Sunday, August 17, 2008
Saturday, August 9, 2008
"anybody wanna peanut?"
The rains have come to Mali. This means all able bodies are called to the plow. To the fields they go to sow the millet, sorghum, sesame and peanuts for the next year’s subsistence. This initially left me behind in the village with the elderly and the young. I’m not complaining, I can tolerate children for an allotted amount of time and the elderly are some of my favorite people and best friends in village. However, I felt the need to participate and understand the way of life here. I worked on a farm back in Utah as well, to the disbelief of the men in village – “They farm in America?” So, after a brief visit to Bamako to ensure that I was healthy enough to continue service (mid-service check up, I passed) I asked the chief, Hassimi, if I could have a little land to cultivate.
Arrangements were made and I headed off with Alhadji, the chief’s eldest son, and the underrated family donkey, down the cut stone path that switchbacks down the cliff to the valley. The sandy orange dunes temporarily stabilized by the flash growth of grasses create ideal conditions for peanut farming. And O did I have peanuts. When I first arrived here everyone gave me sacks of peanuts as welcoming gifts. I spent the day prior shelling enough to plant about an quarter hectare.
We found the old worn plow and other minimal farming equipment stashed under a tree near the family plot. Alhadji’s son’s, Boucari (+/- 7), and Amadou, (+/-10), spent nearly half an hour chasing down the oxen while Hadji and I broadcasted the seed peanuts in the area that was going to be plowed. Every so often I’d watch the boys corner the longhorn in a gully only to be thwarted by the cunning bull. Hadji would shout unintelligible advice (from my perspective) to the lads until he finally cursed them and ran over to round up the old ox.
Now, there’s an interesting relationship that I have with many of the men in village. They will NOT let me do manual labor. I couldn’t figure it out for a while but I think I have some leads now. At first I thought they just didn’t think I could manage hard work with my delicate Western hands and sensibilities. I think I’ve convinced them otherwise by now so that leads to my next hunch: They view me as ‘outside’ of the farming class. The higher status you have in Mali the less you move. The big shots, the patrons, rarely lift a finger. Other ‘yes men’ types do their work for them. This makes me feel uncomfortable so again I usually insist that I do the work myself or at least try to. There is one more reason and perhaps it’s the most understandable. They see me as someone who has a talent or a skill. In a village of 700 or so perhaps 100 can read and write and most of the literate are under 25. It’s not that literacy and education intimidate them but they want to show me that they have a skill that they’ve been honing for their whole lives. They can wield a hoe like a surgeon can use a scalpel. I can read and write and do the bureaucratic, analyzing type of work that American education has trained me to do and they can cultivate and perform amazing feats of strength and endurance and they’re proud of that. That doesn’t mean that I’ll sit back and let Hadji plant all my peanuts. I wanted a part of the glory, part of the satisfaction that only hard work can bring. So, I allowed him to show me the ‘right’ way to farm and I took the joking laughs when I got pulled around by the ox plow like a puppy. Then I surrendered the plow and let Hadji finish the job proper.
When we had finished plowing I pulled all the weeds out of the plot with help from young Amadou. I had to keep reminding him not to eat the peanuts we had just sowed. He would be pulling out loose grass and I’d hear him say under his breath, “Ooo, a peanut!” and he’d eat it and I’d remind him of our goal. A few moments later… “Eh? A peanut!” Sigh.
It was a good day out in the fields ending in a magnificent thunderstorm that made the greens of the Malian spring even more vibrant. I had forgotten how amazing it feels to get dirty in the red earth and soaked by a cool rain.
Arrangements were made and I headed off with Alhadji, the chief’s eldest son, and the underrated family donkey, down the cut stone path that switchbacks down the cliff to the valley. The sandy orange dunes temporarily stabilized by the flash growth of grasses create ideal conditions for peanut farming. And O did I have peanuts. When I first arrived here everyone gave me sacks of peanuts as welcoming gifts. I spent the day prior shelling enough to plant about an quarter hectare.
We found the old worn plow and other minimal farming equipment stashed under a tree near the family plot. Alhadji’s son’s, Boucari (+/- 7), and Amadou, (+/-10), spent nearly half an hour chasing down the oxen while Hadji and I broadcasted the seed peanuts in the area that was going to be plowed. Every so often I’d watch the boys corner the longhorn in a gully only to be thwarted by the cunning bull. Hadji would shout unintelligible advice (from my perspective) to the lads until he finally cursed them and ran over to round up the old ox.
Now, there’s an interesting relationship that I have with many of the men in village. They will NOT let me do manual labor. I couldn’t figure it out for a while but I think I have some leads now. At first I thought they just didn’t think I could manage hard work with my delicate Western hands and sensibilities. I think I’ve convinced them otherwise by now so that leads to my next hunch: They view me as ‘outside’ of the farming class. The higher status you have in Mali the less you move. The big shots, the patrons, rarely lift a finger. Other ‘yes men’ types do their work for them. This makes me feel uncomfortable so again I usually insist that I do the work myself or at least try to. There is one more reason and perhaps it’s the most understandable. They see me as someone who has a talent or a skill. In a village of 700 or so perhaps 100 can read and write and most of the literate are under 25. It’s not that literacy and education intimidate them but they want to show me that they have a skill that they’ve been honing for their whole lives. They can wield a hoe like a surgeon can use a scalpel. I can read and write and do the bureaucratic, analyzing type of work that American education has trained me to do and they can cultivate and perform amazing feats of strength and endurance and they’re proud of that. That doesn’t mean that I’ll sit back and let Hadji plant all my peanuts. I wanted a part of the glory, part of the satisfaction that only hard work can bring. So, I allowed him to show me the ‘right’ way to farm and I took the joking laughs when I got pulled around by the ox plow like a puppy. Then I surrendered the plow and let Hadji finish the job proper.
When we had finished plowing I pulled all the weeds out of the plot with help from young Amadou. I had to keep reminding him not to eat the peanuts we had just sowed. He would be pulling out loose grass and I’d hear him say under his breath, “Ooo, a peanut!” and he’d eat it and I’d remind him of our goal. A few moments later… “Eh? A peanut!” Sigh.
It was a good day out in the fields ending in a magnificent thunderstorm that made the greens of the Malian spring even more vibrant. I had forgotten how amazing it feels to get dirty in the red earth and soaked by a cool rain.
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