Marshall is now five and a half months, just a couple of weeks away from that big milestone of being half a year old. He still screams and chatters away, something that is bizarre to most Malians I see. They aren’t used to a child of his age being so chatty and ask me if he’s walking as well. In order to protect him from the dust and the sun, I often walk about with him covered under a thin cloth. The looks are even stranger then.
He’s doing that fabulous pre crawling thing where he gets on all fours and rocks purposefully front and back, as if he’s revving the engine to go. Granted, we think he may be going backwards already, although, only subtly as we put him on his play mat, he is suddenly off it when we look back, and he hasn’t rolled over.
We tried some real food this week. A little rice cereal one day and some mashed banana the next. The rice cereal came back with a disapproving grimace. The banana, summoned a bit of a smile for the first bite, and a grimace for the next. Dooni, donni as they say here in Mali….little by little.
His favorite toy these days is a plastic linker (these things that form chains and attach toys to all sorts of things. A typical thing you’ll find in the home of an infant these days) that is green with an elephant head on top. It entertains him for hours. So much for the play mat and 500 other toys we brought…
As the teeth continue to come in(not fully, yet, but they are moving about) and life changes for Marshall, he is a bit fussy, but always calmed by a trip out to greet the people. He loves people and we can sit and chat for hours while he grins and laughs as he’s passed around. I swear some days, he’d go home with just about anyone.
I need some batteries for my camera and will send some new pictures then. No major changes in appearance, just a little dusty.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Keeping Clean
This seems to be the theme of this past week. As you can imagine, the health of all of us relies on this being true, even more so with a teething and soon to be crawling infant who wants to go everywhere and taste everything.
We moved into our house on Thursday. We were both still a tad sick, and Marshall’s teeth had been keeping him up quite a bit. In other words, we were tired and weary, just wanting a place to call home. As a result, when looking at our new home, we saw it with rose colored glasses. Upon moving in, we found it in need of a bit more love and affection than we had seen at first glance.
The place has not been lived in in quite a bit. Everything was covered in a layer of thick red dust. It was musty, and as we soon discovered missing a few things. Some screens are broken, there is no screening over some decorative openings in our central wall, allowing some vines from our landlady’s gorgeous garden to come creeping in, and most importantly, there is no hot water.
Ian had asked about the hot water when we arrived and was given a placating, “Oh, that can be fixed…” passive response. It doesn’t seem to be too placating as a plumber came by today and should be working on the issue…granted, we have no idea how. He looked and left without a word. In the meantime, we’ve resorted to our Peace Corps days and are heating hot water over the stove and taking bucket baths(not as pitiful as it may sound, actually quite nice). Regardless, we would love to use our shower with the great shower head. Its just not hot enough yet to enjoy the frigid water that comes out of it. Its also nice for washing dishes, hands, and all the million other things we need to keep clean. We’ll see if the plumber comes back.
We have most of the Western amenities we could want: real toilet, a shower, a fridge, an oven and range, a microwave even(although there is no place to plug it in), A/C and ceiling fans throughout. There is even a TV/VCR set, although even Ian, the former Radio Shack employee, can’t quite seem to figure out the 700 cords that seem to come from it.
The most unexpected item, though, is a washing machine. We were all ready to pay someone to do this for us, and were surprised to find it in our bathroom. It’s a crazy little thing, about the size and shape of a midsize fridge. It has all of these numbers and symbols up top that I assume are to be universal, although neither one of us can figure out what they mean. After about 2 hours of pushing buttons, turning dials and finally figuring out the water wasn’t on, we put our first batch of clothes in and hoped for the best. The machine quickly locked itself and Ian said to me, “Ok, so I guess it will give us our clothes back when its ready.” Luckily, an hour later, it did so. We have developed a good relationship with it now. It washes our clothes nicely and gives them back in a timely manner, as long as we leave it be and let it do its job.
As we no longer have to pay someone to wash our clothes, while I was sick, Ian assumed we still needed someone to come and clean the house, so he arranged for the sister of a guy from our hotel to come by and take a look. First, lets make it totally clear that Ian and I are the most awkward people in the world when it comes to domestic assistance. Its one of those sad things that neither one of us is strong in. We feel weird having people do these things for us, even when necessary or terribly convenient. We feel a need to make it clear that we don’t feel like we’re any better or anything and end up spending more time guiltily chatting with the person than allowing them to get their work done.
So theres some context that brought us into our strange relationship with our now, house helper, Abdolaye. So, Fatime, the sister, came by to check things out. We awkwardly explain what we want, which, so as to not seem too greedy, we limit to cleaning our floors with the occasional need for other things. Twice a week. We ask how much and she wont make the call. Crap. Now we have to determine not only a fair price, but a fair MALIAN price for such services. We can’t lowball, but neither can we make it too high…We offer something up and make it clear that we don’t know what we’re doing and suggest she go and talk to her family and friends about it. She says her brother might be more well suited.
The next day, she and Abdolaye, dressed to the nines, show up at our door. He’s ok with the price and the work. I am the only one here, so I keep my fingers crossed that I haven’t lost anything in translation. We arrange for him to start the next day. Luckily Ian is here when he arrives so that between the two of us, we are able to figure out what bright eyed Abdolaye has planned. He is offering for a little more than double the price of what we offered him to come to work every day and be on “retainer” for us. He will do anything we need of him for this price and is all but bowing as he’s proposing it to us. Now that he’s even asked for “work clothes,” we realize that he thinks he’s our butler. Just too weird and plays upon our neuroses even more.
Needless to say that Abdolaye now comes on Mondays and Saturdays to clean the floors and, as a bonus, provide us with some cultural insights and assistance where needed. Last night, I wanted to make something with chicken for dinner. Malians get their chickens live at the market and kill them fresh for eating. Yeah…not that I couldn’t do that, but just not into it. Not to mention, we don’t have the large open outdoor space appropriate for such a thing. I asked Abdolaye, how to deal with such a situation and he nicely went out and got me a fresh chicken, had a friend kill it and clean it on up. The head was still attached, but hey, it was one step away from a fryer chicken at Safeway.
Its really weird and awkward for all of us to have a “house boy,” and things may evolve if and when I go to work, it may be more culturally appropriate to have a woman come and watch Marshall. For the time being, he’s helping us keep it clean.
We moved into our house on Thursday. We were both still a tad sick, and Marshall’s teeth had been keeping him up quite a bit. In other words, we were tired and weary, just wanting a place to call home. As a result, when looking at our new home, we saw it with rose colored glasses. Upon moving in, we found it in need of a bit more love and affection than we had seen at first glance.
The place has not been lived in in quite a bit. Everything was covered in a layer of thick red dust. It was musty, and as we soon discovered missing a few things. Some screens are broken, there is no screening over some decorative openings in our central wall, allowing some vines from our landlady’s gorgeous garden to come creeping in, and most importantly, there is no hot water.
Ian had asked about the hot water when we arrived and was given a placating, “Oh, that can be fixed…” passive response. It doesn’t seem to be too placating as a plumber came by today and should be working on the issue…granted, we have no idea how. He looked and left without a word. In the meantime, we’ve resorted to our Peace Corps days and are heating hot water over the stove and taking bucket baths(not as pitiful as it may sound, actually quite nice). Regardless, we would love to use our shower with the great shower head. Its just not hot enough yet to enjoy the frigid water that comes out of it. Its also nice for washing dishes, hands, and all the million other things we need to keep clean. We’ll see if the plumber comes back.
We have most of the Western amenities we could want: real toilet, a shower, a fridge, an oven and range, a microwave even(although there is no place to plug it in), A/C and ceiling fans throughout. There is even a TV/VCR set, although even Ian, the former Radio Shack employee, can’t quite seem to figure out the 700 cords that seem to come from it.
The most unexpected item, though, is a washing machine. We were all ready to pay someone to do this for us, and were surprised to find it in our bathroom. It’s a crazy little thing, about the size and shape of a midsize fridge. It has all of these numbers and symbols up top that I assume are to be universal, although neither one of us can figure out what they mean. After about 2 hours of pushing buttons, turning dials and finally figuring out the water wasn’t on, we put our first batch of clothes in and hoped for the best. The machine quickly locked itself and Ian said to me, “Ok, so I guess it will give us our clothes back when its ready.” Luckily, an hour later, it did so. We have developed a good relationship with it now. It washes our clothes nicely and gives them back in a timely manner, as long as we leave it be and let it do its job.
As we no longer have to pay someone to wash our clothes, while I was sick, Ian assumed we still needed someone to come and clean the house, so he arranged for the sister of a guy from our hotel to come by and take a look. First, lets make it totally clear that Ian and I are the most awkward people in the world when it comes to domestic assistance. Its one of those sad things that neither one of us is strong in. We feel weird having people do these things for us, even when necessary or terribly convenient. We feel a need to make it clear that we don’t feel like we’re any better or anything and end up spending more time guiltily chatting with the person than allowing them to get their work done.
So theres some context that brought us into our strange relationship with our now, house helper, Abdolaye. So, Fatime, the sister, came by to check things out. We awkwardly explain what we want, which, so as to not seem too greedy, we limit to cleaning our floors with the occasional need for other things. Twice a week. We ask how much and she wont make the call. Crap. Now we have to determine not only a fair price, but a fair MALIAN price for such services. We can’t lowball, but neither can we make it too high…We offer something up and make it clear that we don’t know what we’re doing and suggest she go and talk to her family and friends about it. She says her brother might be more well suited.
The next day, she and Abdolaye, dressed to the nines, show up at our door. He’s ok with the price and the work. I am the only one here, so I keep my fingers crossed that I haven’t lost anything in translation. We arrange for him to start the next day. Luckily Ian is here when he arrives so that between the two of us, we are able to figure out what bright eyed Abdolaye has planned. He is offering for a little more than double the price of what we offered him to come to work every day and be on “retainer” for us. He will do anything we need of him for this price and is all but bowing as he’s proposing it to us. Now that he’s even asked for “work clothes,” we realize that he thinks he’s our butler. Just too weird and plays upon our neuroses even more.
Needless to say that Abdolaye now comes on Mondays and Saturdays to clean the floors and, as a bonus, provide us with some cultural insights and assistance where needed. Last night, I wanted to make something with chicken for dinner. Malians get their chickens live at the market and kill them fresh for eating. Yeah…not that I couldn’t do that, but just not into it. Not to mention, we don’t have the large open outdoor space appropriate for such a thing. I asked Abdolaye, how to deal with such a situation and he nicely went out and got me a fresh chicken, had a friend kill it and clean it on up. The head was still attached, but hey, it was one step away from a fryer chicken at Safeway.
Its really weird and awkward for all of us to have a “house boy,” and things may evolve if and when I go to work, it may be more culturally appropriate to have a woman come and watch Marshall. For the time being, he’s helping us keep it clean.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)