Happy Birthday!

February 18, 2006

The morning after the night before…

What a night! We invited about twenty people to our house for a Bar – B – Que (Braai) to celebrate Carrie’s birthday. We ordered a bunch of food from the club. Ellen (the club’s chef) made beef skewers in a balsamic marinade, chicken satay, Braai Brekkies (cheese and tomato sandwiches, a SA braai staple), and spring rolls. I made devilled eggs, potato salad, and baked fish with a sour cream dill sauce. Ellen also provided tables, chairs, plates, glasses, lanterns, and all the other details necessary for a successful gathering.
We had all the wheels in motion by last week. It came as quite a shock then when Mohammed announced at dinner on Thursday that he had purchased an entire sheep for the event. Suddenly we had way more food then we could eat in a month of parties. Fortunately, Ellen agreed to freeze the corpse and chop it into cutlets for later enjoyment.

We also had a problem with the fish. Sour cream is a precious commodity here. It is not found in the store very often and when it does appear, it goes fast. Needless to say, there was none when I went to look for it. I mentioned my dilemma to Ellen and she hooked me up; heavy cream beaten till just stiff mixed with lemon juice and salt make sour cream! Who’d a thought?

Our grill is an oil barrel cut in half length wise. It’s really deep and therefore hard to maintain the heat. I placed a brick in the bottom and rested a screen on top so as to bring the coals closer to the grill. I piled in a mess of coals to make sure there would be plenty of fire all night. Early in the evening Terry showed up. He’s a Brit. He told me that he just leaves the cooking to the South Africans because they always take over anyway. Sure enough, before the coals were even ready I had two guys telling me I had it all wrong. They pushed me aside so they could “teach” me how to grill food properly. I relinquished the position and played host instead.

It was an extremely fun event. As teachers we are in a unique position here. We have no relationship to the inner workings of the mine or the politics that live there. Our guests ranged from the General Manager to the guy that turns the wrench to maintain the equipment; an eclectic mix to say the least. There were two distinct cliques and a few floaters in between. We invited those folks that we hit it off with. I’m not even sure what most of these guys do at the plant. Several folks commented on the fact that they had never been to an event quite like this one as most parties are cut by political lines. We decided we’ll have to do it more often.

We have no choice now. We have a fridge full of leftovers and an entire sheep still to eat. I guess we’ll be having a few more braais over the coming weeks.
MJR

A Walk in the Neighborhood

Each evening in ‘the dry season’ when there are very few mosquitoes, we try to go for a walk. Tonight I stand at the edge of the ‘compound’ to stretch. I feel completely alone.

The sun crouches low on the horizon. It is a bright ball of light melting into the thin clouds. I dance a little to an inner rhythm (happy to be in touch with the beat that has been hard to feel lately).

Here, I am on the edge of civilization; hearing no sounds but birds and the moving of my own muscles. Here, I see no human interruption of the natural tapestry of the landscape. What a wonderful place to be. So far from everything.


Of course, the balance is ever present. If I turn around, I must squint my eyes, to make the fence become invisible. I am actually amidst a new mining development. This housing area adjoins the area in which we live. It is indeed surreal, brand new homes, seemingly transported here into the ‘middle-of-nowhere’.


But they weren’t transported here. Moments later I catch up with Mark and Zachary who have been nearby exploring the giant machines that have helped mold the earth to make these new ‘homes’. The machines are old and seem to have become part of their environment. They are the color of the dirt and they don’t seem to move between our walks. ( The layers of dust are so thick, it looks as though Zachary has eaten chocolate cake and spread it all over Mark!) Even in this dilapidated state, however, these graders, bulldozers, and steam rollers have become a wonderful playground for us. We are on a ship on the open ocean, we are in a castle, we are driving across the desert, we are anywhere Zachary wants to be.

The sun finally sets and we must head home before the last light leaves (it happens quite dramatically here). Captain Zachary docks at the ferry terminal and we are off. What a walk!
CSN

Here's to the Ladies

I can’t count the number of times I have agreed, with women in my life, that our partners cannot be everything to us; the knowledge that we all need many different kinds of relationships to nourish and honor all aspects of ourselves. I believe this fully. Yet here I am with no one else to talk to. (Poor Mark)

I can’t go out to a bar with a friend and have a drink, have a few laughs, hear some music and let loose a bit. I can’t take a walk with a girlfriend and share intimate moments of my life, work challenges out, ask for support without saying anything, and get it! I can’t have dinner at a friends house, go to a play group, walk the dog, go to the ‘spa’, run a river, share a boat, eat good food, paint toenails, go to a yoga class, play in the park with, talk about teaching with, share a good book, or even study with. Hell, I can’t even call every time I need to hear a tender voice!

What was I thinking?!

Rachel once asked me: I wonder what happened to you in a past life that made you choose this path. I too wonder. Why I put 10,000 miles, thousands of dollars, and a bevy of shots between myself and my net of friendships!?

There are beautiful, interesting women here but I may never know them. Women here speak Bambara, Akrikaans, and French. Women here stay at home and don’t work. Women here are younger, they are older. Women here are from places and ways unknown to me. Women here are the mothers of my students. There are no other women who go out to the ‘club’/bar. There are no women here with whom I can be off-guard. Truly be myself.

So today I celebrate my friendships with the wonderful women whom I have known in other parts of the world. The women with whom I have (and will) share so much of myself. Who have shared so much with me. With whom I feel I can be myself.

From California to New York, from playing in tree houses to teaching school, to rafting rivers. I thank you for being with me. I have had millions of moments with you wonderful women. The moments that have passed, will keep me nourished here and now. As will the knowledge of the moments to come.

Ladies, I love you all so much. Thank you for loving me, from anywhere.

Mom, Stephanie, Anna, Sarah, Jennifer, Ann Marie, Jane, Ann, Marjorie, Nancy, Nancy, Annie, Ana, Annie M, Julie, Jill, Rachel, Laurie, Susu, Susannah, Sasha, Lynn, Jess, Steph, MJ, Beth, Tena, Caprice, Joan, Jilane, Jean, Rebecca, Janie, Leigh, Kimber, Kim, Louise, Maggie, Shirley, Pam, Susan, Maureen, Teddi….

.....to name a few.
CSN

Where Does the Time Go?

February 15, 2006

Where does the time go? I sound like a broken record, but I never imagined we would get to be this busy out here. So much has happened since the last time I wrote. I’ll try to remember everything.

I lost a second grader. He was a great kid and an awesome writer. I’m sorry he’s gone. We had a big party for him at the club and later there was another party for the whole family. That really translates to a party for the father. Even though mom worked for the mine as well, there was really only recognition for dad.

Last week several more students left on holiday so our numbers are dwindling. I have four in my room while Carrie only has one. Most of those kids will be coming back, but in the meantime we have had to shift things around a little to make it all work.

It’s ironic that while the population of the mine village keeps increasing, our student population keeps decreasing. It has been made clear to us (although not officially) that our school is reserved for ex-pats. Since most of the new population is Malian, their numbers will not effect ours. This is one of those things that we cannot change. To attempt to do so would be detrimental to the school as a whole as it could damage any relationship AISB has with the mine. We just have to accept it and move on.

Last weekend we had a visitor. His name is David. He’s a German fellow we met at the Dakar Rally. He is currently working as an accountant at a mission in Kayes. He called us several times to come visit and it finally worked out. He rode his motorcycle up on Saturday morning and left Sunday afternoon. He was amazed by what he saw. The house he stays in has no glass in the windows. There is no air conditioning or hot water. He immediately took a shower.
We took a long walk around the village, pointing out all of the “sights”. We fixed a snack in the afternoon; we asked him if he wanted Mortadella. We explained that it was a kind of bologna and his mouth dropped open. When we asked if he wanted cheese he started to drool. Apparently neither of these commodities is available in Kayes. After lunch we went to the market to purchase them.

We played volleyball that night. David was astonished by all that we had. He ogled at the tennis courts and shook his head in disbelief when faced with the pool. We ate at the club and David and I stayed late drinking and jawing with some of the guys. Sunday we went for a drive although we weren’t able to get into the mine. We looked around a bit then headed home for more sandwiches and naps all around. He left later that day, promising he would be back up.

This week is hectic. Today (Friday) is Carrie’s birthday. We planned a gathering that turned into a full-blown party. We are now expecting twenty people to our house for a barbeque. We ordered most of the food from the club, but I had planned on fixing a few things myself. Last night at dinner Mohammed announced that he had bought a sheep for our party. Now we have way too much food, but I don’t need to cook the fish I had bought. Zachary was excited though, he wanted to know if he could pet and feed the sheep.

I think everything will be okay. We have plenty of practice at throwing parties. I am a little stressed out by the whole thing though and will be much happier when tomorrow comes (hangover and all). Then I can turn my focus towards break…
MJR

Bang Your Head

February 1, 2006

Man have I been busy. It’s hard to find time to write these days. I have all these ideas and thoughts swirling around in my head, but there are not enough hours in the day to put them in writing. So now the question is; where do I begin?

I have begun teaching music. We are learning how to play the recorder. I have introduced students to music theory and have tried to stir their interest in rhythm instruments. During a recent lesson we worked on separating noise from music. We banged on tables, chairs, calabashes, and each other to determine when the music stopped and the noise began. Thus the revelation that the noise begins at the moment the music ends.

Speaking of music, we had a concert here last weekend. The mine hired a fellow named Habib Koité to play for their annual employee party. They set him up on the basketball court at the Malian school near the mine village. The court borders the soccer field and next to the parking lot is a bar. The perfect set up. The sound wasn’t that great but the music was awesome. Habib plays the guitar. His is not traditional Malian music, but incorporates a lot of the elements within it. He had a talking drummer that was fantastic.

The weird thing was that nobody danced. They had a big area set up for dancing, but very few folks actually got up and danced. There were tons of Malians in attendance and very few ex-pats, yet no one danced. Finally Carrie turned to me and asked if she could go dance. I considered that for a moment and then I had a very strange thought; of course you can, you’re an ex-pat and ex-pats can do what they please. Talk about white privilege.

It is as if each person here has a role. There are jobs and expectations. I have experienced this before, but it never quite dawned on me the way it did on Saturday night. When we got a flat tire in Sadiola I wanted to help fix it. I was allowed to help, but only because I pushed. After all, physical labor falls within the realm of the black man, but the white guy can do whatever he wants (not spoken, but felt). It doesn’t work the other way around.

This became clear to me at the concert. I was free to wander wherever I wanted. I carried Zachary up to the stage, walked around the side, stood close to the ballofon player, walked around to the back to watch the drummer, and chatted with the security guy. There are places in America that I would not be allowed in. Furthermore I wouldn’t even try to enter some of those places for fear of reprisals. Here, I am an ex-pat and therefore free to come and go as I please.

While Malians were being asked to sit down Carrie went up front and danced. Habib walked down to where she was and played directly to her. The folks in the back stood on their chairs to watch it happen. They even high fived her on her way back to me. After some time the three of us went up front. We were the only people dancing. I let my hair down and did a little head banging. We got to meet the band after the show, Habib insisted on a photo with Carrie.

The Niebancks had actually met Habib Koité when he performed in Seattle. They brought us a CD when they came to visit. Ultimately I purchased another. Upon hearing of his imminent arrival in Sadiola, I took it upon myself to encourage everyone I know to attend. I burned CD’s and talked him up as best I could. A few of our friends showed up. They were all glad they had come.

Sunday evening we were walking home from the school when we happened to bump into…Habib Koité. He recognized us right away. He said that while I was head banging, he started head banging. This confused his dancers as they had never seen him do such a thing before. As always seems to be the case when I meet someone even remotely famous, I was a geek and asked inane questions and came across as a babbling idiot.

Mohammed came home yesterday to say that the whole village was talking about those crazy dancing South Africans. He set them straight, making sure they knew that he worked for us. Maybe this means I’ll get better prices in the village.

MJR