movements in and out of Ivory Coast are entirely legal or safe.  One can imagine just how extreme poverty in Mali is, when its people are risking their lives to find work in a country that has been recently struggling with peace and stability.  

So many people have left that my village feels abandoned right now.  It feels like everyone my age is missing.  Those who left for the rice harvest have returned, but unmarried women and young men are in Bamako and my village continues to feel empty.  The village is much more calm without the youth around and it is easier to hang out and get to know people.  When the missing villagers return with the rain, it will seem strange to meet them again.  

My Peace Corps experience can be compared to a villager living in the city experience.  Those who have left the village for work leave loved ones behind and learn how to speak a new language.  The women in my village who can speak Bambara must have spent time in Bamako, while the men who can speak French probably picked it up while working in Abidjan.  Although Bamako is still in Mali, it has a very different culture than small villages, and adjusting to ways of the city must be very frustrating for someone from my village.  They make the adjustments though, and come to understand themselves better.  They realize that the world is so much more than they first imagined and that their is an incredible amount of human diversity.  It is these people who are most patient with me and the most sympathetic with any kinds of struggles I may have living in the culture of rural Mali.  They kind of know what I am going through.

Largest Minority

I am back at Peace Corps training center near Mali's capital city, Bamako.  I have completed the two weeks of In Service Training and am all set up to head back to my village and get started on projects.  But I can't.  One murder and several kidnappings have recently occured in northern Mali and I have been asked to hang out in Bamako a little longer to wait for the terrorist activity to settle down.  Kinda weird and scary, but at least it gives me a chance to write about something I have been thinking about a lot: the Fula people.

Mali has an incredible amount of cultural diversity.  Mali's struggle to develope has preserved a variety of lifestyles that would have otherwise been drastically changed by globalization.  There are 40 or more languages and maybe 20 different ethnicities.  In the states I recognize minorities based mainly on physical appearance, but in Mali it takes a trained eye (and ear) to distinguish one ethnicity from another.  For me, it is very hard not to look at someone here and simply think of them as Malian. 

The one exception are the Fula (also known as Peul or Fulani), West Africa's largest minority.  They are especially prevelant in Mali's Mopti region.  Several Fula live near my village and I interact with them daily.  Since they are quite distinct in appearance and are a very large minority in my area, I have learned not only how to recognize them but also how to greet them in their own language.

The Fula have a culture very distinct from any other African ethnicity.  Though they can be found throughout West Africa, they do not represent a majority anywhere.  At 17% though, they are a large minority and play an important role in the ethnic dynamics of the country.  The Fula are stubborn towards change which results in a very unusual way of life.  They hardly speak Bambara or Dogon languages and few of them have given up on their traditional semi nomadic way of life.  I find them both intimidating and fascinating.

A Fula individual can be distinguished from the Dogon in my area based on certain physical characteristics.  The have narrower faces and skinnier noses.  Fulani skin tone is a few shades lighter than the very dark Dogon people.  Fulani men do not constantly shave their heads they way most men in my village do and the Fulani women can let their braids get quite long.  Lastly, scarification and mouth tattoos are very common in a Fulani face. 

The fula also have a unique style of dress.  The man above has a traditional Fula hat and traditional dress.  Women have an excessive amount of jewelry.

I think it is great that I can recognize a Fulani, but it is not only they way they look that is interesting, it is also the way they live.  The most important characteristic about the Fula is that they are semi nomadic.  There are Fulani villages, but they are for the most part temporary.  Their straw houses are simple and can be easily erected and abondoned.  As they wander the wilds of Dogon they herd goats, sheep, and cattle.  When I go on hikes I will always come across a herding Fulani.  The women spend their days going into villages or markets selling the product of herding animals: Milk.  The Fulani around my village come in often to greet and sell me milk or yogurt.  Its a great perk when I run out of powder milk.

The relationship between Dogon and Fulani seems to be relaxed.  They hang out in my village with my family and friends a lot.  They like to make fun of eachother in a healthy way.  Nearly everyone in my village speaks the Fula language as a second language (making Bambara the third most common language in my village and French, Mali's official language, only the 4th most common language in my village).  However, my site mate Zacharia once witnessed a fight break out between a Fulani man and a bus driver (who I think was from Niger).  He described that fight as a Fulani group on one side of the fight and a Dogon group on the other side.  It made me wonder about racism in Mali and to what degree it affects the lives of minority ethnicities such as the Fulani.

To be a minority in Africa is very different than being a minority in the States.  People from all over the world live in America, but of course our westernizing influences are strong so in a strange way we are very diverse and homogenous at the same time.  So many different backgrounds and races exist in the States, but I feel as though third generation Chinese, and a third generation Mexican have almost everything in common; that is, they are both very American.  In Mali it seems to be the opposite.  Everyone is black and African and whatever, but cultures do not blend into any kind of encompassing Malian or African standard.  Because of this it is very hard to compare the Fula to Minorities in the States.  America's largest minority are Hispanics (the title once belonged to African Americans), but I would think that it is very difficult for a Hispanic in America to relate to a Fula in Africa when it comes to matters of ethnicity, identity, and racism.

The funny thing about all this is that I myself, living in a Dogon village, am a minority.  But I feel that I am such an extreme example of a different culture living within a majority culture that it almost doesn't count.  Especially since my life as a Peace Corps volunteer is temporary. 

Public Transport

Public transport really sucks in Mali.  It is hard to move around this country for many reasons.  

1. The schedules are unorganized:  You generally buy a ticket and wait for enough other people to buy tickets for a driver to decide that it is worth it to start up the bus.  I have waited 5 hours before.    
2. The vehicles are falling apart:  Due to breakdowns I have had to wait for repairs and switch buses.  I have also helped push vehicles in order to get them to start.
3. Its hot: Africa is even sweatier inside a crammed bus
4. Roads suck:  Paved roads aren't too common.  And those that do exist are narrow and poorly maintained.
5. Drivers don't drive well:  I would go as far as to call many of them reckless.  It can be scary.  
6. There is no room:  The more a driver/vehicle owner can cram into his bus the more profit he thinks he can make.  Its not just a matter of people but what they are bringing with them.  Goats, Sheep, chickens, animal skins, lumber, and food for market take up much more room then people themselves.  The other day I saw a live cow trying to be squeezed into the trunk of a small car.  I laughed for awhile

So far I've always made it to where I need to get (maybe not by the day I expected to be there by) but every Peace Corps volunteer here seems to have their fair share of public transport stories.  With each story I'm sure my dislike for Public transport has the potential to worsen, but a fondness for the craziness that is Mali will grow.

Dogon Landscape Album

It is the beginning of November as I write this and the weather is starting to cool off a little bit.  The nights are cool, the crops are being harvested, and the tourists are starting to trickle in.  There are not many.  Mali is not your typical vacation destination, but there are those people out there who have heard of Mali's hidden treasures.  Some come for the music, others to see the largest mud building in the world, and others to experience the amazing diversity of language and culture that the many ethnicities of Mali have to offer.  There are also those that come to see a cliff.

The Bandiagara Cliff Band is not only one of most defining features of the Dogon physical landscape, but also of the cultural landscape because of the way humans have used it throughout history.  The cliffs get massive!  And the villages around the Cliffs are enchanting to say the least.  The best part is that my house is on one of the (smaller) cliffs.  They run from my village towards the Northwest in fairly continously.  A month ago I hiked along the cliffs from my village to another volunteer's village on the (much bigger) cliffs.  My friend Ashley documented the 2 day trip with the beautiful pictures below.  The pictures can give you a better idea of my life in Dogon culture as well as give a glimpse to the beauty of Mali that most overlook.

The path to my village.  Only 2 or 3 miles from a nice paved road.  The women are taking lunch out to the people working the fields, taking a sheep out to to probably graze or something I guess, and also watching their babies.  Busy life.

My neighborhood.  The far left is my house but you can't really see it.  It is nicer than most houses in that I have a cement floor and a latrine.  Most don't have cement floors and practically the entire village does not have a latrine (a polite way of saying they poop in the fields).

I was never someone who 'likes kids' back in the States.  Mali is changing that.

Peanuts are being harvested now so it adds some nice flavor (and protein) to my diet.  It is also awesome to see how the harvesting, and storing and preparing of foods is done.  In the states I had not idea what my food looked like before it reached the grocery store...  

...These structures are a major feature in Mali's cultural landscape.  Food is stored in them.

...Doing hikes here usually involves seeing the herders out getting their animals fed.

Here women pound millet as part of a meal's preparation.  These women seemed to have a fun time doing it singing songs and keeping beat with each pound.

 

Wells are not easy to build in my area.  Fortunately a couple springs flow from under the rocks and cliffs.   This scene shows the importance of this single spring for a village nearby mine.  The women walk down from the village to wash cloths, wash themselves, and fetch water...

...Then they walk a couple miles on this path to bring water back to there households for cooking and for their husbands.  This is done more than once per day!!

 

One of the four mosques in my village.  I think my village is pretty muslim by Dogon standards, but I feel like there are probably a lot of Animist perceptions diluting the religious believes of my village.

 A mosque in another village.

Water:  A scarce resource.

We experienced a short storm at one point of hiking and for a very brief period water seemed to be plentiful. 

A classic Postcard Pic of Dogon country.  Notice the buildings that are literally under the cliff! 

Cool pictures, yes?  Next time I try to make an album I might try to show some pictures of friends and stuff in my village...   But first I had been wanting to share the beauty that I have the previlege to experience.  Also all the photos are credit to my friend Ashley.  I did not take a single one of these pictures.

Look like a Monkey

Today I was riding my bike through a remote area on my way into town.  I was riding on a path following two little girls, maybe 7 years old, they didn't turn around to look at me until I was right behind them.  They froze for a second when they saw me with an expression of the most intense fear I have ever seen in another human's eyes, then turned to run away from me screaming too loudly to be able to cry.  They ran for safety to a group of men who were laughing at the scene they had just observed.  The men gave me directions to the main road (I was in fact lost), and as I rode away the two girls seemed to have calmed down, realizing that I probably wasn't going to kill them.  Maybe it was partly they way I was approaching the girls quickly and the fact that I was wearing a strange helmet, but those two girls viewed me almost like a monster.  It was sad and funny.

Its weird that there are different races.  And its weird the way humans react to it.  Isn't crazy that slavery was legal in America a century and a half ago!?  And that the civil rights stuff in America took place half a century ago?  I guess as humans we like to divide ourselves into Us and Them.  Throughout history, Racism has been a popular way of making this division (though I prefer to separate the Them into Yankee Fans).  Its been around forever and will probably always be a part of the human experience.  The children that are so deathly afraid of me in Mali I think say something towards that point.  maybe.  Or maybe its just children being afraid of the unusual.  Which I guess might mean that by hanging out with other races can stamp out racism or something... not really sure...

Anyway, so there is racism.  I guess its people deciding that their race is superior in order to justify the horrible treatment of other races.  One way of doing this I think is by claiming that other races are less evolved/less human.  I think most white racists would say that Black people look more like Monkeys than white people.  And, since I grew up around white people I guess I might have to say.. umm. sure I guess I black person looks more like a primate to me than a white person.  Which I know is the worst thing in the world to say, but bare with me, this story has a point that teaches that tiny ignorant part of my brain a lesson.

So I was hiking around one day and came across some wild monkeys.  Thats pretty cool in itself since I had no idea there were any Monkeys in Dogon country.  In fact, I wouldn't have recognized them as monkeys if the traditional medicine man in my village didn't keep the same kind of monkey as a pet (I figured it came from a different part of Africa).  I was excited to share the story with my friends back at the village since I was really pretty ignorant about wildlife in Dogon Country and interested to learn more.  The most interesting response I got to my incredible story of 'I was walking and saw monkeys' was my friend telling me that they look like me.  The others agreed that white people look like monkeys despite my efforts to claim that it was them that looked like monkeys.  It was all fun and jokes, but some of their arguments were pretty convincing.  

Below is a picture of the Patas Monkey, which I am pretty sure is the type of Monkey that I saw.  It lives across the semi arid regions of Western and Eastern Africa, and are the most common monkey to see in Northern Mali.

My friends in village argued that the monkey looked like me because its nose is long, its eyes a lighter brown (like mine and unlike dark Malian eyes), it is hairy (Malians have hardly any arm/leg hair and much less facial hair then me), and because it is WHITE!  I have to agree.  Now that I look at the image above I think that if that monkey were to be a human he would probably be white.  

At first it was a shock to hear that I looked like a monkey.  My ignorant brain realized that it was dumb to think that black people look like monkeys, but I never even considered that white people probably look primitive to other races.  I guess it was kind of racist of me to think that black people wouldn't be a little racist and think that other races look 'primitive' to them.  The whole point I guess is that Racism and the excuses we have tried to use to justify it are really weird.  I am kind of rambling here since I have been sitting in front of this computer too long (its been over a month since I last used internet and I am letting myself get sucked in), but this was a post I am glad I was able to get up because it was a really cool experienced to be told that I looked like a monkey.  I liked it.  It was humanizing or something.

Ramadan

August 30th marked the end of Ramadan.  Though it doesn't feel like my village is intensely Muslim, and there are still traces of traditional animist beliefs, Ramadan played an important role in the spiritual lives of the villagers.  For thirty days many villagers refrained from drinking, eating and smoking (among other things) during the daytime.  The four small mosques in the village also experienced higher attendance and more extended visits.  When the fasting ended on the 30th of August I was not sure why so much celebrating was going on, but when I saw my work partner (Homologue) drinking tea under the morning sun I realized the fasting was over and joined the village in the religious festivities.

My Freshmen year in College I lived in a dorm with many muslim neighbors.  I remember that they stayed up late into the night in order to eat and maybe smoke some hookah.  I also remember that Ramadan happened in October or November that year (2006).   This confused me to think about at first, but it turns out that Ramadan really did occur much earlier this year than it did in 2006.  Since Ramadan is the holy month of the Islamic Calendar (a calendar that has around 10 or 11 fewer days than the Gregorian Calendar we are used to [how can a calendar function if it does not have the correct number of days?]) it shifts a little earlier every year.

The result is that Ramadan can take place during every season.  Had Ramadan not fallen during the rainy months of Mali, there would have been fewer people working in the fields all day long and more people participating in the fasting.  The work in the fields is tough (I tried it for one day and I could hardly walk the next day), and few go the whole day without eating.  I think that no drinking water for the whole day while doing fieldwork would be crazy and I doubt any of the villagers did this.  When Ramadan falls in December the fasting is easier to do.  There is no fieldwork, the sun is less brutal, and the hours of daylight are less so one does not fast as long.  December Ramadans are even easier for Muslims living in the far north such as in Great Britain where nearly 3 million Muslims live and the sun rises late and sets early.  A June or July Ramadan has the opposite affect however.  A British Muslim on July 1st starts his fasting at 2:55am and cannot eat or drink until 9:40pm!!  Muslims living in Fairbanks, Alaska or further north usually follow the practice of "Makkah," which allows them to began fast at 6am and finish at 6pm.

It was hard to tell who all followed the rules of fasting in my village and who didn't since most spent all day out in the fields.  My work partner followed it well, and since I usually depend on him for meals sometimes lunch was tough to find.  But other than that and the praying and festivities on the 30th of August, Ramadan hardly affected me.  Next Ramadan, however, I will be more used to the routines of the village and it will be easier to pick out the changes that occur during Ramadan.  Maybe it will have a greater affect on me then...