Navigating Bamako

Two Fridays ago I brought home the 1990s-era RAV4 I bought from someone who recently left post. It was my first time driving it, and for navigation I asked one of my apartment neighbors to ride with me. I made it home without incident, employing the aggressively careful hyper-vigilance necessary for dealing with the endlessly swerving motorbikess, stoplight-less roads, and lack of lanes or attempt to stay in lanes. I have to say, I'm so happy to have wheels, though my lack of sense of direction is - as always - limiting.

Unfortunately, the week leading up to that Friday was exhausting and I spent last weekend trying to sleep off the effects. Work continued at the same high-octane pace, but more intense, since I was handling the shop on my own while my boss is in DC for a conference. In other words, for my third and fourth weeks on the job, I was in charge of the entire GSO portfolio: housing, motor pool, shipping/customs, procurement, warehouse/supply, and travel. Going forward, the last three will be my primary focus.

The learning curve is incredibly steep, but I have to admit, as stressful as it is, I'm enjoying it too. I can honestly say that I've learned something new every day so far. My challenge now is to keep up... which is why I worked late so much two weeks ago, burning myself out until I had to spend the weekend recovering.

Luckily, towards the end of this past week, two different people advised me to be sure to take my time off and relax, reminding me that work would always be there when I came back. While this is true, it's still hard: I want to do well, and sometimes that necessitates staying late. However, I took their advice this weekend. Friday evening I went to the American Club and socialized; Saturday I joined a workout group for some crazy cross-fit-like routine, and then made some charosets and joined a Passover seder.

The Passover event was at one of my neighboring apartments and included several Malians and non-Jewish colleagues, plus a couple of Jewish ones. It was a lot of fun and we had some good conversation about discrimination and minorities. And of course, we ate well. I made a huge bowl of charosets and came home with enough matzoh to last me awhile. Nice to celebrate, though it made me a little homesick.


Today, I skyped with some A-100 colleagues in Croatia and China, had brunch at a neighborh's, then spent most of the day by or in the pool. We ordered out for dinner (pretty tasty Indian food) and lazed about. I FaceTimed with my family, which alleviated my homesickness a little. It was a lovely Sunday, overall.

Meanwhile, the heat - over one hundred degrees daily - is intense. At night it's been hovering at ninety degrees. Today it actually rained. We're not in rainy season yet, though. This was apparently what they call a mango rain, which sweetens and ripens the mangos (which are incredibly delicious already). Real rainy seasons hits in June or July.

Tomorrow, it's back to the grindstone at work, getting my boss caught up on what went on while she was away and continuing to learn how things operate.

It's the end of my first month in Mali. It feels both like I've been here forever, and like I've been here for just a few days. The security atmosphere is difficult, and work is draining, and there's so much in Bamako to explore and figure out, too. Overall, though, I can say I am glad I'm here and am enjoying the Foreign Service life so far.

--Z

Week Two Bamako Update

It's strange to think that I’ve been in Mali for just over two weeks now. It’s incredible how quickly things come to seem normal, or close to: the dirt and the moto-filled roads, the heat and the compound-life, the French and Bambara and every-day-ness of work.

Each day I go to the embassy and learn a hundred new things about my job, try to keep up with the frantic pace that is set merely by a routine day’s needs: problems with housing, official procurement needs of many different individuals, offices and organizations, planning for an upcoming event, tracking people’s shipments of personal goods or vehicles, reviewing and approving travel paperwork for everyone that is coming and going or planning to come or go; and of course, responding to status requests on all these things. 

I seem to meet new people every single day, both American and Malian. Practicing my French feels good, it's all coming back; practicing my abysmal Bambara is a little embarrassing, but hopefully I'll start to improve soon. The weekends are a fun mix of getting together with friends, maybe exploring a new restaurant or store, relaxing, or setting up house a bit more.

It’s the normal routine of having moved. I’ve done this four times in the last five years (albeit three times in DC alone), so it doesn’t feel strange or even too terrifically exciting this time, even though it's a new country rather than a new neighborhood.

Then again, there are the times things don’t feel normal at all: moving indoors from a screened in porch because of the fireworks-sound, pop-pop-pop, of distant gunfire, and the relief when a security officer comes by to tell us all is safe, that student elections were being celebrated with gunfire or fireworks, or both. The pause during a dinner party when an embassy radio has chatter on it, followed by a quick check of smartphones around the table to see if any new warnings or news stories about the city have popped up.

That doesn’t feel normal at all. And yet… I continue eating and chatting, enjoying everyone’s company while calming the unease in my chest. ; the ever-so-slight anxiety on the drive home; these are new to me, and difficult to adapt to.

It is a reality here that is hard to describe. I’m not frightened or anxious all the time, or even most of the time. One must live one’s life, after all. And the fear of a new place, and how to act, and where to go is not new to me. Truthfully though, that lurking sensation of unease is weird. 

I went out to eat at a restaurant with some friends last week, and to get in required getting wanded, going through a gate that was locked behind us, then let in via another locked gate to the compound which housed the restaurant. Odd, yes, but somehow also reassuring. As we left, standing just outside the two gates, a friend who has been here almost two years became suddenly anxious. She ushered us into the car and insisted we leave quickly, explaining that she felt uncomfortable standing in a group of obvious Westerners with no one else around. Too target-like.

It’s going to take awhile to adjust, and depending on what happens – if anything – I imagine my behavior will change. Some people show obvious signs of unease and fear; others seem to take it all in stride. I’m sure I’ll be one of the latter, at least for a while.

At the end of week two, it feels like I've been here a month at least. Not in a bad way, not at all! I just feel like I've adjusted rather quickly to being in an all new place with all new sensations. I can see now how easy it is to remain "in the bubble," as I've heard it described: spending time with embassy people, going to each other's homes or staying at my own, going out only to Western-style restaurants, and rarely getting out into the local culture, into the Bamako the Malians know and love. Staying in the bubble is easy and comforting and safe, or feels that way. 

I hope that I will adjust enough to explore the city and learn more about the culture. And I'm optimistic that I can and will! It may just take time and experience and learning a bit more about the pulse of things here. 

First Week Reflections

It hardly feels like it’s been a whole ten days, but here I am, working at the embassy and living in a foreign country. I marvel at typing that because it’s been in my sights for so long, and in my vaguely defined imagination for even longer, and now it doesn’t quite feel like I’m really living here. You know? Like, yes, I’m in a country that is completely foreign. The motos (motorbikes) are like a swarm of ants on the roads, many of which aren’t paved off the main thoroughfares. There’s a sense of adventure and danger in driving anywhere, even though I’m not doing the driving thus far; and yet, it’s become almost normal, too: the heat, the dust, the throngs of people.

It’s strange how quickly that happens. It’s not adaptation, exactly, but more of a quick acceptance based on the requirement to report for work and really dig in immediately. After a day of trying my best to remember everyone’s names (many Malians share common names, like Abdoulaye, Fatimata, or Idrissa) and drink from the firehose of on-the-job training.

Work is going well so far, I think. I’m in charge of the procurement section, the warehouse, and travel, which means that I have a good-sized group of locally employed staff. Talking with them is a great way to start learning about the language and culture of Mali. At my apartment compound, we have local guards, and I’ve been trying to learn bits and pieces of Bambara from them, which is fun. My French has returned, if not fully then at least to a conversational extent.

I’m not mobile yet, and so I depend on others who are doing things to pick me up. People are great sports about it, though, which is a relief. The embassy community is great: friendly and supportive. There’s a real mix of agencies, which is interesting: NIH, USAID, CDC, NGOs, and so on.

Thus far I’ve tagged along on trips to the zoo and botanical gardens, a little Westerner-owned bar called the Sleeping Camel which has low-key trivia now and then, and two restaurants. I’ve also been to several people’s homes, which are huge here. It’s a relief to come home to my two bedroom, two-and-a-half bath gigantic apartment!

I’ll definitely supply more impressions (and pictures) as time goes on, but overall I’d say the heat and dust, the friendliness of both Malians and Americans, and the Niger River are my top contenders. I’ve crossed the river several times by car, and each time it looks a little different, a little wild… and still, the buildings along its banks remind me of the huge city teeming with all kinds of people. Fascinating!

Bamako "Firsts"

Arriving at post just two nights before a long weekend begins is just plain good strategy. Having gotten this good advice in time to plan, I managed to arrive one evening, go to work to start "checking in" and getting myself set up at the embassy, and then have a four-day weekend. Yahoo!

Three days into that long weekend, I'm just about over jet lag, although my stomach started fussing a bit today. My desire to eat is finally on schedule and my sleep is mostly pretty good (particularly now that a neighbor gave me some cheap-y black-out curtains to tide me over until Amazon delivers better ones).

Rather than a blow-by-blow of each day's activities, I thought I'd describe a few of my Bamako Firsts:

- First surprise in Mali: my alarm is what woke me my first morning, but as my eyes fluttered open and shut, I was surprised to hear lots of birds chirping away. I didn't see any birdlife until taking a walk around the embassy grounds later that day: tall white birds dotted the grass, and I have since heard that other beautiful types can be seen around the embassy regularly. There is no reason this should have surprised me, but I did not, somehow, picture Mali as a bird place. Au contraire!

- First daytime drive: seeing the Niger River while going over it is both impressive and not. It seems to change color depending on time of day, from slate gray to an almost fake-looking aquamarine tone. The parades of "motos" (motorbikes) that zip and cut and trail along is not quite Hanoi-level, but at peak morning/evening times, it comes close. I've yet to see entire families on a bike, but it is interesting seeing people in all types of wear, at all ages, riding or driving the motos. The colorful splashes of some men and women's local-wear is fun to see. Also, Bamako is far greener than I expected, with rainy season still to come.

- First Bambara lessons: this is the more widely spoken local language, though most people seem to speak French too (at least, among those I've met so far). Certainly at the embassy and at restaurants Westerners frequent, French is the common tongue. However, the embassy driver who took me from the airport to my apartment the first night told me that learning Bambara is the number one way to start learning about Mali and Malians. To that end, I practice with every guard I meet. At the moment, my vocabulary consists solely of "Good morning (In-nee so-go-ma)," "Good afternoon (in-nee kleh)", and "Good evening (in-nee soo)." I can also respond to these (n-say for women), though I'm not sure what that means.

- First grocery shopping trip: I went to Shop Rite, which has another name but is called this by everyone. It was impressive! Fairly Western style, with lots of Kirkland brand stuff presumably from Costco. Mostly Westerners but a few Malians were shopping there during my trip. The prices seemed comparable to the U.S. on many things (pistachios being completely outrageous, for example), and cheap for others. There's also a fresh fruit and vegetable stand just across the street from it, where I got two mangoes (delicious and not yet in full season!), three onions and an avocado for the equivalent of $3. Eggs are not refrigerated and the fresh fish section was "impressively without flies" according to someone shopping with me. I will not go hungry here.

- First lizard: While waiting in a car at a gas station, I saw something slither across the asphalt about thirty feet away. It was large enough to be seen, with a long and sinuous body and tail. I've heard about these lizards, which are found frequently in embassy housing (but not, so far, in the apartments).

En Route to Bamako

It's happened, at last: I've started my first overseas assignment with the Foreign Service! Hooray!

It was a somewhat tense beginning, as I heard about an attack in Mali while at the airport in DC. Then I arrived in Paris to hear about the Belgium attacks. I can't deny that nerves were kicking in.


However, I spent a nice twenty-four hour layover in Paris, checking in to a boutique hotel down by the Louvre gardens. Jet lag kicked my butt, so I didn't explore as much as expected, but it was lots of fun anyway. Cheese, sorbet, Notre Dame, good food, and French: what could be bad?!





For example, my one full dinner, at Ardoise. I staggered out of that restaurant!

Appetizer was a crab broth soup with homemade ravioli. 

Dinner was a beef roast with pureed potatoes.

Dessert was a roasted chestnut souffle. 

The morning of my flight to Bamako, I went cheese shopping. I found a shop within walking distance of my hotel and arrived before it opened. The wait was worthwhile, however, since my Bamako apartment kitchen is now well-stocked with French cheeses, a chorizo sausage, and a duck sausage (because, why not?!).

Ah, Paris!

Tick, Tock

The days and hours and minutes are counting down until I arrive in Mali. The last week has been fantastic and stressful and nerve-wracking and exciting. Plus about ten other emotions. I can't imagine how people do this completely by themselves. My parents have been with me since last weekend and are such an incredible support network. It's amazing how lucky I am to have them! From helping solve minor freak-outs (where are my passports?!) to giving moral support during a very stressful pack out of my household goods, from coming with me to bid farewell to mentors and friends to finishing up last-minute chores... they're here for me.

We talk about the mundane, we sing, we cook, we squabble. Life is good. It will be heart-wrenching to leave them at the airport and fly away, even though it's the beginning of a new chapter that we're all excited about.

Mom, dad - thanks for all you have done and are doing. You're incredibly special people.

--Z

Whirlwind

Just a brief note to say that last week, everything did an about-face, and I'm now counting down the days to when I leave for Mali! My to-do list gets a few things crossed off every day, but somehow never gets shorter as more items get added. It's lots of fun, but also a real whirlwind: exciting, overwhelming, thought-provoking, sad, anxiety-producing, and yes, kind of awesome!

More soon, but I felt an update was in order!

--Z

Control

The wait continues. It seemed certain that I would know by now whether or not March would see me traveling to Mali. Bureaucracy has its ways, though, and most of them are slow.

In the meantime, I have taken up guitar lessons via Skype with a fun teacher who keeps me amused and doesn't pressure me too much in terms of practicing and improving. I also joined a French-speaking Meet-up group and have managed to enjoy two weekly meetings over the last month. A few weekends ago, I went to Miami to celebrate my grandmother's 97th birthday with my parents and brother, which was great! Well, the flights were delayed and I have an ongoing fraud fight going on with the car rental place that didn't give me a car and then charged me for it... but the visit itself was really nice.

I stayed at my grandmother's apartment during the visit while the rest of my family stayed with other family in Miami, so I got extra time to chat with my grandmother. I told her about my situation and my feelings. She nodded when I mentioned the guitar lessons and French meet-ups, saying, "Well, of course. That way you can be in control of something."

My grandmother is so wise. It surprised me to hear her perspective on what I saw purely as ways to distract myself from the frustration of waiting. But... she's right. Though I've never considered myself as one who has to maintain control, in this case she's absolutely right. With no control over whether or when I might go to Mali, life has felt recklessly out of control lately.

My dad recommended that I try focusing on being "posted" to DC, and then if I'm told to head to Mali, that will be the next adventure. Good advice, but hard to overcome that year of expectation and training and preparation. I'm working on re-focusing.

And so I wait, and do my darnedest to maintain a modicum of control over myself, the here and now. Spending time with friends, settling into some hobbies, and definitely trying not to think too hard about what news tomorrow might bring about Mali. 

A Roller Coaster of Maybe's

At the end of December, I was going to be reassigned to a new country and trained for a different position.

At the beginning of January, I was going to wait a month before getting reassigned and retrained.

In the middle of January, I was going to be assigned to a short-term (six month) tour in DC.

Now, at the end of January, it seems like perhaps I'll be going to Mali sometime in February, to do the job I've already been trained for.

But... maybe not.

This is the foreign service life: a roller-coaster of not knowing what's next, or ever what the next couple weeks might look like. And I have to say, it's hard. Oh sure, I'm still working, and getting paid; my health is decent, and I get to see family more. But getting all wound up to move, planning how the next few weeks might look, and then having to put it all on hold again... every month... is exhausting.

Now granted, I'm in a relatively unusual situation; this shouldn't be my life from now on, throughout whatever career I may have in the Foreign Service. But at the moment, it seems all-encompassing. I'm working on trying to deal with in a mature, calm, and logical fashion. Sometimes I giggle about it. Other times I rage.

Out of a class of seventy-six Foreign Service Officers, I will be number seventy-six to actually go to post and start my first assignment. On the other hand, I'll be one of the first to get DC experience. Pros and cons.

Luckily, I have some great mentors and friends to help me through all of this, not to mention superb parents who are supportive and excited and invested in experiencing it right along with me.

So despite the frustration of not knowing, and aside from often feeling like I've just stepped off a roller coaster that was a bit too much for me... I'm a pretty lucky lady.

--Z

New Year’s News

 It’s 2016 and my story has changed in a variety of ways. My departure to Mali has been indefinitely delayed, and having finished all my training I am now work at the State Department’s Africa Bureau in DC. Thus far it has been a great experience. I’m learning about how the DC offices manage things and about the culture of the Foreign Service. The plan for the future changes regularly: maybe I’ll take consular training, or perhaps I’ll get reassigned to somewhere else, or it’s possible I’ll stay in DC until I can go to Mali. Literally, the plan has changed several times already, so I’ve settled into a mood of (mostly) calm and acceptance. What will come, will come. In the meantime, I’m earning a paycheck and spending time with family.

Of far more import, the world has become an emptier place. My grandfather, my dad’s dad, passed away on Friday, January 8, 2016. It was not unexpected. The past two years saw his rapid decline due to dementia; during the last year he was cared for by my uncle, who is a supremely loving, patient, and dedicated man. The whole experience, which I’ve seen from afar except for an annual visit, has been emotional for everyone. To see a loved one go through this type of illness is desperately sad and difficult; and to know that life goes on seems perfectly natural and yet perfectly unfair.

Driven always, it seems to me, by his passions, my grandfather was a veteran and a community organizer, a tree farmer and a father, a writer and a thinker, a lover of words and of nature, and a builder of community. His history is full of the amazing - escape from the nazis as a child; re-settling in the U.S.; building a home in Minnesota; fighting for labor rights; educating and helping and always a focus on the people around him - as well as the not-so-amazing - divorces; alcoholism; a great love for a furry feline. 

My favorite memories of my grandfather, Bob Treuer, are snapshots in my mind:

His belly laugh when someone said something that caught his fancy, followed by true tears of mirth that he would swipe away carefully with his thumb;

His “harrumph” and suspicious, disgruntled, yet ultimately just the tiniest bit proud glare when I put a seven-letter word on a triple word score on the Scrabble board;

His little-boy “nobody can see me” expression when sticking a finger into whatever food he snuck out of the fridge or found on the table;

His letters, which were always typewriter-written and signed by both him and his cat, Einstein;

His land: his tree farm, his home between two small lakes. I’ve taken countless pictures of it, but all I really need to do is think of it and I get the strong sense of the peacefulness and calm that I found whenever I was there;

And finally, I think of family. His children – my dad and uncles and aunt – and his grandchildren, great-grandchildren and beyond; cousins and friends and people he’s touched.

But what I’ll remember most is simply that he was my grandfather, and that I loved him, and that he loved me. His smile, his laugh, and the faraway look he’d get now and again.  I miss him already.