What's That Noise?

September 30, 2005

The noises here are amazing. The birds rattle and sing and squawk and shout, and the crickets chirp. There are few vehicles in the village and they don’t generally travel down our street. Sometimes when we walk the silence is deafening.

I have not driven a car in over a month. I have not seen or heard an airplane or helicopter since we arrived. There are not even con trails high in the sky. There is no evidence that airplanes even exist here. There are no trucks, no trains, no sirens. There are no dogs barking, no lawn mowers, no neighbors screaming, only the birds, the bugs, and the occasional car or motorcycle. Oh and there is also our front gate which squeaks loud enough to be heard from every room in the house. It is our early warning system to find our clothes or hide, whichever the case may be.

It took me a while to realize these things. I did not at first hear the absence of man made items. After some weeks I awakened to the reality that a horn honk now gets my attention. Our friends JimBob and Nancy visited us in New York. they had never been there. They asked us about the sirens and the booms and the car horns and MY GOD IS IT EVER QUIET?!! I responded that I didn’t notice anymore. One cannot pay attention to every noise they hear in New York City.

The loudest thing I hear is the birds. There are so many; plovers, hornbills, doves, starlings, parrots, weavers, owls, finches, vultures, the list goes on. Wimpie says he has seen over 120 different types of birds in this area (that doesn’t count that (Carrie has asked me to watch my language) rooster that lives next door). I hope that I do not become immune to the cacophony of their songs.

Ghost town

September 24, 2005

When Dan and I drove across the country in the big yellow truck, we stopped at a ghost town in Montana. I have been to several ghost towns throughout the West, all mining towns of one sort or another, but this one was different. Not only were there rangers and a gift shop, there were actual buildings.

There was a hotel complete with furnishings from the time, all weathered and battered and looking their age. There was a jail half sunk in the dirt, and cabins where people had actually lived. Some of the roofs were caved in, some of the walls were falling down, but one could look out over the valley and see the life that might have once been there. The blacksmith shop had various tools and a large bellows, while the general store had rotted tools and rusty tin cans. In each building you could feel the life that must have existed there at one time.

Some of the ghost towns I have visited have only foundations or fields or young trees along with signs to let the visitor know what was once there. This town in Montana stood out because of the physical presence of the structures, the sense that someone might have been there just yesterday…

It also stood out for me because of the fact that I was traveling here. I now live in that town. Sadiola is a mining town. It has a life expectancy of fifteen years give or take. We are now in year nine. That means that ten years from now this town, as I know it now, will not exist. That’s an eerie thought. What will become of it? What happens when Semos is done?

There is a smaller mine about 30 miles down the road called Yatela. It is also owned by Semos. It is about half the size of Sadiola. We have several students that live there. It will close in eighteen months. At that time, they will raze the village, terminate extraneous employees, and move the rest to Sadiola. They are building more houses here now to accommodate the influx.

Both the Sadiola and Yatela mines were built on sites that once housed villages. Those villages were “relocated” to make way for the mine. The landscape has been altered. What happens now? In nineteen months when I visit Yatela, what will I see? In ten years, when I visit Sadiola, what will I see? Will they be ghost towns? If so, what kind of ghost town will they be?

If the buildings at Sadiola are left, what will happen? Will they fall in and become dilapidated, or will the indigenous population move in and take over? Right now there is an eight foot high cyclone fence with razor wire on top surrounding our “village”. What happens when the mine closes and we leave? Will the fence stay? Will the buildings stay?

It’s odd to have this perspective. I have visited ghost towns and pondered their past and now I live in a prospective ghost town and ponder its future.

Playground Envy

The Malian children of the Sadiola village look longingly onto the playground, as the 8 expat, students here today play on this side of the fence. What a painful image. This playground is far less interesting than any we know by US standards, yet it creates playground envy if there is no other. I often wonder how this is perceived by these children of Mali. Is this way of life simply accepted because it is what is known? Or is it questioned, argued, debated, or even plotted against behind the fences and walls of the Malian homes? Is the imbalance tolerated because things are “better than they were” ? Are they really? Do folks here feel lucky to be employed by the mine or are they feeling taken advantage of? I wonder all these things. I sense I will know so few of the answers, even after two years.

Oddly, the expat children here don’t seem to notice those watching from outside. They ignore the longing faces, the pleading eyes. Is this also because it is what is known? They are called “The Malian children”, not just children. How are they any different? Why shouldn’t they get to play on the only play equipment in the community in which they also live?

On the other hand, it would be chaos if there were a playground open to everyone here. There are so many children. So many unsupervised. I can only imagine the incidents. Sigh.

Much will change when the 150 Malian children enrolled start to attend the Cresh school that shares our 'campus'. That should create some fascinating dynamics. We will see. 150 to 10, how do you like those odds?

Memorial Day

September 26, 2005

Today is our own personal Memorial Day.

I didn’t realize until I arrived at school that today was the 26th. It was twelve years ago today that we met with tragedy on Mount Rainier. So much has transpired since then. We have so much to be thankful for. I often wonder about the other souls that were affected by those events. Where are they now? Are they okay? What do they have to be thankful for? We owe them a moment of thought, a silent prayer, a blessing for the future; a memorial for all that was lost on that beautiful Sunday afternoon.

Yea...and you blend

September 23, 2005











Yesterday was my mother’s birthday. It was also my brother-in-law’s birthday. We got the day off because it was Malian Independence Day. Mohammed had said he would get a car so we could go into the village to see the festivities. He showed up yesterday morning at 8:55 and announced that the car would be arriving in five minutes. We scrambled to get ready.

I don’t know what I expected. I guess I was thinking parades, games, dancing, you know a regular Fourth of July event. I wasn’t disappointed, but it certainly wasn’t what I expected. Then again nothing has been like I expected it here (I really need to stop having those pesky expectations).

We drove all the way through town to a dirt lot at the far end. There were many people there when we arrived. They were gathered around a flag pole, listening to a speaker. His speeches were interrupted occasionally by a rather large woman in a “wheelchair” who would sing. When she was finished people would walk up and give her money. The women were dressed in beautiful colors as were some of the men. We also saw the national police for the first time. There were only 5 or 6 of them, dressed in their desert fatigues and carrying carbines, they stood out pretty prominently.

Stan, the president of the mine, was there. He represented 25% of the white population, Carrie, Zachary, and I representing the other 75%. I took a picture of a group of kids and instantly the size of the group doubled. I took their picture as well. They then proceeded to press against me for a handshake, a look at the photos, another picture, or simply a smile. They were not malicious, but it was very disconcerting to have so many children press into me at once. Zachary was especially overwhelmed as they immediately glommed onto him, touching, pulling, and getting very close. We put him on our shoulders. The children were persistent and followed us everywhere. There are at least two that appeared in several photographs as they would not leave us alone.

The police entered the circle as music began to play. They stood at attention while a group of kids dressed in the colors of the Malian flag saluted, raised the flag, and sang the national anthem. Everyone was quiet and focused on this event. When the flag had been raised the speeches and singing resumed. Only a select few, mostly women, entered the circle to dance to the drumming. Everyone else stood around the outside and watched. We were amazed by this as the rhythms are wonderful and so easy to dance to (even for a stiff legged white guy like me).

There were several groups of women wearing the same color dress. These women, it turns out, belong to national women’s organizations. What that means I do not know. It is very difficult to communicate as most of the population speaks Bombara. It is not that they are uninterested in interacting with us; it is that we do not share a common language.

We stayed about three hours and then headed home exhausted. I managed to wander through the village a little on my own and capture some images of the homes and the people that live there. Everywhere we wandered we were greeted with a smile and a hello and a welcome. There was never a time when we felt unsafe. It was an amazing experience. I am told that the school vehicle should be running this week. That means that we will be able to go to the village at our leisure. That will be exciting.

Carrie Seeks Independence

Independence Celebration
Thanks to Mohammed and his diligence in trying to secure transport for us, we spent the morning as guests in Sadiola for the ‘fete de independence’. We felt both welcomed and wondered about, as we were three of the four Caucasian people in attendance. (The fourth was Stan Pagett, current but soon departing, head of the mine here.)

Zachary was a particular focal point for the many inquisitive children. Hands reached out to him from all angles. They wanted to touch, stroke, hold him, or pick him up. All friendly interests but daunting for such a little one to be surrounded (he spent most of the day on our shoulders). When he asked us why they all wanted to touch him, he was thoughtful about the fact that he looks very different than they.

It was an excellent opportunity to witness the festivities. Men warmed up their drums, greeted each other regally, and stoically observed the unfolding scene. The colors of the women’s clothing were a brilliant mosaic pulsing to the collective beat given voice by the drums. Speeches were made in French, and in Bambara. The flag was raised and the Anthem was sung by a group of children dressed like the flag. It was fantastic.

I saw women dance as I have only dreamt of dancing, with zeal, with uninhibited fervor, and with an inner sense of the beat. Perhaps someday…

Playdough Boys
What a scene
Mark, Zachary and Mohammed are sitting on the tile floor of our house playing with Playdough. Pink Floyd’s “The Final Cut” blares loudly, talk is minimal, we all enjoy hearing Mark sing along with every word. Each male is working on his own creation while admiring the work of the others. It’s 7 pm. I sit typing, watching from the dining/desk area.

Tea is in the works when I realize Mohammed may not have eaten dinner yet. I ask. He has not, and says “Yes” when I ask if he is interested in a bowl of the stew we had earlier. Now he eats seated on the floor while continuing to play quietly. A new family member in many ways, yet still a stranger in so many others.

Mali Independence Day pix

Teacher or Tutor

September 21, 2005

Teaching five kids is hard! I have to be careful where I say that because most people think I’m insane when I do. Teaching five kids should be a vacation, especially after having twenty-seven. I mean, talk about individualization!

So let me clarify; teaching five kids is not harder than teaching twenty-seven, but may be equally as difficult on some levels. I can definitely give more individualized attention here than I could in New York. Instead of sitting to discuss their progress, I end up hovering to correct every little mistake as they make it. I have to force myself to do something else while they are working so as to give them time to work things out by themselves.

Class discussions are also rather challenging. Five students just don’t seem to offer a lot of diverse viewpoints. When I ask for questions there generally aren’t any. How does one teach kids to build on other’s ideas when there are no other ideas presented? In my larger classroom a lot of learning happened during class discussions. Here that just isn’t an option.

One of the things I could do with a larger group is break them into small groups for reading, discussion, and peer learning. During reading, for example, I might split them according to ability level. In this way I could have two groups working together while I work with the third group. This keeps everyone busy without giving anyone “busy work”. In the smaller classroom this situation is nearly impossible. I have one kid on the lowest level, three kids in the middle, and one student at the top. No matter which group I choose to work with there will always be at least one child hanging out by himself. Inevitably, the middle group spends most of their time together without me as I try to focus on the singles.

With a larger group time was not really an issue. Discussions, group time, and shifting gears all took time. My plans were rich, but I didn’t need to plan as much as I do for less kids. There are no discussions, group time is pointless, and transitions don’t exist. This means that I have to plan more for the smaller group. This presents challenges as well. A lot of activities I might normally plan to help a math lesson, for example, involve creating small groups, or ordering students by size/age, or surveying the class to create a graph. These activities are simply not possible with such small numbers.

The bonus is that I know each of my students pretty well. I know their parents and their siblings and I know what their home life is like. I see them at the swimming pool, the grocery store, social events, and playing around the neighborhood. I have a pretty good idea of what makes them tick. This has almost eliminated any discipline issues. When that one student starts to act up I have only to remind him that I am going to see his dad later on since they live right next door.

Ultimately, I would like to have 10-15 students. In this way I would most likely have a diverse set of abilities, opinions, and attitudes. I would still be able to provide them with a quality education and they would have the benefit of their peers to help them out (you try peer conferencing with four kids).

I will continue to count my blessings, however. Things happen on my schedule not someone else’s, I get along well with my supervisor (Carrie), I don’t have any students threatening me with physical violence, I can write charts in whatever color I choose (as opposed to the mandated black at PS226), and I get to have fun with my students. Who can complain about that?

The Nerve

September 18, 2005

I’m annoyed. Yesterday during the birthday party the mother of my newest student cornered me to grill me about homework and discuss her son’s progress. She apologized for talking about it on Saturday, during a social event, but she wanted to make sure we spoke. It took about thirty minutes.

This morning Zachary awoke at the crack of dawn and insisted on going up to the club to play. After some time we headed back home to get Carrie and then we all went to the club for breakfast and a game of darts. We had a lot of fun. It was good family time. Sunday morning, it turns out, is a busy time at the club. We saw many familiar faces and spoke to everyone.

Eventually, the new student and his mother showed up. We said hello and went about our time together. As we were getting our things together to leave, she approached us and had the audacity to talk to me about the same things we had discussed yesterday. We rehashed the conversation and then I made a hasty retreat.

She has now encroached upon my entire weekend to discuss a topic that is not even really an issue. How much progress does she expect a teacher to make between Saturday and Sunday? I didn’t mind the first conversation, but the subsequent one really tanned my hide. It is an incredible challenge to live, eat, and breathe in the same space as my students and their families. Hopefully, this is an isolated incident.

What to Eat?

September 17, 2005

When we were preparing to come here, we were under the impression that there would not be many things available at the store. We thought we would be without dairy products, fresh meat, and packaged food. In reality we are only without packaged food.

There is a variety of yogurt available, but you must buy it on the day it arrives or you won’t get any. There are several different types of cheese; Gouda, brie, American slices, but no cheddar. Milk is a dairy product that is double pasteurized so it has a long shelf life. There is ice cream, both powdered mix and regular, but there is no cream cheese or sour cream.

We have lamb, chicken, hamburger, prawns, a white fish called Capitan, as well as a variety of cold cuts. The eggs are brown and usually have a few feathers stuck to them. It’s all very tasty, but it all tastes different than what we are used to. This, of course, doesn’t really bother anyone except Zachary.

We don’t have bread. There is flour and yeast, but no bread. We have learned that bread is baked fresh every day at the club and may be purchased there for about $2 a loaf. There is also a Malian man that sells baguettes for twenty cents a loaf. He comes around each day about 6:00 (1800h), but he generally doesn’t have bread for the Toubabs (white folks). We have rice and noodles and some spice mixes, as well as locally grown produce like potatoes, beets, onions, apples, garlic, and corn.

As a result, the things we cook are basic and fairly boring. We eat a lot of rice, noodles, and stews. Everyone says the same about their own meals. Carrie and I have each lost about ten pounds since arriving. The reasons are varied; food is expensive, meals are generally not that interesting, and there are no snack foods. If you are hungry between meals, there is nothing available to nibble on. The ice cream is expensive and a treat so we content ourselves with smaller portions.

We have been to several parties at the club. Ellen, the manager, insists that she gets her food the same place as everyone else, but I don’t know how that can be. Today we went to a birthday party for a six year old. The theme was Peter Pan. The birthday girl was dressed as Tinkerbell and the cake was prepared to match her. There were crepes with two kinds of sauce, quiche, hamburger pie (made with crepes as there are no tortillas), and cherry cheesecake. Last week there was a Spanish themed party for which she had prepared Oxtail Soup, seafood with Spanish rice, a variety of appetizers, and several different desserts. It is amazing. She is truly the life saver here.

The birthday party was attended by every student from the school and their mothers. The folks who work for the mine have to work on Saturdays (some of them only get one weekend off a month). We had tons of fun. There was a treasure hunt, goody bags, music, and of course wonderful food. As it turned towards noon, we all got into our swimming suits and played in the pool. It was the first time any of my students had seen my tattoos. Some were stunned, some asked to examine them more closely, some just looked and went on playing. It was really refreshing to be able to just play with these kids instead of being the authority figure. They all tried to catch me and sink me and I in turn threw each of them across the pool and gave them a big time. Nobody wanted to go home.

Still a parent!

I came home from work today at 2:30 to; a clean floor, ironed laundry (ALL of it), clean dishes, and freshly mowed grass! Incredible, no wonder people get hooked on the expat lifestyle. I don’t have to do anything but read or think about dinner, right?
Well, on the other hand, Zachary was watching a second Elmo tape (a “no-no” in our house) and had not had a real lunch or a nap. Ah, I knew it. There is balance in the world. I am needed.

Mark and I promptly put the wining guy to bed and made a plan. We wrote out a detailed list of ‘rules’ and a clear schedule for Mohammed. We also reiterated that he needs to be the ‘boss’ sometimes and that if Zachary pouts or cries for a bit, it doesn’t mean he likes you any less! These are tough things to teach. Heck they were had for me to learn.

On the lighter side, I got a message from the woman who runs the materials storage for the mine today. She is helping me to procure 2 giant cardboard boxes with which we can make a play house for Zachary! His own little House 67. What fun that will be for him. He also was given a little push type bike that he loves. He’s making quite a home for himself here, as are we all.

Carrie Speaks

Well we’ve been here just about a month now. It is high time I made an addition to this Blog that I so enthusiastically set up the week before we left the United States.

How can one know what to imagine about a place so far from home.

Who could have known that while I was worried about the comforts we would sacrifice, I should have worried about becoming spoiled, being too comfortable.

I worried that I might not know how to manage a classroom of my own again, but instead should have worried that I would be frustrated at having too few students with whom to work.

I worried that it would be too darn hot (it is!) but instead I should have been concerned that I would get sick form the air conditioning that is ever present.

I was excited that Mark and I would be able to run our school so independently, but I should have been concerned that our boss was too far removed to follow through on helping make necessary decisions about the place.

I was worried about the dry and the dust, instead I am amazed at the variety and beauty of plant life.

I wondered how I would engage the local people here due to language barriers, now I wonder how to get away from the nice people who speak English as a Second language.

Nothing like I imagined, worried or wondered about.

A woman said to me yesterday, “it’s a bit like being on holiday all the time”. At so many levels she is absolutely right and that was the furthest thing from my imagination, wonderings and worries.

I still worry about the snakes and the things that bite Zachary…I am still a mother.

Speaking of which, the most wonderful part of this “holiday” experience is being able to spend meaningful, relaxed time with my family. Each afternoon I like nothing better than to hang out with the “boys”. First, to rest with Mark, to talk over the day, and to share our wonderings about this place. Then, when Zachary wakes; to play on the porch in the shade, to build with blocks, to have an “appetizer” (Zachary’s word) are my next endeavors. A bit later we go for a swim, all of us, the family. What better way to while away the afternoon. Suddenly the sun is going down and we are settling in for dinner, a bath, and a little more play. Sigh. I never had it this good in New York.
And yet…..

Pygmalion

September 16, 2005

Picture: Sadiola village from the car

I asked my kids this morning; “If you could do anything you wanted today, what would it be?” My fourth grader answered that he would get on a plane and fly back to South Africa. “I have been here four years and I am bored. I want to go home.” (He has the best British accent)

I can’t really blame him. There really is not a lot to do here. There are no plays or museums or concerts. There are no malls or parks or movie theaters. I remember when I was in fourth grade my parents used to drag me to symphonies and plays and church socials. They made me take piano lessons and sing in the church choir. I hated every minute of it then, but look back upon it with great fondness. It is from these experiences that I gained a love for all music as well as an appreciation for live performances and a diversity of beliefs. It makes me sad to know that my students are missing these things.

On the one hand living here is a great experience. An experience that few others will share. There is much to be seen and learned here. I know that as they get older they will come to appreciate their time here. The idea of keeping my child here for longer than two years, however, is out of the question. Four years would be like a jail term.

How do I rectify the opposition that has formed in my head? Why do I celebrate the Malian lifestyle one day and chastise the ex pats the next? I have already said that I feel the Malians have a great quality of life here. I have no issue with those native children who have lived here their whole lives, so why do I have disdain for the transplants who are doing the same thing? Hard questions to answer.

Last Saturday, when we went to Sadiola with Fricke, he told me how much the village had grown since the mine opened. People showed up from all over West Africa to set up shop and try to make some money. Indeed, Sadiola is a pretty bustling little town. When the mine closes however, the money will be gone and most of the shopkeepers will be without a viable income. We mused over the idea that the villagers might have been better off never knowing this lifestyle, for having never known it they would never miss it when it leaves.

Maybe the same is true for my students. They have eaten the apple. They know what is out there. They have experienced it before and they know they will experience it again. In fact, they will be expected to be successful in that outside world. This Malian life will aid in that success, but these students also need to be immersed in their own culture and their own world in order to learn from it and grow into it.

Having never experienced much of the outside world, most Malians don’t know it, miss it, or long for it. They are immersed in their own culture here and that is a benefit to them. This immersion allows them to understand their own world and therefore should help them be successful in it, unless of course there is no means to succeed. Extreme poverty, disease, famine, and drought are all serious inhibitors to success. Exposure to outside elements could equally help and hinder them. It reminds me of the story of Pygmalion. Henry Higgins “rescues” Eliza Doolittle from her fate in the slums and shows her how to be a lady. She is an outsider to this lifestyle and therefore does not truly fit in. Having been “lifted” out of the ghetto, however, she no longer fits there either. In the end she gets stuck in the middle, trying to fit herself in where best she can. Could this not also be the fate of the Malian?

Philosophy drives me nuts. It is the practice of chasing ones tail. Suffice it to say that we cannot stay here longer than two years. We will travel, explore, and make the best of our time and be very happy when it is time to move on. One has never truly tasted small town life until they have lived in a place such as this.

Home Sweet Home

September 15, 2005

Another week in Africa. This place is starting to feel less alien every day. We have met a few people and started to get comfortable with the things we need at home, at school, and in life in general. I am starting to get used to the fact that it is hot every day. It doesn’t matter how nice the day starts out, it is going to end up friggin hot.

Just because I’m used to it doesn’t mean I look forward to it. On the contrary, I work quite hard every day to convince myself that it’s a beautiful day in the tropics. I can even start to believe it as long as I don’t set foot outside. Upon leaving my air conditioned cocoon I am immediately confronted with the cold hard truth (okay so maybe not so cold). I know I would acclimate more quickly if I actually turn the AC off, but why would I want to do that? It’s hard to believe we volunteered for this.

We didn’t really think about the heat part until after we signed the contract (note to self; check climate before signing contract). Once we realized that we had signed up for the Sahara Desert, we tried to convince ourselves that it wouldn’t be too bad. So what that we had our eyes upon lush forests, sandy beaches, and roaring rivers, the desert will be just fine. I mean how hot could it get? We’ve camped in Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, Nevada, Texas, and Mexico how much worse could it be?

I know it sounds ridiculous now, but it sounded so good at the time. It has an exotic ring to it doesn’t it? Mali…maybe not exotic, but at least it feels more and more like home.

They're Here!

September 13, 2005

Ah the metric system. Everything here is in metric. Speed limits, distances, weights, temperature, they even tell time differently. Everything has to be translated before I can even begin to understand what they are talking about. Some of it is easier than others. Kilograms to pounds are pretty easy; just multiply by two, and most teenagers know that there are twenty eight grams in an ounce. Kilometers to miles is fairly simple; multiply by six and drop the last digit. I can do that. But temperature, holy cow, to convert Fahrenheit to Celsius you have to subtract thirty two and then multiply by .6! (Try doing that during casual conversation). After a few beers I can hardly remember any of it. Time is told on the twenty four hour clock. It’s not 4:22 right now, it’s 16h 22. The date can be written either month/date/year, or date/month/year which means they’re either talking about September 12 or December 9.

Even the power here is different. We finally got our boxes yesterday after nine weeks of waiting. Inside was a stereo, a crock pot, and a microwave, all set up to run on 110 volts instead of the 220 volt system they use here. As my beard trimmer will proudly attest from its place in the landfill; if you run a 110 item at 220 it will quickly burn up. So now we have all these great things to help make life easier, except we don’t have a convenient way to make them work. Can’t anything be simple?

We did have a wonderful time unpacking though. We had to wait for Zachary to wake up as Mohammed had made him wait all day for us to come home. Once awake, he tore quickly through every box and rejoiced in the “discovery” of all of his old toys and books. Everything seemed to make it in one piece, except the bicycle. The box itself looked like it had been run over at least twice. The bike inside appeared as though it had been attacked. There are deep scratches all over it, the chain was a tangled mess, and the rear derailleur had attempted an escape. The mounting hardware was so frightened, it bolted at the first opportunity and disappeared into oblivion. I removed the chain and finished freeing the derailleur, but alas the bicycle is useless until we can locate the right parts.

After toiling in the heat working on the bicycle and dripping sweat everywhere, I became distinctly aware that the house was very quiet. This seemed odd as I had just set up five CD’s to play on our new Fordham Road stereo. This fine piece of equipment was a unique bargain partially because it had been refurbished and partially because it had just fallen off the truck the day we purchased it. Upon unpacking it I was informed of the thirty day warranty, you know the one that expired while the thing was sitting in limbo. It suggested that there were no CD’s inside. I did what any sweaty, irritated man would do and I make no apologies for doing it; I hit it hard enough to separate the case. After confirming that this did not fix the problem, I prepared a rather strong cocktail, convinced Zachary that the words he was repeating were not appropriate, and set about to fix it. Since it was already broken I could do no further damage, right? After several hours I isolated the problem, borrowed some Super Glue, and with the help of my ever understanding wife I fixed it. Now it works, which is very good because I was very close to smashing it to pieces.

On the bright side we now have our classroom supplies. I have chessboards and text books, study guides and templates. I have read aloud materials, extra math practice sheets, exemplar models of research pieces, and unit plan after unit plan. I am thinking my five students might be a little overwhelmed, but at least I feel more prepared to teach them. The only problem now is that I will have to find something different to worry about…

Saturday Adventure

September 10, 2005

Another fine day in Mali. Today we ventured off with Marzeldi and Fricke, a wonderful couple from South Africa. They have two beautiful daughters, Elzande ( El – zahn – dee) and Ane (Ann – nye). Elzande is five and a spitfire (if Zachary grows up to be half as tough as her I will be happy), and Ane is three. We did not go to the Escarpment as I had believed we would, but we had quite an adventure nonetheless.

First stop was a random herd of cows we saw grazing. They had big horns and were very wary of our presence. The kids were fascinated, especially by the actions of one of the bulls with one of the cows. Elzande observed that they were playing tag. Then we all climbed back into the car.

Next stop was a tremendous Baobab tree back in the bush. We had to walk through some very angry plants and tamp down the grass with a stick to scare the snakes. The tree was enormous…and hollow. Apparently that happens occasionally with these types of trees. Fricke told us that when locals are hired to clear land, they will always leave the Baobabs. They are amazing trees with bark that looks and feels like concrete. If I hadn’t seen it in its natural environment I would have said it was fake. The locals collect up the nuts and grind it to make tartar. We all climbed around inside for awhile and then ventured off to the next spot.

This spot happened to be an observation point overlooking the actual mine. Fricke is a geologist and he filled us in on some of the details while we gazed upon an enormous hole in the ground and the piles of rock that surround it. About half way down were three of those monster dump trucks, you know the kind that are too big to drive on the road, with wheels that are like ten feet tall? They looked like Matchbox cars with these tiny little guys in green suits standing next to them. There are also these giant drills that work in a grid pattern collecting core samples for the geologists to analyze and decide where to dig. The bottom of the mine is currently above sea level, but they have issues with ground water so they have established pump stations that pump the water out of the pit to the plant for use in the refining process. The rims of the hole are about 1800 feet across, almost half the size of the Grand Canyon! After we left the rim, we drove down into the pit to get the perspective of the place from there. Politics aside, it was a really awe inspiring sight.

From here we traveled to Sadiola Village. It was good to see it again. I have only been there once, on the day that we arrived in Sadiola. I was tired that day and had not much inclination for sightseeing. To see it again from a different perspective was very helpful. It is a bustling little community with a thriving market. You can find just about anything you want there and generally it is cheaper than the market here on the mine. Carrie found Corn Flakes there for about 1/3 of the price they charge here…oh to have transportation. We walked around a bit, but since neither of us knew we were going, we were not dressed appropriately and we had no cash with us. Women here generally cover their legs. They wear these beautiful dresses that are brightly colored and flowy. Regardless of whether they are shopping at the market or carrying a bundle on their head down a dirt road, their dresses are amazing. Since we already stand out like sore thumbs it would be better if we could at least attempt to blend. There was a young boy who walked right up to Zachary, grabbed his arm and started to drag him off. Z-man was quite taken aback. We had been warned that this might happen, now we will be more guarded when we go to the big city.

Anyway, after that we headed home. Ane had had enough and we all needed to get home and tidy up for the Spanish Night tonight at the club. It should be a big deal as everyone is quite excited about it. I have to go get ready.

A Note To Our Readers

September 9, 2005

We really appreciate the wonderful feedback everyone has given us about the blog. We love to hear from you, so please feel free to write comments or email us. We have had to up the security a little on the blog. Now you will have to sign in and register in order to leave a comment. This is because we were getting comment spam. Most of the spam is automated and left anonymously so hopefully the registration process will stem the tide. We are not discouraging any of our loyal readers from commenting, in fact we would like to hear from more of you. The fact that we have received so much positive feedback to this point keeps us plugging away at it!

I Want To Ride My Bicycle

September 9, 2005

A Picture Tells a Thousand Words…

Then comes the rest of the story! We bought a bike from the teacher that was here before us. He sent us a picture via email and it looked like a great bike so we bought it. It’s awesome to have especially as we have no other means of transportation at the moment. Unfortunately it’s not nearly as nice as it appeared in the picture. The brake calipers are plastic and the derailers (?) look to be made from tin foil. It took some work to get it running, but I finally did it. Today I took it out for a little ride.

How freeing to get on a bike and ride. The slight breeze caused by moving through the air is refreshing. It’s not a cool breeze, make no mistake, but it’s cooler than the ambient air and that’s all that counts. I zoomed through the guard gate and down the road. I was out! Out of the village and on my own for the first time in three weeks.

I shifted up and sailed on. I used to ride my bike all the time and this felt really good; almost as if I had never stopped riding. I took a right on the second dirt road, the one next to the secondary school, and blazed a trail. There’s a shack with a sign that says it’s a bank! Never saw that before. Onward, past the soccer fields, curve to the right, dodge the puddles, avoid the ruts, and I am free!

The road curves around and eventually intersects with the first dirt road I passed. Left turn there, no way I’m going back now, this feels too good. Sailing past kids playing, dodging puddles, waving to the trucks and motorcycles, checking out the old guy with a rifle that must be five feet long. By this time I’m sweating like a whore in church so I stop for a slug of agua and ohmygod is it hot! It’s really friggin hot here. The sun seems to bore holes in you when you’re not looking. I must continue to ride so as to cool down (I’m a genius aren’t I). Down the slope and up the next rise and if I ride one more inch I am going to fall over and die.

Upon turning back I come to the realization that it has been at least twenty years since I did any serious riding (have I even been alive that long?) and I am hammered. My legs hurt, my ass hurts and I don’t have the slightest idea how far I am from home. I don’t wear a watch but I am guessing that I have been riding at least an hour. Needless to say the ride back took slightly longer than the ride there. I even contemplated letting the air out of a tire and hitching until I realized that all of the cars I had seen were going the other direction. I arrived back home, swimming in sweat and gasped, “how long have I been gone?”, knowing full well I have been gone at least two hours. “Maybe thirty minutes”, came the reply. Holy cow am I out of shape!

I immediately strip naked and leave a river of sweat on the floor to the bathroom. Hot water is not necessary at the moment, I just need refreshment. I want to challenge myself to ride more often, but the heat just kills me. I wouldn’t have believed that a human being could sweat that much and still live!

Headway?

September 7, 2005

On the second day here, we took in our laptop to get it configured. The IT guy then followed up by meeting us at the school so that he could get those machines set up for our use as well. The laptop said there was a wireless connection, but nothing happened when we tried to access it. There is also a LAN line in the house but that wouldn’t work either. I emailed the IT guy and was told that we didn’t have internet service at our house. We had resigned ourselves to the idea that we would have to go to school to do all of our emailing etc. I mentioned the situation to Reg and he suggested we email the head of the mine to resolve the problem. I didn’t really want to do that because I didn’t see any need in causing trouble so early in our tenure here. Reg insisted, so yesterday I took his advice and emailed the head of the mine. Today we have internet at our house!

After some cajoling and threatening emails to the lady in New York, we have also been informed that our packages should have arrived in Bamako today. Eight and a half weeks after leaving New York our things may actually be in the same country as us. We have not been able to confirm this rather unbelievable event, but we are currently holding our breath.

We are hoping now that the rain will let up this week so that we can get out to the Escarpment next weekend. That would be awesome. This time we have made plans with the parents of one of the first graders. It is safe to assume that we will not be toasting the expedition with tequila or beer, but we will enjoy the excursion nonetheless.

Overall a good day and a fine week. We even discovered that the “ice cream mix” available at the store is actually pretty tasty. It is safe to assume that we were more than a little skeptical about its merits. I was betting that it would turn out worse than the five dollar rum I bought, but it’s not so. We really enjoy the ice cream, whereas we refuse to finish the rum. You can only imagine how nasty the rum must be if I refuse to have anything more to do with it! We have saved the bottle in the pantry so as to remind us never to buy it again. Next we shall try the eight dollar bottle…

Five Stars

September 6, 2005

Pictures: a starling in our yard, the playground at our school

This place is just like a resort sometimes. I know that seems weird, a resort in one of the most impoverished nations in the world. In order to continue with our day to day though, it becomes necessary to forget that there are starving people just down the road. To dwell on them is to invite depression.

So how is it like a resort? The club is amazing. There is a movie room with at least 500 titles. You get the key from the bartender and pick whatever movies you want, marking them down in the book. They are about $2 each. Ellen (the club manager) uses the funds to purchase more movies. In the same room is a good sized collection of books. Lots of trash novels, a bunch of kid’s books, and a few reference books. The books are free for the taking although they assume you will return them eventually. There is a gym with Nautilus equipment (we keep swearing we’re going to spend time there), two computers with internet, a squash court, and a large toy box for the younger set.

The dining room is open till late at night and features fresh bread, pizza, and an assortment of tasty treats including chocolate éclairs and milk shakes! There is a full bar with a billiards table, darts, and a big screen TV that always seems to be playing the latest South African sporting event. It also has a view of the Escarpment that is unparalleled. All purchases are signed for and we are billed at the end of the month. Children are welcome in any portion of the place. Ellen is most happy to provide food for whatever event there happens to be. She is also willing to order extra meat, veggies, etc if you plan on having a party.

Outside is the pool, volleyball court, tennis courts, and speed cricket (?) field. There are regular sporting events and games that take place every week. Many of these games won’t begin until after the rainy season (October), but there are some that are happening now. There are women’s events, men’s events and coed events. All of these things are coordinated and run by the club. It’s really quite amazing.

We are great fans of the swimming pool. We try to go there at least three times a week. Wimpie (Voompie) is the only person that uses it with any regularity and usually it is just Carrie, Zachary, and I. It’s less than a two minute walk from our house. When we arrive in the late afternoon, we get the key and a beer from the bartender and dive in. When the beer is empty, I have only to step up to the door and signal for another. Segou (Say-goo) smiles and brings it right out. Zachary loves to order and Segou knows us all pretty well. We are treated like family. It is truly an oasis in the desert that is our home.

We bumped into Wimpie today at the club. He told us that he ventured back out the road to the reservoir and got stuck in the mud for four hours. His Land Rover just sank into a puddle and wouldn’t budge. I thought that was funny, but he wasn’t laughing.

Dedicated to Dan

September 4, 2005

Woke up yesterday to rain that continued through most of the morning. I was beginning to believe that we would never get to go to the escarpment. It was very depressing. We have only been here two weeks, but we haven’t left the mine village since we arrived. I worked on my bicycle for awhile, patching the tires and adjusting the brakes. When the rain finished around noon, I hunted down Wimpie and Reg and asked them what was up. 4:00 they said, we’ll leave at four o’clock.

We loaded the cooler with beer and tequila and headed out in the Land Rover at 4:00 sharp. The road to the escarpment wasn’t really much of a road. I kept thinking of Dan and his Jeep and how much fun he would have on this path that passes for a road. The rain had created great puddles and rivers across the road. The deepest one came to the tops of the fender wells. Wimpie decided that we weren’t going to make it to the escarpment so we turned around.

Along that road were several villages surrounded by peanut and corn fields. There were several groups of young women bathing in the newly formed lakes next to the road. Everyone we passed smiled and waved and shouted greetings. Wimpie and Reg kept giving me hassle because I wanted to take pictures of everything. They have been here a while and all of these sights are old hat to them.

Eventually we found another path and headed down it. No villages to speak of on this road although there were several corn and peanut fields. Again great streams tumbled across our path. We turned and twisted this way and that through the ponds and fields until at last we came to a large lake. The boys all donned their bathing gear and headed in for a swim. As it turns out, it was a reservoir that had been created by the mine for some purpose or another that never really became clear. The reason for its existence was irrelevant as far as I was concerned. The water was cool and refreshing. We swam out to a stand of palm trees that had been taken over by these little yellow weaver birds. They had built a thousand nests in the trees and they were repairing them and fighting and talking and reeling about while we floated in the water and watched. It was a beautiful thing. I had to keep pinching myself to remind me that a year ago I was in the Bronx, sweating, getting ready for school. Indeed one short year ago I hadn’t imagined in my wildest dreams that I would be living in Africa. Yet here I was, swimming in a lake watching the birds in Mali. As evening approached we swam back to the beach and toasted our day with tequila shots and beer, then into the Rover for the bumpy ride back.

I had started the day depressed, convinced that we weren’t going to see the escarpment and wallowing in my own misery. Carrie kept trying to cheer me and it just didn’t work. In the end we didn’t make it to the escarpment but we had an incredible experience nonetheless. My only regret is that Dan couldn’t be there to “enjoy” the drive.

Trying to blend

September 2, 2005

I have been trying to learn a little Bombara. Wow is it hard! They have all these different words depending on the time of day and the gender of the speaker. It seems like every time I think I have a new word down, I find out that you are supposed to say it a different way because it’s no longer morning, now it is afternoon. It’s pretty cool though when I address people using their language. The Malians are friendly by nature, but when they hear you address them in their own language, their smile explodes. They then work hard to correct and cajole me into pronouncing things right. This response makes the process so much nicer.

The first full week of school is over. We are adjusting to our new routines. The challenge of working with such a small number of students still exists, but it gets a little easier as we each figure out what is expected of us. I am the PE teacher here. I teach that on Tuesday and Thursday. Yesterday we did a bunch of calisthenics and my legs are so sore. I tried to move normally and not show the kids how much my legs hurt, but I don’t think they were fooled.

Carrie learned today that two of her five students are leaving tomorrow for six weeks. Their father goes in for emergency surgery in South Africa. That makes my class the largest with four students. It’s rather boring teaching so few kids. Am I a teacher or a tutor? We are thinking that we may have to revise things so that the three teachers work together with all of the kids at once (all nine of them). We certainly can’t complain about discipline issues however. These kids are really well behaved and generally respect the rules that have been laid down.

It’s a busy weekend! Carrie is going to a girl’s night out tonight. Tomorrow we are going on a picnic to a waterfall where the baboons live. I plan on taking lots of pictures. Tomorrow night they are showing Mr and Mrs Smith on the big screen at the club. Then on Sunday we are going to a brunch at a home around the corner. The only weird part about that is that some of my students will be there, but that is something I am going to have to get over since they live across the street and everyone knows everyone else here anyway.

Forgive me Father...

August 30, 2005

Confession

Because the rain happens so irregularly and the washing machine was broken for a few days and the laundry piled up and Zachary was asking about it anyway…we used the dryer. It works great.

Settling

Picture of Mohammed

August 30, 2005

What a beautiful day. We woke up this morning to thunder and heavy rain which forced us to walk to work through mud and small rivers. The sky cleared in no time drying the earth and creating a rather pleasant day. It felt like summer time in Jersey.

We had PE at 11:30. We played Capture the Flag. We split the ten
kids into two teams of five, divided the yard in half and went at it. The kids seemed to have fun. We played three games, changing sides and teams as necessary. I enjoyed watching them play. It’s good to see kids play outdoors and truly enjoy themselves. They squabbled a little, but for the most part everybody had fun.

Last evening our neighbor Ann stopped by. She asked if she could pick up at Zachary at 9:30 for a walk. It was really nice. Folks here are very welcoming. Several people brought food over on our first day here; others have made it a point to invite us into social gatherings and games. Ann picked up Z-man this morning and gave Mohammed a break so that he could focus on some of his domestic duties (I must admit it’s rather nice to never have to worry about the dishes…he even irons our underwear). We saw Ann and Z walk past the school. He had suckered her into carrying him. I think it’s safe to say that Z is settling in nicely, although he did mention that he misses New York last night.

We have only been here eleven days, but it seems like so much longer than that in some ways. We met a couple of fellows at the club who offered to take us over to the escarpment next weekend. We shall pack a lunch and drive to a waterfall. One of the fellows, Wimpie (Voompie), says he swims there all the time. It is the place where the baboons live. I hope we will get to see them.

We are still awaiting our packages from NYC. They seem to be lost in transit. We are hoping they got delivered to the embassy, but we have no way of knowing for sure. We are stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. This forces us to rely on those that have no stake in the matter. We can only email and call the boss in Bamako and hope that the situation resolves itself. Some of the things we can live without or find here. Some of it, however we really need; I had packed up enough chess boards and chess pieces to start an after school program here. I will be depressed if they do not show.

Oh well, we shall celebrate the days as they come. In the end we cannot worry about the things we cannot control.