Balafun, bike dancing and dugutigi time

Back in Farakala now and things are finally rolling. The day I got back to site from being on a long December break, I attended a party for education being held in a village 10km behind my village. The party was thrown by an NGO called ‘Save the Children’ in celebration of the new "Child Development Center" opening there. Believe it or not, I managed to run into celebrity America Ferrera (actress in Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants) in this tiny village with a population that’s got to be no more than 500. At the party, I got my dance on to the balafon (traditional instrument of the Sikasso region similar to the xylophone) and I trotted around the talented Malian dancers while they draped different fabrics around my neck. One women dressed in bogolan fabric wearing an army hat hooked a daba (tool used for farming in the fields) on my shoulder while we were dancing. The crowd went pretty wild when I raised the wood stick above my head and waved it all around like a complete 'toubab'. There were also bike dancers (not something you see everyday) and little boy dancers who moved their feet like egg beaters.

After dancing I sat down for lunch which was a clusterbundle of different foods in a bowl (olives, avocados, French fries, onions, fried plantains, chicken, bones, and oil to be precise) with ‘2010’ written out in mayo across the top like frosting on a cake. During lunch, I sat across from the mayor, my friend who helps me with language and a leader in the women’s association. I was quite amused the entire time as I watched their very different and very peculiar eating habits. Who am I to judge though, I know that I look like the biggest goon around the bowl. You must remember that we eat with our hands here and it’s quite a challenge for someone who’s used to the fork and knife. There’s a bit of a sacrifice in every meal : a satisfying bite for me requires that I accept the bottom half of my face smothered in grease. Oh well, I have another year and a half to learn how to shovel handfuls of food into my mouth properly.

The day after the party my counterpart and I held a meeting at the house of the dugutigi (village chief) and invited all of the major heads of families in the commune. Our goal for the meeting was to finalize our plans for the literacy center and select a place where it will be built. I was happy about how the meeting went and the turnout was great for a Malian setting. During the meeting I completely lost it when my village chief, an adorable old man who is on the verge of being both blind and deaf, asked me in the literacy center would be able to supply him with a pair of new ears.