The Coordination National of the MFP project has been abuzz the last two weeks with all professional staff from our 5 field office in house. We are working, arguing, yelling, sometimes listening and reading to try to fully analyse our project. Soon we will meet with the other 5 countries working on the same project and we are feverishly preparing to share our challenges and lessons learned. On the fun side it is all an organizational nightmare, but as long as I keep on smiling deep down I like it.
Last week Mike and I led two and half days of workshops. We were facilitating the group to analyse the organization and our development approach. It was the most challenging facilitation gig I’ve ever done. From the big boss not liking the results we were getting, to certain members who insist on yelling all the time, to people who want a two day workshop to take a week because they think it is important we were balancing people’s wants. I have learned millions of things about my office and our staff. I think I’ve got almost everyone’s Myers Briggs personality type down and I’m working on figuring out people’s learning styles but that is tougher.
I am learning more and more the cultural differences between the West and Mali. It is something that could take years. I am trying to make sure that I find the happy medium taking the good work methods and ideas from each culture and fusioning them together. Doing everything Canadian style just doesn’t work, it’s like trying to put square pegs into triangular holes. However, our normal work methods need a lot of improvement, so I introduce a little Canadian flavour when I think it’ll help. I hope that as time goes on and cultural exchange continues the world is able to appreciate the positive things that other communities and countries do.
I was actually very tired last week. Trying to work with a big rowdy group and achieve objectives isn’t the easiest. Now we are still in a big group but it is no longer me and Mike that are the focal point of the work. We’re still pretty involved but not ultimately responsible. I found something that showed to me how challenging Mali is. Looking at the study we did in a village before installing an MFP it was found that there were 12 000 inhabitants of whom 8 men and 5 women had gone to school and a total of 14 adults that could read. Can you imagine trying to work in a community where 14 of 12 000 people can read? Actually it’s more like 14 of 6 000 people because half the population is children. A country where about a third of the population can read and most are waiting for their 18th birthday. This puts all the pressure on the illiterate adults to provide sustenance and opportunities for all the children.
Last weekend we needed a little adventure so after work we (Mike, Louis and I) made a break for the Main de Fatima, the best rock climbing spot in west Africa. Armed with shoes, shorts and the button up shirts we wore to work on Friday we made jumped on a bus heading north. Dreams of summiting in our hearts and the reality of no ropes, no skills, and debilitating heat in our heads we looked out of the bus at the near desert lit by the full moon. We arrived at the small village of Diarra at the foot of the cliffs around midnight. A little campement has been set up for climbers and tourists. Mariam greeted us and we soon found out she may be the only Peul woman living in a small village who speaks fluent Spanish. She’s married to a rock climber named Salvador Campillo who has lived on and off in the area for almost 20 years setting dozens of routes up and speaking Spanish with his wife. She is soon off to Spain as the hot season is coming on and no one wants to be in Mali.
We tried to climb the middle, and smallest, finger in the morning (see picture). We made it pretty close but got to a point where it wasn’t safe to continue. Of course we got pretty dehydrated because we are stubborn and brought one litre of water for three people for a four hour hike that ended at around 1 pm under the full force of the Malian sun and over 40 degree heat. Ever since Ramadan I am very disciplined when it comes to things like water and food. I can go a long time without drinking, even in extreme heat. Of course there is an element of physical conditioning but it is really more of the choo choo train mentality. I think I can, I think I can…I have to think I can or I’ll pass out. I got to wondering how long you can live in the desert without any water. Would you be floating to another dimension after a day? Two? I have no idea. Mike especially was feeling the dehydration effects and sent all the water he drank when we got back to camp back where it came from in violent fashion. I guess Mr. Sunshine isn’t always friendly, sometimes he can try to give a little too much loving and you have to hide out under a tree.
The afternoon involved a little less climbing rocks in button up shirts with no water and more sitting in the shade reading books on leadership. I got to flex my almost non existent Spanish muscles with Mariam, which only added to the insult of my discovery that all my climbing muscles were also non existent. First two things to do once I get back to Canada are get back in the Spanish groove and start climbing again!
The next day was pretty much the same only we upped the water to 1,5 litres for the three people over 4 hours, and I switched out of the button up shirt. All in all it was a fantastic weekend of feeling alive. Sometimes you just need to remind yourself that you are young (at least at heart) and you’ve got a little spirit.

Sumaila Togo is the head of the Socio-Economic Division at my work with the Multifunctional Platform Project. He’s an interesting guy. He grew up in a Dogon village not far from the Burkina Faso border and knows the rural life very well. He did his schooling in Russia where he got a degree in International Law. I see his ice fishing pictures all the time. We’ve become good friends ever since I went to his house for dinner. He invited another EWB volunteer to his house but she got stuck in Malian transportation and couldn’t make it. Since his wife cooked enough food for another person he decided I would have to be my friend’s replacement. We spent the whole night watching home movies of Dogon festivals from the early 90s and I loved it! Although he has a full time job he volunteers for a small NGO giving them advice and helping them learn how to do good rural development.
The last few months we have done a lot of work together. We have been writing reports based on the big evaluation we did and trying to plan the next steps of the work we’ll do. This has taken us past Monday to Friday nine to five. Almost every Saturday we go to his little NGO’s office and get down to work. We’ve written reports together. Made the most complicated excel spreadsheets we are capable of doing. I’ve translated things from French to English for him and he’s translated my French into French for me. Last week he fixed my cell phone which apparently had eating a little too much dust and needed a little cleaning. He’s always messing around with some new computer gadget like turning his laptop into a television. It’s good to work with someone curious to try and figure things out together.
I really prefer working on Saturdays to well, not working. Actually working on Saturdays sucks but working with someone you like is always nice. I feel that I am able to do what I really want on Saturday with Togo. I want to build relationships. At the same time I want to work with people here to help them solve their problems. I want to empower people. I feel that Togo and I are able to empower each other, which is a pretty good deal.

This past week three new EWB volunteers have arrived in Mali and they all came to visit me in Sevare. I guess more accurately I took them to visit me. I wanted everyone to get to see rural Mali right away, since they will be mostly working to benefit rural areas. I decided to go to an irrigated rice field of a friend with two of the volunteers for the weekend. It is a colleague of mine, Madou Kone, is part of an agricultural cooperative. They are starting a new rice field and hope to expand to grow bananas, eggplants, gombo and have livestock. I’ve helped him create some of the plan for their work and we’ve written proposals together to solicit support and funding. I am very excited about the concept being the type of guy who likes cooperatives.
Saturday morning we set off. Our voyage began with a little trip to the market to stock up on food since we would be alone with the labourers beside the rice field. While I was buying some dates a fight broke out right beside us between a grown man and a boy. This was definitely not fair so I decided to jump in and try to break things up. While I’m trying to break up the fight Jean-Luc and Veronique are starting to feel a little ill at ease in the market. Unfortunately a mentally disturbed man grabbed Jean-Luc by the neck while I was in the middle of the melee. This led made them both a little uncomfortable for the next while. Apparently the fight was over some problem of 25 CFA or about 5 cents. After things had settled down we got the rest of our supplies and left the market, which was the best part for my new colleagues.
We arrived at the field which is on the banks of the Niger river at about 11 am. Of course the work was to start during the hottest time of day. After a tour of all the canals that were hand dug to irrigate the rice in the dry season we went to start watering with the motor pump. The motor was not very happy. It is an old German diesel motor that you need to crank really hard before it’ll start. About four of us just kept taking turns cranking the motor in the hot sun for about 20 minutes before we decided it was time to start taking things apart and seeing what was wrong. At this point I usually let the Malians make their miracles happens since I’m not that great at taking apart motors, figuring out what is wrong and putting them together again in working order. The next four hours were a series of adjustments to the injector and failed attempts to crank the motor into gear. I got it going a couple times and we slowly watched the water get pumped up the hose towards the rice field only to have the water stop just before it made it. I don’t think the motor was saying “I think I can, I think I can” and for all our sweat and tears we didn’t get anything done the whole day. Really this was par for the course and in the late afternoon we hung around and drank tea as a chameleon hung out in our shade tree.
After the tea it was time for my friend Youssouf to set out some traps for the “little carnivors” that run around. Youssouf is maybe 20 years old and is a real man of the wild. He can cultivate 4 hectares of rice alone by hand. When he was living in the city he used to run 30 km a day. I’ve always wondered how a football or wrestling team of Malians would fare if they showed up at the Saskatchewan championships. I think they would demolish everyone. Youssouf was full of good information. He is especially interested in magic and told me how to a great number of things. He and I set out to lay some traps in the bush. I was feeling like an expert from my one afternoon of beaver trapping in Canada. After some thorough searching we found two different hole to set up our traps beside. We put down a little dried fish and some papaya and hoped for the best. Youssouf was hoping he’d get some meat to eat. People in Mali used to hunt and trap a lot but now the wild animals are disappearing. This is making life difficult for many whose livelihood partly depending on hunting. At night we all slept in a nice little hut beside the water after eating a giant portion of rice.
In the morning I slept in a little hoping my sunburn from the day before would go away. When I woke up I saw Youssouf walking towards the hut from the direction of our traps. I soon saw that we had caught something but I noticed it was really long. He put down the trap in front of me and there in it’s clutches was a 2 meter black cobra. When Youssouf found the trap in the morning the cobra wasn’t dead so he had to go find a long stick and kill it. He can definitely take care of himself. Everyone was very excited about the snake. They are sacred to many ethnicities in Mali. I was told how if you cut off the head of a cobra and plant it in the ground the body of the snake will grow back. At the right time you can pull the whole snake out of the ground and as soon as you throw it into the air it will come alive.
We also caught two mice in traps beside the hut so it was a good haul but nothing that Youssouf was going to eat. He cooked us all some rice porridge. We walked for a couple hours to visit a nearby village, Trimou, that has come together to make an 11 hectare irrigated rice field. It took 100 men three months to do all the preparation. All the canals and tilling are done by hand out in the dry merciless sun. The men of Trimou were very happy with their new fields. Each person was given an eighth of a hectare which could provide over a tonne of rice. At one pm we realized we were again not being very smart in that we had spent the hottest part of the day out in the sun.
When the other workers got back we were told that they were going to buy a new motor. This left us with another afternoon to sit back and drink tea with the chameleon.
I think Jean-Luc and Veronique were on overload but I think everything went well and I’m glad to have met the seemingly all powerful Youssouf. I am now even more optimistic about the success of the cooperative and the good things it can bring for rural Mali. I see the potential for participation and solidarity as a means to putting food in people’s stomachs and money in their pockets.

I feel as though I have truly broken through work and social barriers. I am noticing that my ideas and opinions are being intently listened to at work and I feel very optimistic about the direction things are going. I feel very at ease in my social life. Things are no longer a struggle. I have learned how to dance to the Malian rhythm of life and work. I am loving my home and the families I live with. Even Eddie the donkey and I seem to get along well. I am still challenged, yet blessed, by the fact that my landlord Luc now officially considers me as part of his family. When my parents came it was as the families accepted each other. He even wants to start cattle farming in partnership with my mom. Challenges for his family are now formally challenges for me. Financial burdens are becoming my financial burdens, which makes me uncomfortable. I have a good enough relationship that any problems we can work out together and I am able to set my boundaries and have them respected. For the first time I feel I could stay here and be happy for a long time. Unfortunately I am feeling more and more disconnected from Canada. Maybe part of feeling at ease here has to do with feeling like I am less and less a part of Canada. It is easy to become disconnected from friends who are busy and far away.
I have mingled with the people you only hear about from time to time in Canada. Those who live in a parallel universe far from home. The cousin whose been in Asia for the last 10 years and sends home Christmas cards. Everyone has some long lost friend far away existing in another universe attached only by a little internet cable. There is a whole community of people wandering the earth living in place far the rest of their initial support group and peers.
The arrival of the three new EWB volunteers is good for me. It keeps me closer to my other life in Canada. Gives me people with whom I easily identify and can turn to for support. I think I can be a big help to them as well since I’ve been jumping over the hurdles they are seeing for the first time for a while now.
They also brought the wonderful information that all the sores I’m getting on the inside of my mouth are ulcers. I feel as though I’ve joined some exclusive club of ulcerous people. Apparently I’m deficient in numerous vitamins. So much for my attempts to up my food budget and engage in the increased caloric intake program. This is common for people in Africa. Canadian flour is usually fortified with vitamins from the B complex as well as iron, zinc and beta-carotene. Our salt is iodized. My soy milk is fortified with vitamin B12. These does not happen in Mali. My work is actually working for add vitamins to the flour ground at the mills we support. The World Food Program and UNICEF are working hard to iodize salt in Mali as a lack of iodine, especially when young, can create sickness and insufficient mental development. Every day that I gain more hope for the world I see more obstacles to overcome, even they are technically simple like iodizing salt to help children become fully developed adults. Every day that I become more optimistic I paradoxically become more disappointed. I see so much global potential yet so much apathy. We are merely scratching the surface of human potential. We convince ourselves that what we are doing is good enough. We have the knowledge and resources to turn ill being and poverty into well being and wealth. We don’t follow through on conviction or effort. When we do it is often in a paternal way where we feel “we” are the solution and “they” are the problem. I great man, and new role model of mine, named Robert Chambers says that “we” are the problem and “they” are the solution. We need to release the human potential of the poor so they can become empowered to control their own lives.
I’ve been meaning to write a 37 page blog entry to chastise humanity (especially those in rich countries) for their lack of compassion, solidarity and motivation but I like to stay positive. Maybe I will dangerously permit myself to say that about 1 in 8 people on our planet (800 million) will go to bed hungry tonight and fight all day tomorrow to be well nourished. What are the rest of us doing to support them?
Peace, love and soul
Levi

For those who have asked, yes Mali is still there and I am still healthy and happy. The cold season is on it’s final legs. The markets are full of garden vegetables while bananas and oranges seem to be the only fruits around. The harmattan is still making sure as much wind as possible slaps me in the face on my way to work in the morning. Everyone is realizing that the New Year and Tabaski festivals are over and normal life with normal work week’s has resumed. It feels as though people are really settling in for the long haul of the real dry season. All the crops are harvested, most of the vegetable gardens are finished and a lot of people are left with not much to do. It’s like the beginning of a long unwanted vacation. People still have work like construction for the men and food processing for the women. However the most necessary activities are done and the wait is on for the rains to come again in about five months.
At my compound there was a little excitement recently. Before going on a trip I did a little house cleaning and as per usual put my garbage in our little bin. This leads to a wonderful event where all the kids in the compound rush to see what I’ve thrown out. This time I threw out my garbage as I was going out the door so I wasn’t around for their little game. Lucien, Luc’s 4 year old grand son, found himself a matchbox and a couple matches. Being a good curious four year he decided to light a match and throw it into the donkey’s hay pile. This started a wonderful fire that burnt all our peanut leaves and hay. It apparently attracted the whole neighbourhood and took the efforts of everyone around to put out the flames. I’m sure the donkey nearly had a heart attack. No one was hurt and Luc now thinks the whole fiasco is pretty funny.
Our new donkey, the one who probably had a heart attack, got traded in. He made too much noise. You know that terrible donkey yelping noise? I asked around and apparently the donkeys make the noise to tell the world they are feeling comfortable and great. They make it especially when no one is bothering them and they’re just hanging out eating some hay. In French I was told « Ah! Ils font ce bruit parce que ils sont a laisse. Personne les derangent, ils ont de l’herbe, ils sont dans l’hombre, vraiment il se sent cinq cinq. »
Mamu my neighbour, who I wrote about earlier, has got a little money thanks to all her hard work. She has hired a bonne (maid). In Mali a bonne doesn’t cost much money. They are usually young girls from the rural areas who come to the city trying to earn enough money to pay for some clothes or to go to school. They eat and sleep with the family and then will get an extra $10-15 per month. Mamu’s bonne is about 10 years old and has come from 150 km away. I’m not too excited about the new change. Her children no longer have to cook and work so hard, letting them play more and be what Canadians would call normal kids. However it feels very evil step sisteresque with this new child bearing the all the burden. Not only does she work hard all day, last night she was talking beans to the mill at nine pm, but she is very young and so far from her family. I wait for the day her fairy god mother arrives, but I think it may take a generation or two.
I personally don’t have much to report. I’ve been told I’m skinnier than usual so I’m making an effort to eat a little higher class. Since I’ve been on an unsuccessful weight gain program for the last 8 years I doubt I’ll have any success. My knee is in a wavering state of non functionality making me pretty physically inactive. I’m still in the running for the Guinness book of world records for longest time spent without going on a date. Lawn chairs and the African Cup of Nations football matches on a black and white TV fill my evenings. Go Ghana! Via the wonder of books I also spend time hanging out with Adam Smith.
Work has just slowed down a bit after a couple month flurry of action with long days and no weekends. There is still work to do it’s just that there is so much that we appear to be having trouble getting organized.
I’ve been spending a lot of time at home lately. I mostly sit and chat with Luc or the two teachers in my compound Diallo and Kone. We have rowdy debates about Mali’s path of development and how to make agriculture work. The evolution of emotions and feelings keeps on going. I’ve spent enough time in Sevare that it feels like home, actually I’ve spent more time here than any other city in the last four years. On the note of feeling at home I’ll wish you all a happy and healthy home until I write again.
Keep doing it for Dorothy.
levi