Life goes on...

I woke up feeling great and eager to hit the fields and do some farm work. For the past couple of days, I've felt under the weather which has prevented me from helping out in the fields. It's been frustrating because everyday people pass my house and ask me to go to the fields and help with farm work where in I explain that I'm not feeling well and I can't go with them. As much as I would like to help them out, I feel that I'd be mostly on the sidelines watching as they work. The condition prevented me from working but I knew they would head to the fields if they had the same thing I did. They work, sickness or health, rain or shine. If they have a fever, cold, flu, headache, any ailment that would require someone else to use a sick day, they work through it without showing any signs that it bothers them. This makes me feel inadequate, a softy, not being able to work even though I'm sick. I dont want them to see that weakness and assume I'm lazy. I want to prove my worth and to show them I can work even the tough work of farming.
I headed out to the field at 9:30am-ish which is really late to start farm work. Most start their work at 6:30 or 7am, ready to put in a full days work. I plan to work until 12pm or 1pm then call it a day knowing I cant last a full day. I arrived to the field and noticed two jobs being performed. First, 2 men were applying chemical fertilizer to the cotton rows. They asked if I wanted to help and I said "no thanks", not wanting to expose myself to the fertilizer which was multi-colored, granular with a lusty presence. So I grabbed my hand hoe and helped the women weed the beds already full with sprouting cotton plants. We all took a row, 20-30 meters long and started to weed, being cautious not to cut the immature cotton plants. It takes some time to weed properly and efficiently with a steady pace. The hand hoe is a serious tool consisting of a metal blade up to 6 inches wide lodged into a wooden handle, making it a perfect tool to rake anything that is in its path. But it has no mercy for things you dont want to rake, like plants you intend to grow or your foot, which I've seen some nasty wounds as a result of a hand hoe strike. But Malians are surgeons when it comes to effectively working with a "daba", exhibited when I watched them weed before I started my row to learn a little technique. I observed how they raked around a cotton plant, a good radius around it before moving closer to the plant, at times running the daba within millimeters of the plant, never damaging it. This precise method of weeding also was the most efficient for the time it took to weed. A definite skill that would take me time to learn. I started my row, working slow at first and being observant of the cotton plants to not cut them. As I started to get the hang of it, the process of weeding became familiar and I felt as though I was in a groove. Though much slower than others, my pace was good and the weeding was good for government. However by 12pm my back was aching. You are bent over the whole time weeding shuffling your feet along the row as you rake the ground never standing until you take a much needed break. Since I'm not used to this type of work, my back was telling me no more. As I observed for another hour under the shade of a palm tree, they continued working showing very little signs of the 7 hour morning they were putting in. Plus this is one day as its probably been a few days consecutively of doing this work. It was a humbling day of work and I left early with the utmost respect for them and what they do to provide food for themselves.

After taking a bath and eating something, I reflected on what a good day it was in the field. I got a few good hours of manual labor and enjoyed the company of some really good people, the whole time joking, laughing, and sharing time with them. A productive day that I could build on in the future. I was in good spirits until we had a tragedy occur in my commune that changed the mood for the rest of the day. A little girl died today, about the age of 1 1/2 to 2 years old. She was the daughter of the eldest man in our commune with the beautiful name of May. Her mother whose name is Janet, same as my mom at home, is one of the sweetest women in the commune, always has a warm greeting to give you when she sees you. May for a while has been sick and from what I've learned has always been sick since she was born. The volunteer before me remembers her being sick all the time as well, her legs thin and frail never allowing her to walk or stand. Her face was grown so you couldn't really tell her age and she always had a cough with her. She was a beautiful girl with big brown eyes that greeted you when there were no words to speak. The day she died, I had just seen her a few hours earlier. Janet and May had gone to the doctors in another town and returned the day before. I greeted them outside my house and I remember May asleep on Janets back, comfortable and quiet. She then woke up and was hungry as I was saying goodbye before heading into town. Not long after when I returned did I get the news that she had passed. I went to the eldest mans house to pay my respects.

As I arrived everyone was in silence, I sat down quietly and observed my surroundings. Everyone was quiet, barely saying a word. Women were sitting together all with somber expressions. Emotions are few in Malian culture. I've seen anger and laughter before but never sadness as crying is not expressed and at time not tolerated. But all this was exhibited this day as the women consoled each other, especially Janet. They were preparing the body for burial which a few were in charge of as the rest of us watched, gathering our thoughts. You could tell that this wasn't foreign to them, that it has happened before. They know what to do and with every step its a reminder of past events. While this was happening, the men dug the grave in the field. The area is located in the field where they have currently planted corn for the harvest. Weeks ago I noticed a plot untouched, overgrown with weeds. By this time all the fields were tilled and waiting to be sowed for the harvest. I asked why this plot was the way it was. They answered that its the place where my commune buries their deceased children. The person who I asked had buried one of their daughters there a few years ago. Once things were in order, the pastor said a few words before laying May to rest.

Visitors who came stayed until way into the night showing their support. Days after things are back to normal as life goes on here in Mali. It's a reality that death is always around, but everyone lives their lives to the fullest and making the best of the day. No one dwells long on what happened and life is still going. Fields need to be tended to, animals fed, houses organized, etc. Emotions aren't non-existant, but come and go, never to linger. It's the best way to cope and move on and to keep enjoying life each day at a time.

No matter how many times I try to understand family structures in Mali, there are times when I'm completely surprised and dumbfounded, Left wondering how the family trees are so confusing. Its structure is somewhat similar to our American structure but a few tangents linked to Mali being predominantly Muslim in religion changes the whole dynamic of what you think a family tree might be. Case in point, in Mali, men are allowed to marry up to four wives depending on financial and social status. The more money a man makes the more wives he marries. Though they can marry up to four wives, its more common for a man to have two wives than four as he has to be well off to support the wives and the children they bear. In chatting with families and asking the number of children they have, from my calculations a woman will give birth to an average of 7 children during her marriage. I've met some women who have given birth to 10 to 12 kids, for one woman. I always comment to their husbands that "they are much stronger than men are" which is true in more than one way. So a man has two wives and lets say each wife has 10 kids, so 20 kids in total. Now those kids when they get old enough to have kids will have children that might be close to the ages of some of the kids that are born between the parents, usually the kids from the second wife. So lets create a scenario that I encountered: *names are altered....slightly :)*

John marries Sue and has 8 kids with her. They all range in ages and some are boys and some are girls. They have been married for 35 years and had all of their kids at the beginning of their marriage. My friend, Ringo, is the third eldest and he is now 27 years old. His parents John and Sue love him very much. Ringo married his wife, Mary and between them they have 3 kids, ages 6,4, and 2. The 6 year old boys name is Rich. John. having acquired some wealth. decided to marry a second wife, not that he didn't like Sue anymore, but now he financially could so he did. Sue didn't object because Allah grants that a man can have more than one wife so its a common thing. After 25 years of it being just John and Sue, John married Peggy and now it is John, Sue, and Peggy in one house. John and Peggy have been married for 10 years and have 5 kids together. One of their sons is 6 years old, named Augustus. Now Rich, Ringo and Marys son and Augustus, John and Peggy's son are good friends and play together every day. You would think they were brothers because they are both boys at the age of 6 and you wouldn't think there was anything other than that. Maybe cousins but its a little more complicated than that. In actuality, Augustus is the uncle of Rich and quite possibly is a few months younger that Rich. How can this be? Well it starts with the second marriage of John and the children he has with Peggy since he had 8 kids with Sue, his first wife. My friend Ringo being one of them technically any kids that John and Peggy will be Ringo's brothers and sisters, no matter how young or old they are. So Augustus is Ringo's bothers making Ringo's son Rich, Augustus nephew. You would never know unless you delved into the family history.

This same instance happened with two of my friends, both named Yaya. I've known them for almost a year now and just yesterday I realized they were related, the younger Yaya being the uncle of the older Yaya. This is a bit complicated, but no where near as difficult as when a man will call his siblings kids his own kids. I'm completely lost when this happens because his family just multiplied by three.

Recently I've been in the field helping plow the soil. Rainy season is here and that means the growing season has started. My village grows cotton, millet, corn, peanuts, rice, and beans during this season with most being consumed by households as their stable food source. The cotton they sell as a cash crop is a big income generator when done right. In the field they till the soil by a plow pulled by cows. This sled weighs at least 100 pounds and gets a little squirmy when you leave it to chance. It will dance around and plow anything in its path. Its relatively simple, you hold the plow to till a strait line until the whole field is done. But holding a strait line is difficult as at times that plow has a mind of its own sometimes. You walk back and fourth hitting every square inch. Its hard work but rewarding to know you plowed the field by hand. After we plant the seeds, but because the rains haven't come yet we are waiting and praying for them to come. Lets hope soon as their food source for the year relies on it so lets pray for rain.

My host uncle and I grafted some trees yesterday. Grafting is the transfer of one trees genes to another by cutting and mending the branches. The purpose is to pass the good genes on to a tree that has already started to grow speeding up the germination time. Its a cool skill to have and my host uncle is very familiar with it. He is not a botanist or arborist by any means but he knows how to graft and that is all that matters. He can graft mangoes and these pear-apples, ensuring that the best fruit will be produced year after year.
Rainy season is here but it is coming slowly. The village is a little tense because they haven't been able to put the seeds in the ground to start growing their food. Hopefully the rains will come soon and the growing season will start. Until then, say a little prayer for the rains.