I’ve come to San for just two days to say good bye to one of the volunteers whose COS (close of service) date has finally arrived after 3 ½ years of service in Mali. I’ll be back again for a night before leaving for Bamako on the ninth but not sure if I’ll get a letter out before I leave for Senegal.
My plan was to come in on Saturday, but I was roused early to find that my host family grandmother had passed away early that morning. I was surprised by the way Malians approach death. It was much more a celebration of her life than it was mourning her death. The women spent the morning preparing food for my host family as hundreds of people came to great the family throughout the morning. I sat for a few minutes with the women who sit inside the house with the body and sprayed the body with perfume before I left. The rest of the morning things continued as normal doing chores about the house that I thought that might be all. Around 4pm my homologue came to get me and we went to the common area where the service was held. The body was laying in the center of a wide circle of people and there were people singing and drumming for a while before the Pasteur performed a memorial service. All the while, women came to perfume the body as several men led prayers and hymns. When the service was over the attendants (I’m guessing about 700 men women and children) rushed out to the fields were the burial would take place. The hole was already dug by the men of the family and they climbed into the hole and were handed the body which they proceeded to use mud bricks and mud to seal the grave. A prayer was said then all the men of the village took turns shoveling dirt into the grave. Tree limbs and more mud bricks were the final step to keep animals from digging at the grave. we all went back to my host families house where we danced and sang and played the drums for a few minutes. People then went home and ate dinner until about 9pm when the music started again and people met at the common area for dancing that lasted quite literally until Sunday morning at around 6am. Before leaving Sunday morning, I went to great my host dad and still hundreds of women were gathered eating breakfast with the family. In all of this I never saw any tears shed, only smiles and celebrations. My homologue told me that her death was an opportunity to bring the community together to celebrate her life and that there is no reason to mourn when we will all die one day. Blunt, but a lovely way to approach death.
In other news, my homologues nephew planted some flowers in my garden...which is very hard to keep alive in Africa. Baba, one of the other boys told me that Seni just planted the flowers so he could spend more time with me because he has a crush on me, haha. My afternoons are still spent watering the garden and my arms are becoming quite toned due to the work. I’ve also enjoyed helping cook with some of the women in the mornings and am mortified that I ate Toh voluntarily for the first time upon coming to Africa and found it good. Wouldn’t want to eat it every day, but considering a few months ago I quite literally gagged myself when eating it, this is absolutely unprecedented. I’ve bonded with the family dog which I’m constantly being made fun of for. But I started to regret this development when he came prancing into my concession holding the bloody neck and head of a baby lamb and proceeded to eat it in my yard. Talk about reminders of my new life in Africa. I managed to give myself a fat lip when I went to get my water from the pump. I was tying the 20 liter water container to my bike rack with the rubber tie like always when the tie snapped and smacked me in the face. With half a dozen kids gasping at my rapidly swelling and bleeding lip I had to finish tying the container and rode home with very little dignity left. My Peace Corps doctor came to my site for site visit just to make sure everything was up to par and she gave me a flu shot. I have a love hate relationship with my doctor. She acts quickly to get us healthy but I’ve yet to see her without getting a shot. In the past year since I found out I was nominated for a position, I‘ve lost track but can only assume I’m well over 25 shots I’ve had to get, plus having to take malaria medicine every week for the next 2-3 years.
Love,
Cait
