Johanna Justin-Jinich, a classmate of mine at Wesleyan, was murdered on campus last Wednesday.

Because there was some indication that her shooter might target other members of the campus, the school was locked down for close to 24 hours.

I didn't know Johanna, but she sounds like an amazing woman.

As I searched for more information from the internet cafe in my neighborhood, the violation of this praticular (safe) space, a space that I know so well, was increadibly painful to follow.

Eric Lach, also '08, wrote a piece for the New Yorker News Desk, and I think he nicely describes what it was like to follow this story from afar.

For more information, see this and this New York Times piece, and this blog from a Wesleyan professor.

Developing National Health Insurance through Government Partnerships

One of MHOP’s strategies for growth is to develop partnerships with larger NGO and government programs who will be able to use their resources to implement exciting and innovative projects (developed by us!) across Mali and West Africa. Of course creating these relationships can be difficult, so it was very exciting when the National Department for Social Protection and Economic Solidarity (DNPSES) invited us to participate in a workshop on their new national insurance program. ( I don't even want to think about how politely obnoxious and pushy I had to be to get this invitation - a bit out of my comfort zone!)

The DNPSES is starting a two-part insurance program in 2010. AMO, or obligatory medical insurance, is directed to salaried employees in the public and private sectors. AMO is designed to build on the national insurance/Social Security programs already in place. The second program, RAMED, will provide free health care for the poorest 5% of the population. MHOP is most interested in RAMED, and we would really like to be involved with the development of this program, as there are many potential flaws— for example the current program of free health care for indigent populations is in fact mostly used by the relatives of government employees and elected officials! MHOP is taking a two-pronged approach in integrating ourselves into the development of the RAMED program; one, by working closely with the national leader at the DNPSES, and two, by collaborating with local government (mayor's office), who will ultimately identify and serve the indigent populations included in RAMED. We would ideally like to steer the program to address the needs of residents who lack financial access to health care, a distinction which will ensure that the program will have a clear impact on the health of Mali's poor.

The workshop itself took place over 2 days and involved representatives from the Ministries of Health, Finance and Social Protection, representatives from the National Association of Community Clinics, Doctors, and Nurses, the Union Techniques de Mutuelles, the two current Social Security agencies and more. We discussed the financial and technical aspects of the program in depth and broke into working groups to suggest and finalize the internal structure of the program, debating over who will collect the AMO dues, when and how funds will be transferred to the national program, what the title of each program employee should or should not be. Ok, so it was incredibly boring at times! But the workshop allowed us an inside look at project development by the Malian government and will hopefully serve as an important step towards a lasting partnership with DNPSES.

Cross-posted at www.malihealth.org

Sadio's Wedding

My friend and across-the-street neighbor Sadio (Sa-djo) got married last weekend.

Sadio is on the left.

The morning of the wedding, my host mother Mama and some of the other women in the neighborhood went to the market to get food for the party. A LOT of food.



I did my part peeling garlic and unwrapping what felt like hundreds of Maggi (bouillon) cubes.

The zame (similar to fried-rice) was cooked in pots large enough to hold several children. It reminded me of Hansel and Gretel for some reason.

Mama is on the right.

This is not an optical illusion. The pots were huge!

Everyone dressed up in beautiful embroidered bazin outfits.

My host -sister, Ma, is the one in the taupe.

Including me.


I spent most of the day with Tanti and Assa, or "N togo ma," meaning we have the same Malian name.

Tanti, Assa, and Assa

After having spent three days in seclusion in her house, Sadio went with her mother to the beauty salon and arrived back at the house decked out like a true Malian bride: huge pouffy dress, piles of weave, lots of make-up, and little wristlet gloves.

She's probably still the prettiest Malian brides I've seen, even with the crazy painted on eyebrows.

She waited at her house, taking pictures with friends until the groom, Cheik, and his extended family arrived.

Cheik entering Sadio's house.

The entire party drove in a convoy of cars and motos to the mayors office where Sadio and Cheik signed their marriage documents, took more pictures and then came back to her house (I was cooking, so I didn't get to take part in this ordeal).

The couple return from the mayor's office.

The wedding party spent the day bouncing between the bride's house and the groom's house. To celebrate, Sadio's female friends and relations flooded the street in front of my house.

Most women, including myself, wore the Malian equivalent of bridesmaid dresses: "l'uniform" (the uniform), dresses made from the same cloth.


We danced. And were lauded by the griots (praise-singers) hired for the occasion. The dancing lasted from noon until 6 pm.


The next weekend, Sadio returned home for the last time, officially and ceremonially moving out of her parent's home and into a new house with her husband and son.


She came in the morning to pack up, and spend the day hanging out with her friends.


Fana beaded "waist-beads" for Sadio.


In late afternoon, Sadio changed into a formal, traditional Malian outfit. She was veiled, and led into her family's courtyard where the dugutigi (village chief), her father, and other male relatives gave her advice and blessings.


Her family had gathered together all the items she will need in her new house: pots and pans, charcoal braziers, cutlery and dishware and even an entire living-room set (two couches and two chairs!). Apparently after a week, her husband will give her parents money to defray the cost of all of this.


The items were stuffed into a rented sotrama (like a bus/van, always painted green).


Later, we stuffed ourselves into a sotrama, so we could see the location of Sadio's new house.


And then we all went home, leaving her with Cheik and their really really cute son, Papa (sorry, no pics on hand).

The Ambiguities of Peace Corps

I have very conflicted feelings about Peace Corps.

I have met some very amazing Peace Corps volunteers (PCV) here in Mali, I know many returned volunteers and some of my best friends are considering or in the process of applying to be volunteers—I have even at times thought about being a PCV myself. My contacts with Malian PCVs, including one of my colleagues, have greatly impressed me and obscured for a while my criticisms of the organization in general. Additionally, Peace Corps as a program has many elements which appeal to me, the employee of a small NGO with limited resources: security officers to deal with airport hassles, post office boxes, medical care, 2-month language training, support staff. I can also recognize the many positive element of their program —two of the three goals of Peace Corps concern cross-cultural connections, and I think as a whole they often succeed in linking volunteers with residents of the host country. Most PCVs I have met in Mali (but certainly not all) are interested in Malian culture ( although this seemed to be less the case in Cameroon), and based on my acquaintances and friends, Peace Corps it a life-changing experience which affects volunteers long after they have returned to the US. I have also heard arguments that the work done by PCVs does contribute to the host country' development. For example, the academic director of my study abroad program in Cameroon, who had worked for Peace Corps, believed that the organization was important because PCVs would work in areas where no Cameroonians would choose to go. In Mali too, Peace Corps volunteers build contacts and connections through their work in small villages and they are uniquely placed to understand the needs of these communities—more so than many large development organizations.

But being uniquely placed to understand the needs of people doesn't mean like you are uniquely placed, or successful, at meeting these needs. Most volunteer initiated projects that I have encountered are unsuccessful (by the admission of volunteers, and through my own observations): projects fail to get off the ground, they don't last after the volunteer has left. Certainly this occurs with larger development organizations (for the problems with these orgs, another post). But the fact that in some cases 1/3 of volunteers leave before their 2 years are up speaks to the unpreparedness of most volunteers and their (understandable) inability to do the job that is expected of them—to work in communities with unfamiliar social, religious, and economic backgrounds, to be teachers in fields they themselves are not trained in, and to be community leaders when it is unlikely they could be so in their own communities in the United States (by this I mean, by virtue of age, lack of job experience, lack of experience with community mobilization of any sort)

In college I took a (very good) course on African-American history after the Civil War. My professor offered us a critique of the push for school desegregation in the 1950s and 1960s—the underlying argument for desegregation rested on the idea that the most important element of a good education for young black children was their proximity to white children—not the skill of the teachers, not the resources of their schools, but their proximity to white bodies. This is also how I think about Peace Corps— the assumption behind the whole program is that the most important element of a development program is the proximity of Malians, or the citizens of any country, to Americans—not the work experience of the volunteers (as most come straight out of college), not their experience in the specific country or in any developing country (in fact I have heard an unsubstantiated statement that Peace Corps will not send an applicant to a country where they have lived for longer than 6 months), not their language skills (most are placed in countries where they have no language skills), nor any other element besides their nationality (and perhaps race—my assumption anyways is that Peace Corps workers are mostly white and there is a very long history of racialized assumtions about development and who can serve as the teacher, developer, and 'civilizer'--but again, that is a whole nother post). Peace Corps training is admittedly intense, and offers language lessons, cultural and historical training, and some specific job training over a two to three month period . But ultimately it is only this training which qualifies any PCV to act as a community leader.

If Peace Corps was truly interested in being a successful development program,¹ they could be much more effective by limiting the size of their programs, thus allowing them to be much more selective in the choice of their volunteers. Even if Peace Corps did not recruit applicants with specific job skills (such as engineering) having a volunteer cadre with work experience, instead of a majority recent-college graduates, and actively recruiting people with in-country or region experience, would make a great difference in the success of their development activities.

I still think, and have seen, that Peace Corps volunteers can provide exceptional services to their communities. But I believes that this comes out of the individual— their commitment, their willingness to educate themselves about their host community, and their own awareness of the pertiance and feasibility of their project— not the organizational structure. Until the structure of Peace Corps changes, I do not think they can be a successful development organization.

1And I am not convinced that this is their primary goal: there are many political elements of Peace Corps which promoted the founding of the program, and rule the locations volunteers are sent too, and so forth, and which in my view probably take precedence over their success as a development body.

Cultural Tourism in Mali

My parents recently came to visit, and we had the chance to tour a bit around Mali. We were able to have a number of unsual experiences –taking 8-hour bus rides, staying with families of acquaintances—but we also went to two of the most touristy sites/activities in the Mali (and perhaps West Africa): Dogon Country and the Festival of the Desert. Both experiences were thought provoking, but first, some background.

In Dogon Country, visitors hike between cliff-side villages (somewhat like the Anasazi communities in the American Southwest) which in the past protected the Dogon from animal and human predators. http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=5325466172011775556&postID=5218588620442895866#

Most of the region's population now live in communities above or below the cliffs— and each town has a “campement” or mini-hotel with beds, showers and food for those passing through. It is almost obligatory to do your trek with a local guide.


The Festival of the Desert was founded in the early 2000s through a collaboration between Tamashek (Taureg) and European musicians, and based somewhat on the concept of traditional Tamashek gatherings.

It takes place in a almost non-existent desert town 2 hours outside of Timbuktu. The festival brings in very famous Malian and African musicians and has set up a sophisticated infrastructure (toilets, restaurants) in the middle of nowhere, where everything must be driven in by 4x4 or camel caravan.

Both regions (Dogon Country, and the Timbuktu region as well) rely on tourism as the primary economic activity. And there is certainly an argument that tourism supports the economy in an important and relatively harmless way (as opposed to say, logging, a factory, and so forth).1 But I don't see it as harmless— cultural tourism in particular is predicated on assumptions about who should be visitor and who visited, a difference in the treatment that each group is thus seen to deserve, and a transformation of potentially interesting and exiting human connections into monetary interactions.

Inequality:
I don't think I will be going out on a limb to note that cultural tourism, and most forms of tourism, rely on (or exist alongside) an inequality between those who provide services (locals) and those who consume these services (visitors)--think of Hawaii even. In Dogon Country for example, where most villages are not electrified, the “campements” which feed and lodge through-hikers offer a variety of cold sodas and beers for sales. There is certainly a generator to power a refrigerator to keep these drinks cold and while it is possible that the generator powers the electricity for certain homes, I would guess not. The prices that these drinks are sold for are far above what the local population would be able to pay, and again, although local people might buy these sodas at a reduced price, it seems unlikely. While amenities like soda and electricity might serve villages, but they are not there for them. This was the same case at the Festival of the Desert, where infrastructure (such as restaurants) were designed for high-spending tourists (juice cost $2!! In Bamako, one could buy the same amount of juice from a street-side vendor for 20 cent!)—and the majority of Malians attended primarily in service capacities, as drivers, guides and cooks.


Cultural authenticity:
Cultural tourism appears to negate the division between the server and the served— the tourists visits because they see the local culture (the culture of the server) is an interesting and valuable. But this “value” is based in most cases on the problematic2 assumption of a static, single “culture” which can be accessed, understood and viewed by the tourist, i.e. the idea that the Dogon do this, and this, and this, and these elements define this group as a culture and a community. I find myself falling into this idea most often when thinking on how “development” might destroy unique aspects of the Dogon and Tamashek cultures—how “modernization” might ruin or undermine a “pure” or “unique” or “traditional” community. But this kind of thinking assumes a static culture, one which can be destroyed, whereas all of my academic training has been grounded in the idea that culture is not static, that it is continually changing in response to historical situations. Most anthropologists, historians and other social scientists have come to the conclusion the “culture” is best defined as a shifting negotiation of social and political boundaries, which may encompass or rely on certain symbolic characteristics but which can change (meaning either the symbols themselves, or their meaning).

The cultural tourism market and most of the people who consume it, do not buy into this—in fact it goes against our simple/logical/innate/ understanding of culture and history. At the Festival of the Desert, there were a number of young men who circulated the camped tents. They would come up to you (a tourist) and start chatting about their life, sometimes for a good 15 min (or even over several visits) before starting into a sales pitch for jewelry, leather goods, and so forth. All of these young men had similar “life stories”—they were nomadic, who worked on salt caravans to Taoudini,3 they had never been to school (and yet spoke a very good French, better than many Malians I know in Bamako!). Clearly this sort of particular basic story was predicated on (assumptions of ) what tourist wanted to hear, a story which these young men assumed would guarantee them a sale. This stock life history relies on a fairly static and historicized version of Tamashek culture, one which situated the speakers outside of modernizing influences (settled versus nomadic life, schooling versus uneducatedness). They relied on a specific notion of what “authentic” Tameshek culture should be like (i.e. nomadic) when many Tamashek, and most likely these young craftsmen, live much more “modern” lives—not that I begrudge their clearly savvy marketing tactics. Additionally, the very fact that they spent so much time spinning such stories before trying to sell anything shows that they knew/suspected that the tourists at the Festival were interested in some sort of cultural exchange, an “authentic” connection.

Cynicism:
My mother wisely noted that tourism makes people cynical. I know this is the case for me, and it is most evident in my gut reaction to interpersonal relationships. Cultural tourism assumes that there is a real potential for human interaction, interconnections, and cultural exchange. But I am (cynically) suspect of interactions with people involved in tourism, living in tourist-ed areas, etc. I always initially assume that the person approaching me at my campsite at the Festival wants to sell me something, never that it could be a real connection; if someone is selling me something, I automatically think they are trying to cheat me (even if I know them, even if they are a friend of a friend—I know many people who have been ripped off by trusting in interpersonal relationships). And I am sure that the young man Muhammed Ali who came to chat with my family several times before making his sales pitch likewise saw us as potential clients above all. While I think that real connections are possible beyond this twisted basis of interaction, they are difficult to uncover and to sustain. And although the idea of human interaction being reduced to economic calculation is incredibly disturbing to me, I cannot shake my feeling that it is this exact type of calculation which underpins the interactions between the tourists and the toured.4 And how can you have any sort of human connection when each side always assumes the worst of the other?

Seli ba/ Tabaski/ Eid al Ahda

Dear vegetarian friends, Seli Ba is all about slaughtering and eating a sheep, scroll down at your own risk.

Cameroon v. Mali

I was hopping to write this post in honor of a football (soccer) game between the two countries, but sadly there doesn't seem to be one soon. So in any case, here are some differences I've noticed between the two:

• Being able to go out at night: In Cameroon, due to the crime rate and the paranoia of my study abroad program, we had a 6 pm curfew (roughly the time of sunset). Even when I lived in Cameroon on my own I was so used to being inside after dark, and had absorbed enough of their fear-mongering to actually be nervous about going out late, that I tried to be home by 7 or 8, if not earlier. In Bamako no one gives any thought to staying out until 11 and sometimes later, although you may find the door of the compound locked. Luckily one of the walls of my compound has fallen down (its made of mud-brick) so even a locked door poses no problem for me.
  


• Transportaton: Bamako has a very, lets say well developed, system of public transportation. There are taxis of course, but also two bus systems which go everywhere in the city, although you may have to transfer at several points. Bani Transport is a greyhound-type bus which runs on a set route, with official stops. Sotramas on the other hand are old vans painted various shades of green; the back section has benches along the outside walls and an open space where a sliding door would normally be. The "prend-ticket" or "apprentice" (usually a boy between 10 and 25) leans out the door yelling the name of the destination in an incomprehensible manner (at least to me). Sotramas are crowded and very hot, they don't seem to have set routes, they stop for inordinate amounts of time in the main markets waiting to fill up but I love taking them becasue it is a hilarious opportunity to meet Malians and try to speak Bambara (and because they are cheap). In Cameroon on the other hand there was not public transportation system at all. In Yaounde, the capital city, you take taxis everywhere: to get a taxi you stand by the side of the road yelling the name of your desination and the price you are willing to pay to passing drivers--if your destination is near that of another passenger (because these cabs are always packed--up to 6 people: four in the back, 2 in the front, the one sitting over the clutch is called the "petit-chauffeur" or "little driver") they will stop and pick you up. Rides were usually under 50 cents (taxis in Bamako are 1-2 dollars). In smaller towns, the transportation system was ruled by moto-taxis, thats right motorcycle taxis. One or two people could fit on the back of the moto and speed dangerously across town. Motos were actually safer in Cameroon in my opinion because there were many fewer cars on the road, whereas in Bamako the risk of a moto/car crash is very high and very scary. Additionally in some towns, moto-taxi drivers were regulated through a registration system and union!
  


• Language: In Cameroon I felt like I could get by speaking only French wherever I went. Certainly in smaller towns this was more difficult, but in larger towns this was always the case--but even in Bamako, the capital city of Mali and the largest city in the country, I need to know how to speak Bambara. Even people who have attended school do not speak very good French nor are they comfortable with the language. I have some educated guesses about why this is the case:
• The education system in Mali is one of the worst in the world; I learned the other day that there is no standard elementary school curriculum in the country! Consequently, or perhaps concurrently, Mali has one of the lowest education rates in the world (something which contributes greatly to their low place on the United Nations Human Development Index). In Cameroon by contrast, the problem is not a lack of education but a lack of jobs. Many people successfully finish high-school if not college, but then cannot find work and become moto-taxi drivers, thieves or both, leading in part to the high crime rate mentioned above-- contrary to what one might assume, it is educated men without jobs who are the major perpetrators of crime in Cameroon, in this case education itself has not led to an improvement in living conditions, as is so often touted.
  
• Cameroon bills itself as "Africa in Miniature" -- there is an incredible diversity of ethnic/linguistic groups in the country (between 200 and 300 by most sources) and no single common African language. While in Northern Cameroon, Fulfulde serves as the lingua franca, this is not the case in the southern part of the country due to the limits of the historical spread of the Fuble people and so French (and in some parts of the country, English) has taken the role as the common language on a national scale. The Mande language group is the most common in Mali -spoken by more than 60% of the population- and the Bambara language in particular, which is spoken by 30% of the population, is the universal language of the country. Although I cannot speak to the particular history of ethnic relations in Mali, in Cameroon the religious/political tension between the Northern and Southern regions of the country, the location of different ethnic groups in relation to centers of political and economic power, and the lack of a majority linguistic group mean that the Bamileke, who are also close to 30% of the population, do not have the same linguistic hold over the country as the Bambara do in Mali.
  


• Handshakes: Remember those insanely difficult handshake/snaps? Well here people shake hands and then bump fists: so much easier!