(my name is Awa, and I’m studying Bambara here in Mali)

I’ve just returned to T-so from my first 9-day homestay period in a tiny village in Mali (population: 500). It’s nearly impossible to believe that today is only the two week mark of my time here. Such a dramatic and sudden cultural immersion has a way of making the things you know back home seem like they’ve been far away for a long time. I already have a long list of things I miss about America. But I have an equally long list about the things that I really like about here and now.

A brief introduction to my family (brace yourself, my family tree is complicated and I’m sure I’m still missing a stray kid or two):

My family name in Mali is a Fulani name. The Fulani are found all over Mali. They are known for being salespeople, especially of milk. The women are noted for being beautiful, with lighter skin than many other Malians and often a traditional dark tattoo around their mouths denoting their Fula origins. My family name is one of the most prominent ones here (In Mali, family name is very important, for reasons I’ll explain more later).

The family has fields and I suppose my “fa’s” (dad’s) occupation would be called farmer, although he’s older and I generally find him sitting in the shade drinking tea, or testing his English on me. (How are you? Barack Obama! He’s great!) Amadi has two wives. In addition, my fa’s brother lives with his wife in the same compound, and their son lives there with his wife and one year old son. With all these couples, there are KIDS EVERYWHERE. Although technically they are a mix of siblings and cousins, they are one and the same in Mali and extended family basically is immediate family.

And now, the kid rundown (note: ages are my best guess. Birth records here are often nonexisistent.):
–Awa (20), my namesake. She is the one I interact with most frequently, and we often eat meals together.
–Baray , my fa’s brother’s grown son, who is married and has one son.
–Mariam (10), who goes with me to the village pump every day to get water for my bucket bath.
–Adami (4), who is a pretty awesome dancer and always trying to make me dance. He really loves to do high fives as well. This does not get old. Ever.
–DeDe, (3): THE CUTEST KID EVER. All of the PCTs in my village voted her the best sibling. She follows me everywhere. She has a face that always looks stormy in the most adorable way. When she breaks into a smile and starts jabbering in “baby Bambara,” I can’t help but smile even when I can’t understand a word she says after “Awa.”
–Djenne (3 or 4).
–Sanije (12)
–Marry (18), my host brother, is in his first year studying medicine at the University of Bamako. He’s the one I can communicate with most, since he’s been through the school system and his French is by far the best in the family (and far, far better than mine). .
–Khadilit (7 or 8)
–Baba #1, age 5 or 6
–Baba #2, age 2ish?
–Founne, 2 br />
–Jenneba, 2
–Diakari, 1
–BouBou, 3 months, son of Baray and Dede

That’s my family. I hope to be able to post pictures in the coming weeks if I’m able to get a good enough connection.
With so many people around constantly, most of the time it seems there is barely enough time to catch a breath, much less reflect. To say that the homestay experience is trying just doesn’t get at the heart of the experience, although it may be true. It certainly is a test of individual strength and resolve–just how many times can you handle rice and fish sauce or macaroni with “beaucoup de l’huile” before the Mr. D starts to really get to you? For how long are your little brothers and sisters going to think that your every coming and going, including to the nyegen to deal with said Mr. D, is as worthy of watching as Saturday morning cartoons? Do you really have to greet your own family by asking how their family is doing? And what on earth is up with all the marriage questions?

But for all of the “fishbowl” feelings the experience can generate, there’s a hell of a lot to be said for it. Although I still feel like I communicate at the level of a preschooler, in just over one week I’ve gone from knowing one phrase of Bambara to being able to communicate at least somewhat about my needs (I need water to bathe, I’d like some eggs with breakfast, I’m tired, and the basics), and, with the help of occasional French, to explain a tiny bit about myself. Although I’m still more a source of laughter for my family than anything else, I feel at least an iota less helpless now. I can also participate more in the cultural things that matter to Malians. Like joking cousins.

[Interlude: Joking cousins is a concept that has been around Mali for years. Back in the day, the ancestors created the concept to settle disputes between families. Basically, they said that each family names has designated other family names that they are “joking cousins” with. Whenever someone meets his joking cousin, he is allowed to sling a few good-natured insults his way. This is considered cultural competence in Mali, and everyone does it, from babies on up. I guess the idea is that as long as families can remember to keep good humor and to laugh at themselves, the big problems aren’t all that big after all. There are many insults to choose from, from your garden variety to the downright creative; but a favorite insult is to call someone a “Sho dunna” or bean-eater since for Malians farts are really funny For example, as a Diallo my joking cousins are mainly the Coulibalys, the Kantes, and the Doumbias. So if I were to greet someone at the market one day, ask their name, and find out that they were a Doumbia, it would be considered perfectly appropriate for me to say “Ah! you Doumbias! You are all a bunch of bean eaters!” This is why, as I mentioned, family name matters so much here.]

Homestay is intense, and oftentimes it feels like you can never turn your brain off. We are constantly learning. If we are not in our 7 hour daily Bambara class, we are with our host families and trying to speak Bambara. It’s exhausting, it’s hard, but it definitely has its rewards. We will be spending a total of six or seven weeks with these families, and I hope that as my language skills evolve so will my ability to enjoy my times with them.