New Experiences in Bamako

7 April 2010

In a show of camaraderie, I decided to leave for Bamako the same day Maman would be returning to start up classes once again. Drawing back to a similar choice I made for her visit during the end of Ramadan, we planned on sitting together on transport, a laughable plan really because Malian public transport is impossible to plan around in any way. It was a nice thought, I guess.
Sure enough, Air Digan arrived stuffed with passengers yesterday morning, and I was lucky to even find space up on top of the van, catching a spot on a sack of rice. Unfortunately this all occurred at the first stop on the eastern end of Kafara, so by the time we approached the spot under a mango tree nearby the Med Clinic where Maman sat waiting for her ride to Bamako, we slowly passed by and the driver said there was no room for any more people. Perhaps this was blown over by the quite possibly hilarious sight of me on top of the van, something Maman had predicted would happen not two days before. She pointed and laughed as I waved at her enthusiastically.
I stayed on top until we reached Marako, the first village you pass through upon turning north on the highway. Everyone on top of the van got off and from there to Dialakoroba we stood on the rear bumper and held on for dear life. Quite possibly the dumbest but most exciting ride on public transport I will ever have.
As it was my first time going to the new bureau, I asked one of the bus boys where to get off to catch a cab across town to Hamdallaye-ACI 2000. In the first quartier of Bamako we arrived, Faladie, I got off and approached an area down the road where I saw a number of taxicabs. I greeted a group of drivers, and after a brief joking exchange about my family name, one of them agreed to take me. The trouble was I’d never actually been to where I wanted to go; I only knew the general area. Turned out the driver knew even less than me, and we drove in circles for a bit before asking several people on the street how to get where I needed to go. Eventually, I made it to the bureau, an impressive and much more professional looking place than our old building. I was wanded by the security guard, an interesting new change to get used to, before I wandered about the entire grounds, just to orient myself to where people’s offices were and stuff like that. Packages were waiting for me (thanks mom!) and I was able to pick up an inner tube for my bike.
I walked with another PCV the short distance to the stage house, another new place I haven’t been to yet. There are a bunch of us holed up there, with a/c, wifi, and a flat screen TV with movies, as well as friendly Malian staff, including a guard.
In the afternoon, I took a taxi to Daoudabougou and Mamadou’s workplace, where I sat until dusk when we walked to Bocar’s house to watch the second leg of Barça and Arsenal’s quarterfinal Champions League match. Afterwards, we walked to Mamadou’s place, took a quick bucket bath, and then I sat briefly outside the concession and brewed a bag of tea from the packet I surprised Mamadou with as a gift. Baba arrived with food from another hangout crew, a delicious concoction of hard-boiled eggs and fries on top of cucumber and tomato salad. Around 22hr30, I caught a taxi back to the stage house, where I stayed up on the wireless until close to two in the morning.


8 April 2010

My Bamako Malian friends were blown away with the calendar my mom sent in a recent package, especially the photos of Mamadou bargaining for chickens in Kafara or my mom dancing with hang-out crew members last New Year’s Eve.

I think I’ve decided it makes more sense to stay in Bamako through the weekend rather than go to Kafara just for tomorrow only to leave again Saturday. Koulikoro Regional Training is at Toubaniso Monday-Thursday, and although it’s not an obligation for second year volunteers, it’ll give me a chance to see my PCV friend Mike and one last stay at our formation center. I’m also fairly certain my meeting with the director won’t happen by the time I’d have to leave to catch my ride back to village this afternoon. So now I have another day, tomorrow, to hopefully make that happen if it doesn’t today. I emailed him yesterday but haven’t seen a reply yet, and I’m about to go check out how busy he is at the Bureau, which is less than a five minute walk from this stage house. (He ended up calling me as I wrote this, and I met with him this afternoon – it went really well!)

I saw an amazingly funny thing leaving the stage house yesterday: a Chinese man speaking Bambara to a Malian! He’s in charge of a construction project nearby, and apparently sent one of his workers to fetch some lunch. I will be laughing about that for some time…a Chinese guy emerging from his house without a shirt to collect food from a Malian driving a moto taxi, completing the interaction with casual Bambara. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it all folks.

Today I remembered something I learned during Maman’s visit to Kafara. I noticed a mark on her left forearm, a kind of circular scar, and asked her about it. She said that it’s a kind of birthmark given to all children born in Mali; if you see someone with it, they’re Malian. Sure enough, I’ve started noticing the mark on everyone now, and wonder how I’d skimmed over it in the past.

Yesterday, around 12hr30 the power cut off for about an hour. The Malian staff person who overlooks reservations for the place, N’Daou, told us to calm down while he went to see about it. He arrived shortly and in a solemn voice said he had bad news: the power company workers had gone on strike. When asked for how long, he said anywhere from a couple of days to a week. I sat quietly as the rest of the volunteers fell for N’Daou’s bluff immediately. While the possibility of a strike likely, I wasn’t convinced. Not a minute later, before people started having hernias, N’Daou came back inside to say April Fool’s, and I approved of his joke with hearty laughter.

I called Mamadou this morning to run by my idea to not head home to Kafara just for a day, which he agreed made a good amount of sense. He told me he was at the hospital, but not to worry as it was due to our Daoudabougou friend Bocar’s wife giving birth to their fifth child, and first son. Another Daoudabougou friend had a baptism this morning for his newborn son, which unfortunately I had to miss because I wasn’t sure when I’d be catching my country director at the bureau. I did make sure to greet the new father today and give proper blessings, as well as apologize for my absence.


11 April 2010

Maman spent the day with Mamadou and I at his place in Daoudabougou yesterday, having come again to visit us as well as her father’s namesake, Mamadou’s nephew. Mamadou and I spent almost her entire visit continually teasing her over the calendar my mom gifted Mamadou, which we both predicted Maman would immediately not only love but also want a copy for herself. Mamadou kept telling her that the copies we made her would be in black and white, and also kept jokingly asking whether she was finished looking at the calendar, his calendar, reminding her to look at the name my mom wrote on the plastic envelope in which the calendar came. Right before she left, Maman reiterated her desire for her own copy, making sure we understood (how could we not already?) how serious she was about this. Mamadou finally said she could have his copy, which she immediately, and surprisingly, agreed to. I asked her whether she was actually willing to take someone else’s gift, to which she again immediately, and surprisingly, said yes. It was then that I went to get my copy of the calendar, and now had the lead-in that she could take my gift rather than Mamadou’s, adding that I now expected her to give me something she’d been gifted. The daylong joke had finally come to light, and even Mamadou and I were impressed by how well it went over in the end.


12 April 2010

Yesterday afternoon, a few of us PCV's headed off later to Toubaniso for Koulikoro Regional Training met up for lunch at the Colline Parfumée, a bar nearby my friend Peter’s apartment in the Hamdallaye-ACI 2000 quartier of Bamako. They make the best chicken schwarma I’ve had yet in Mali. The place has a fun atmosphere, with entertaining hip-hop music videos playing on a flat-screen, and our waitress exotically dressed in a get-up that I’d expect to see at an outer-space-themed venue.
Three nights ago, I met up with Peter, Suzy, Mike, and Megan at Colline Parfumée. I should probably preface this story with a description of what most bars in Mali double as: brothels. While Mike went out to meet up with Megan, I got up to smoke outside, as Suzy had recently quit and I didn’t want to be obnoxious (it was the only cigarette I smoked that day, don’t get too mad, OK?). A well-dressed Malian woman walked by, greeting me in French before finally just saying, cigarette. Wondering what she meant, and now speaking in Bambara, I confirmed that yes, I was smoking a cigarette. She shook her head, confusing me further but then I realized, ah, she must want a smoke. I held one out for her, but she told me to light it first, and as I did so she asked about the location of my woman. Stupidly, I replied I had no woman. She asked whether I was waiting for one, and I did my best to backpedal by saying I was only sitting outside to smoke my cigarette before going back inside. Giving me a weird look, almost in disbelief, as if I had no reason to smoke outside other than waiting for a woman, she asked whether I wanted her. Her directness continually surprised me. I reiterated I was only sitting outside to smoke; I wasn’t waiting for or wanting any women. She seemed to understand, starting to walk away before pausing to turn and ask whether she was too big for me. Blown away, I said no I had no intention of insinuating this and her size had nothing to do with my decision. Completely uncomfortable about all this, but still considerably amused, I walked inside to tell the whole story to Peter and Suzy, because clearly this laughter needed to be shared.