Week in Kafara

20 April 2010

So I’ll begin with a couple updates in town. I arrived in Kafara for the first time not in Air Digan, as the van had been out of service due to a lack of a chauffeur. The day prior to my leaving Bamako, we called that guy more than ten times, only to reach his voicemail. Finally, he picked up and told us he was in San, a city in the far away region of Mopti, but before giving us any indication of whether he was returning or Air Digan still in operation, we lost our connection.
Once again, we’re without power, something I correctly assumed my first night in town as I biked past the mosque to see a light fixture hooked up outside as well as a fire, neither a good indicator of electricity available community-wide.
Last night, a short downpour passed over around 20hr00, allowing for an early bedtime, but not before Siaka informed me of his friend’s marriage this Thursday in the neighboring village of Djonkalan. Another reason for me to visit there he informed me was due to my host sister Ma fitini’s husband passing away recently. He’d still been in the Kayes region trying to make some extra money, and the cause of his death is yet unknown to me, but if I were to guess I’d go with malaria. They were a young couple, Ma fitini herself just 20, leaving me to wonder what lies ahead for her now.

Today, I was told by Soumaïla to remove all my articles from my hut to the other adjacent mine in order to replace my slowly sinking roof, threatening imminent collapse as rainy season draws near.
Riding to the butigi across town, while trying to look at my bike’s rear tire and figure out what noise it was making, I looked up to see a hug sunken pot hole. There was no way to avoid it, and soon I was thrown over the handlebars, before I broke my fall somehow by rolling in a somersault. As I sat on the dirt road, more than slightly embarrassed, I scanned the wide open area I’d fallen for any witnesses, and to my amazement I found not a single person to join in laughter at my expense.
As I left the butigi for home, the imam (my younger host mother’s dad) called me over to greet. He said while I’d been in Bamako he’d dropped by my host family’s concession a couple times to say hello.
There are close to twenty homeless frogs now huddled in the shade of my thatched windbreak. They had been spending the day under the pile of old powdered milk bags that were for whatever reason in my concession (didn’t come from me). Nevertheless, the bags, and those frog’s former shady locale, are gone now. I imagine once Soumaïla discovers how many of them there are hanging out, they will be tossed outside the concession’s walls just like the fate that befell those powdered milk bags.
Minding my own business, snacking on the fruit of the tree whose shade I stood beneath, a hungry cow approached me from behind and poked at me with its horns in pursuit of my mango.


21 April 2010

During my brief visit to Sita’s house last night, I learnt her older half-sister Djénéba is now a mother. This news came as a bit of a surprise, as Djénéba struck me as more responsible than having a kid under such circumstances (she’d only left for Bamako the year before to continue studies, cannot yet be 20, and isn’t married). Perhaps my perception of women in Mali is naïve; too often I’d be quicker to blame the man in any similar situation.

Another surprise came this morning when I noticed Air Digan passing through town, already equipped with a new driver. This though came with some relief, as I’d not been looking forward to the inconvenience of not having direct transport to and from Kafara during future Bamako trips.

Today I brewed tea while Soumaïla prepared the last layers of my thatched-roof. I helped Soumaïla measure my square hut’s perimeter, marking each corner on the ground nearby to assemble the new roof structure. Once that conical form takes shape, I took pictures while Siaka and Daouda fastened the top, even climbing up there myself so Siaka could take my photo.

It was as hot tonight as it ever got yesterday (~95), so I laid my bed out under my gwa. Before long, Kadiatou stopped by with news that Vieux Ba had sent her on a mission, specifically that she and I were to go to reception and call Maman. Kadiatou would leave with Vieux Ba the next day for a short stay in Niengue-Coro.

Little Sori has begun to refer to me as “Mamadou kuma ba” (big Mamadou) to differentiate me from his younger brother “Mamadou fitini” (little Mamadou).

Using the long stick Malians pick mangoes with, I fell a mango from 25-30ft above me straight down into my left hand, an act that left my host brother Vieux laughing in disbelief.


25 April 2010

I’d spent the past three days in Djonkalan, a neighboring village, the last of which surround Kafara I’d yet to visit. It’s a weird place, with piles of lumber everywhere in stacks to sell, and seemingly every woman over 20 married and with at least one kid. Siaka would probably like to think I came along with him to attend his friend’s wedding, but I preferred staying with Ma fitini and her late husband’s family. The sight of Ma fitini in the same robes Fodé’s widows wore for the similar grieving period was a trip.

Siaka and I stopped on our way in Digan to greet N’Dia’s younger siblings, as their mother recently died. To give this some context, N’Dia is Siaka’s grandmother and close to 85. This leaves only to assume that his great-grandmother’s age is somewhere in the ballpark of 105, so perhaps her passing away was easier to accept for her relatives than under different circumstances. Even Siaka’s great-uncle, whose concession we arrived at first, invited us to eat before letting me know it wasn’t serious that his mother was now gone, because God exists. Something about the way he said this gave me the chills. Before Siaka and I went on our way, Siaka passed along my 500 FCFA contribution, an alms-giving that pleased his relatives immensely.

There are several immunizations planned in Kafara coming up, and I’d wanted to be around for all of them. Somehow Siaka didn’t understand this and convinced me he’d heard the one scheduled for yesterday had been cancelled. Well, this morning I wake up to see Djonkalan’s doctor distributing polio vaccine to children. Upon Siaka’s typically tacky handling of this type of matter (he tends to think he knows exactly what I’m feeling at any moment, only to almost always be wrong, this time suggesting my missing an opportunity to help with a national immunization initiative in lieu of his friend’s wedding wasn’t a big deal), I kind of lost it in front of Ma fitini’s in-laws. Upon arriving to Kafara, Soumaïla told me by that time Kadia and Ba Kumba would have already finished administering shots to all children under five in each of Kafara’s 57 concessions. Rather than continue being upset about it, I just accepted the unfortunate situation and made the best of it I could, searching for those in my host family who should’ve received a shot to make sure they did.


27 April 2010

Back when I got word Kadia was getting married, I was repeatedly told by villagers in Kafara that Soumaïla had betrayed me. Up until today, I didn’t understand exactly what that meant, beyond the obvious fact she was perhaps the closest member of my host family. Well, yesterday I was with Mamadou’s older brother Abou in the northern part of Kafara where an enclave of Doumbia family folks live, and they informed me that when a Malian woman is to be married, her father’s younger brother has the final say in the matter. In the case of Kadia, that would be Soumaïla, and there you have the villagers’ reasoning for betrayal.