Snow blind, phone deaf, and internet mute.

Taking a holiday: the pure meaning.

How far is Iroquois Falls? Well I'd say it's just far enough to give you a sweet vacation. Now I'm not gonna chatter on about how I rested so well, ate like a king, drank like a fish, built ice rinks, rode snowmobiles, enjoyed the fresh air, slept beautifully and inspired myself through nature's beauty... I'll say what was most important : the disconnect. GOOD GOD how sweet it is to be free form the chains of technology; as it is so well said by new pop icon Timbaland (god forbid anyone would spell anything correctly) in conjunction with J.T. Anyways, I'm not an addict of any major drug, nor the recovered of such an addiction, but I'm pretty sure I've somehow experienced the withdraw from an addiction. I think usually it's referred to as Blackberry plague, or some other cliché stupidity. A disease widely spread in some areas of public transport. But let me tell you I was FREE. Now really, who cares, all vacations are supposed to be like that. But why can't our lives be like that.

Blah blah blah philosophy, we've heard it all. But I know a close friend who's seeing it all. I would think Mali is absolved of technological chains. Though a complete disconnect would be unreasonable, I think I will continue to emulate the three proverbial monkeys mentioned in the title whenever possible for some time to come. I just wonder what it's like to live it.

An important thankyou to the Lagacé family.

Got Sheep?

Forget political. How do we even know when something is socially appropriate to say?

We all have one. It can be described metaphorically as a filter or, in my case, a little man in a rocking chair that either nods or shakes his head when a thought wants to pass the rope bridge from my brain to my mouth.  It seems like lately my little man has rocked himself to sleep. Case in point. While thinking of a clever way to conclude my article for the One Sky website about my much anticipated celebration of la fête de tabaski, I had written the following:

"It's time to put on my "Got Sheep?" bib and praise Allah. I hope Jesus isn't watching!"

Before sending said article, I decided to consult my friend Carol and she thought it was hilariously inappropriate. As I write this now, I keep thinking to myself how in tarnation I could have deemed this appropriate for anything but, perhaps this blog as a retrospective thought.

I write this now because I find myself having immense difficulties to write diplomatically for the editorial of the newsletter I'm putting together at work. I've always disliked the ordinary but sometimes that feeling just has to be put aside. The problem is that, in this case, the bitter pill just does not want to go down.

With all this said, there is also the other extreme to consider. At what point are we standing still, not even walking on egg shells? Carlos Mencia, a somewhat controversial stand-up comic, addresses this debate in his act where he says that he wishes everyone had the same freedom of speech he possesses. To make his point, he challenges people to try to tell his jokes at work. Game, Set, Match.

Wherever people stand in this debate, I believe the cross-cutting element is culture. This may very well be the rocking chair to my little man. The only solution is to write in a culturally-neutral style. If that's the case, I hope my creativity isn't watching!

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Joy

I received an email from Gregory Biniowsky, a One Sky Board Member, who shared an inspiring quote by Uruguayan essayist Eduardo Galeano:

"It is not a certainty that refers to the 'Great Beyond'. Instead, it refers to the 'Great Here and Now', it refers to the joy of the continuing human adventure on Earth. We have the joy of our joys, and also we have the joy of our sorrows, because we are not interested in the painless life that consumerist civilization creates, promotes and sells…and we are proud of the price of so much pain we pay to feel so much love. We have the joy of our errors, stumblings that reveal the passion of wandering and the love of the journey; and we have the joy of our defeats, because the struggle for justice and beauty is worthwhile even when it is lost. And above all, above all, we have the joy of our hopes; when disillusionment is in vogue, when disenchantment has become an item of universal and mass consumption, we continue to believe in the amazing power of the human embrace."

It has not been easy to match people here with their thoughtful wishes/blessings for the new year. I've always been accustomed to say "happy new year/bonne année" and moving on. More to come...

(I'm trying to build suspense to boost readership. It's a foolproof plan!)

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Truth in Advertising

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I shook hands with a guy who shook hands with the guy who shook hands with the devil

I am a boy hiding under a desk in a nuclear war.
I am looking down, walking through traffic.
I am a 4 year old’s question.
I am a writer’s block on a tight deadline.
I am the sideline on an in-bound call.
I am a chess match.
I am a split horizon between night and day.
I am a photograph, stuck in time.
I am searching for Carmen Sandiego.
I am a tug rope at the office pic-nic.
I am digging for a creative well.

One could say that I’ve been busy. In truth, I simply haven’t taken the time to sit down and write my impressions, especially of la fête de tabaski. Now, I’m afraid I will lose them.

At 9am, every mosque is filled to capacity by men who will then return home to sacrifice a sheep to Allah. This is done to thank Allah for sparing Abraham’s only son’s life when he was willing to sacrifice him. Well, if you’re wondering, I am not a sheep killer. My colleague Tounkara came to pick me up right after the prayers were finished at the mosque. I may not have killed a sheep but, from my apartment to his family’s house, I sure saw enough of them hanging from tree branches and being butchered.

Once slaughtered, the sheep is dissected by the men of the family. They work meticulously until each edible part is passed onto the women. It is now their turn to each prepare the meat in a different way. One could call this the Malian version of a “cook-off”.

After there was nothing left of the sheep, I wish I could say that there were exciting rituals of song and dance. However, the rest of the day consists of 2 activities: eating and resting. Just when the button of my pants popped, I’m told it’s time to visit some friends and family… where more sheep meat awaits.

As for the social side of these festivities, I can put it simply by saying that I now have an adopted family here in Bamako. Tounkara’s family, probably without realizing it, showed me why this is, for me, the most human place on Earth.

We now fast forward to December 24th, where I’m with the MFC Director Ibrahim, his wife (my supervisor) Johanna and their two daughters, Batoma and Sira. We celebrate Christmas with a succulent meal followed by the presents. The next day was much less quiet since Ibrahim invited about 20 family members to do what people here do best during the holidays, eat.

I can honestly say that I haven’t been homesick during these past few weeks, as everyone is spending time with their respective families. That, I think, is a testament to the family and friends I have made here (without forgetting my own of course!).

On a slightly different note, I can proudly say that I shook hands with a guy who shook hands with the guy who shook hands with the devil. Confused? My friend Adama recently took me out in a village called Kati, 15 km outside of Bamako, to spend the afternoon with some of his family. He introduced me to them one by one and last but not least was his uncle, “le colonel”. As I took a seat beside Le colonel, he quickly found out my nationality and proudly said that he served Lt. Gen. (Ret) Roméo Dallaire in Rwanda for 6 months. He was the leader of the Rapid Response Team that was directly under Dallaire’s command. Umm… words to explain this… wow?...

These things never happen with any warning or time to prepare the thousand questions that are floating in your mind. Just before I was able to grab a few of those questions, Le colonel politely asked me my age. Only men of 50 years or more were “allowed” to sit in this area so he kindly thanked me for coming to visit. Adama and I then went to have some tea and a delicious lunch with our demographic.

The following night, I went out with Tounkara and his friend, “le petit commandant”. Based on these two encounters, I’m convinced nobody in the Malian Military actually has a name. Le petit commandant is indeed a short man, but that didn’t stop him from spending a year in Darfur with the African Union forces. He recently returned in mid-November and, unlike my meeting with Le colonel, I had the chance to pick his brain. It’s the kind of experience you never really imagine because all of a sudden, a conflict that seemed so distant – physically and metaphorically – has a face to it.

So what’s next? I think I can only hope to, one day, shake hands with the guy who shook hands with God. His name is .

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Sheep and mango trees

“Did you realize there was a live sheep in the trunk?” That’s a question I never, in my right mind, thought I would ever ask someone but alas, the man sharing a taxi with me (and another MFC intern) proved me wrong. There are sheep everywhere. Dozens lie on top of buses. Others sit, tied to a pole while counting down their last days. Most people in Mali are muslim and therefore, preparing for the fête de tabaski where they will savour some sheep in large families.

A colleague has invited me to spend this holiday with him and his family and I told him it would be an honour to join them. I guess you could say that the turkey is going to look a little different this year…

It has been the first sign that the holidays are coming. No Santa Claus paraphernalia at every street corner. No decorations coming out November 1st. And certainly no pressure to empty bank accounts on scented candles and power tools. In fact, the thought of the holidays hadn’t even crossed my mind until last week when I got an email from my parents asking me what I wanted for Christmas. Would it be too much to ask for every child in Mali to get an education and a full stomach?

I’m currently reading The End of Poverty by Jeffrey Sachs and it has been difficult at times, especially when he discusses how easily malaria can be mitigated in Sub-Saharan Africa by distributing bed nets and anti-malarial medicine. You can’t find a bed net anywhere in Garalo, either in a house or a store. Colleagues at work sometimes seem to disappear for about a week and every time I ask, the answer is what I fear: malaria.

It’s probably too late to suggest this as most of this blog’s readership have probably finished their shopping but I want to throw it out there in your consciences anyway. Consider making a donation on behalf of a friend, brother, sister, cousin, neighbourhood barber, yodelling teacher, local 7-11 clerk, father, mother and/or step-(all of the above). If you don’t know where to start, here are some places:

One Sky
Amnesty International
UNICEF

If you are worried about the way your money will be used, I suggest One Sky’s Sowing A Seed program as 80% of it goes directly to buying school supplies (the other 20% is for administration costs to keep the program viable). If I’ve won you over with the bed nets in Garalo example, send me an email and we can figure out a way to get some there.

As sheep replace turkeys and mango trees replace Christmas trees, my thoughts will be with all of you back home. Joyeux Noël et Bonne année à tous.

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The Bottomless Oil Well

If the village of Garalo and the work of Mali-Folkcenter Nyetaa are a sign of things to come for rural Africa, the future is bright. My latest journey to this rural village in the south of Mali began when I was asked to accompany a Dutch engineer, Sander, and a masters student (Inge) because they were in need of an interpretor. They were leaving the next day for what became a 6 day trip; this is what I have come to expect while working here... Plan A's don't really serve a purpose.

There is no doubt in my mind that MFC Nyetaa and the villagers of Garalo are going down in the record books. The electric current in Garalo was generated for the first time from vegetable oil in what has become the largest bio-fuel electrification project in Africa. The 125 Kva generator – one of three at the power plant – that feeds electricity into over 170 homes gives light, refrigeration and security to about 4,700 people.

And I was there to witness it.

The scale of this project is overwhelming when you walk around the village at night or see the sheer size of the generator running. Through my role as an interpretor, I was lucky enough to better understand the mechanics of both, even down to specific details like the piston pressure adjustments required to switch to bio-fuel. This was mostly thanks to Sander, the engineer who installed the generator sets last May. He began working on ships at the age of 17 as an apprentice until he became chief engineer a decade or so later. Having now started his own company, Brodtech, he has installed generator sets not only in Mali but also Tanzania, with many more on the horizon and has done so at one third of the price other companies had quoted because, as he told me, he just wants enough money to put bread on the table.

Two of my days were spent accompanying Inge while she surveyed about 35 households, mainly through the family chiefs. Her research looks into consumer use of energy in terms of appliances currently used and potential ones in the future to determine how much the grid could handle. Most interviews were done through a translation train starting from english, to french, to bambara and back the other way again. After that experience, I've realized that a message is initially so fragile when being transmitted through a roller-coaster of interpretation. The ride gets even bumpier when the message is only understood by engineers or mechanics, both of which I certainly am not.

The interviews gave me a much better understanding of the villagers' opinion of this newfound access to electricity. Some people, mostly the less fortunate living off their land, found the monthly fee of 6,500 CFA Francs (about 14$ cdn) too much for their budgets. They were collectively asking to change from a monthly fee system to a meter-based system where you pay for what you consume.

If only it were that easy...

In order for this whole project to be sustainable, it was decided that a private company (ACCESS) founded by the Mali-Folkecenter Nyetaa would be responsible for the operation of the power plant. Currently, ACCESS barely makes any profit, only enough to continue growing. They have explained to their customers that as the number of total subscribers increases, they will be provided with longer hours of operation (it's currently 5 hours every night but they are about 20 new customers away from being able to offer 6 or 7 hours nightly) and perhaps be able to switch to a meter-based system. Without having to delve back too far into my managerial economics courses (I still get shivers when I hear someone say "marginal cost"), the simple explanation is that there is a base cost (fuel, salaries,etc) that ACCESS needs to cover and this meter-based system, combined with an insufficient base of subcsribers, would cause immediate losses.

This is where the debate of economic development to eradicate poverty begins... but I will leave it there because it's one where I am sitting on the fence.

Jatropha crops are growing and people will soon be able to sell them in exchange for some extra income that could potentially go towards paying these seemingly pricey electricity bills. One villager described jatropha as being their bottomless oil well. If this cycle does become sustainable, the future looks bright in terms of access to electricity for rural Mali and perhaps all of rural Africa.

I'd like to end this post by welcoming "Monsieur P" as a contributor to this blog. If his next posts are as humourous and insightful as his first, we are in for a real treat.

Sugar and cucumbers

To reminisce,


Things can go from bad to worse, but it's best not to think that way. After having lost keys to a secondary school, my weekend couldn't get any better. This blog isn't to complain about that situation, but rather to remind me, and all of us, to just stick with it.

Comically, depression was setting in as a dreaded confrontation with a strict straight-as-an-arrow principal was on the horizon. How to explain incompetence...hmm. Only about a thousand prepared excuses could do the job. After having visited all my past visited locations, in a 50cm snowstorm I might add, I decided to just let time pass until the inevitable confession of the loss. (By the way, those keys cannot fall into the wrong hands). Since cooking is my favorite thing to do, making stuffed zucchini should have worked beautifully. However, I would suggest never mistaking a cucumber for a zucchini, you won't go far. But hope was not lost. Let's put salt on those cucumbers, and relax yet again. Now. I'm not sure how things go in Iran, but if my very foreign roommate put the sugar in the salt shaker, he sure managed to confuse the hell out of me. Sweetened cucumbers taste brutal by the way. Try that Monday on for size. Miraculously, Tuesday, someone had brought a random set of keys to the school office. I think it was Jesus.

Chapeaux

Interprète

On a encore ajouté un nouvel élément à mon gabarit d'homme à tout faire. Je quitte encore une fois pour Garalo demain mais cette fois-ci, non comme photographe et journaliste mais plutôt avec mon chapeau d'interprète. Les génératrices de la centrale électrique à Garalo ont été importé des Pays-Bas et l'ingénieur-en-chef de cette phase du projet est de retour pour 2 semaines. Puisqu'il ne comprend pas très bien le français, je l'accompagne pour les quelques jours pour jouer au jeu de téléphone. Il est fort probable qu'à certains moments, il y aura un employé à la centrale qui agira comme interprète du Bambara au Français donc il faut espérer que le message traverse les haies de la langue.

Stratégiste

Les deux dernières semaines ont été acharnu puisque mes tâches de design de matériaux de communication ont cédés leurs places pour la rédaction d'une stratégie de communication. Il s'agit de la première fois que le MFC entreprend une telle tâche donc le défi se présente aussi comme une opportunité. Je suis imprégné dans le pratique. En fait, c'est une lacune sur laquelle je cherche toujours à m'améliorer. Ce nouveau chapeau de stratégiste semble un peu trop grand pour le moment mais je cherche à le faire rétrécir.

Colocataire

La délégation néerlandaise comprend aussi une consultante qui va passer 3 semaines à Bamako. Le Mali Folkcenter Nyetaa (c'est le nom officiel donc je vais l'utiliser à partir de maintenant) appartient deux apartements: celui où j'habite et un autre dans le même cartier. Puisque cette consultante va aménager avec moi pour les 3 prochaines semaines, on a décidé que ce serait mieux de s'installer dans l'autre apartement puisqu'il est beaucoup plus grand. J'ai vraiment hésité puisque mes racines commençaient à bien creuser cette terre; c'est aussi à cause que ma formation avec One Sky était surtout axée sur l'épanouissement en dehors de sa zone de confort et je crains être trop confortable. Il s'agit peut-être d'une opportunité pour découvrir différents moyens d'éviter le sentiment d'être isoler. Vous allez tous comprendre dès que j'ai la chance de prendre quelques photos.

Bon, c'est quel chapeau que je vais porter aujourd'hui...

Va-dont jouer dehors!!

It's Sunday afternoon and, like every weekend, I feel like I should spend it "playing outside". This feeling surely derives from my upbringing where sunny days needed to be enjoyed to their full potential; if it's nice out then you have no reason to stay indoors!

Bamako, as one can imagine, presents a dilemma because every day is the equivalent of a "nice day": clear skies and mid-30's.

I write about the weather because it leads me to a deeper introspection. Am I "playing outside" enough? Am I experiencing Bamako and Mali to its full potential? To this point, it feels like I am living comfortably in terms of how much I play outside but there is this nagging voice telling me it's not enough.

No longer being in the honeymoon phase of cameras incessantly clicking and eyes never blinking, routine takes over. There is a task before me and I will experience the country and culture through it. The fear of never doing enough comes from the inflated expectations at the onset of departure.

I am here in Bamako for 5 months and that in itself is a sufficient experience for most. I am learning Bambara. I am playing football regularly (a post on this is coming soon). I will learn to play the djembe drum. I have and will be visiting rural communities. I am writing regularly both to friends and family but also for myself. I am playing PES6 (a football video game) with local neighbourhood kids. I am educating kids back in Canada. I am growing roots.

My intention is not to flaunt but rather to share experiences because I realize that I will have as much an impact, if not more, on friends, family and surrounding circles than I will in my work here. Perceptions desperately need to change and that won't be done waiting for CNN to take the initiative. It is done through telling stories and breaking myths that this is a place where only poverty and disease thrive. This is a place where people are taking charge and perspectives are shifting as we speak. I say this not to undermine the many gruesome challenges that people face every day (especially in rural Mali, amongst the poorest places in the world) but rather to shed light to an overlooked reality. Everybody is aware of the challenges but what about the innovative approaches to take that first step on the ladder of development (ok so I'm reading "The End of Poverty", can you tell?).

My friend Daouda, as he was driving me home on his motorcycle, unexpectedly brought up this topic of development; I say unexpectedly because he's a football player and we never had a discussion on this before. He made the point that they are playing catch-up with the rest of the world after only gaining independence in 1961. That said, they are severely handicapped in this game mainly because they have practically nothing but their fields of sourghum and gold mines to put on the table.

I think I hear my mom calling me all the way back in Canada during my childhood. It's time I go outside and play my part in this game of catch-up.