Last Trip to Nièngue-Coro

12 September 2010

Relieved I'd even made it to Dialakoroba (the road between Dafara and Kafara is still a very long stretch to refer to as road), my mood quickly turned sour upon realizing the sim card in my phone wasn't mine; I'd forgotten to switch it out with my Malitel this morning. It sucks to find this out after recharging that account, believe me. Alhamdullilah, my Orange sim was available on my person, and I was able to call Maman and rendezvous just down the road, where she sat in a concession her father used to frequent. There we wait for her uncle to arrive, upon which he ran several errands in market, and we took the chance to buy tomorrow's dinner (cucumbers). Maman made sure I'd come with water, and I pointed to the bottle of water I'd just bought. She'd come with something like 5 bottles from her workplace in Bamako, something I felt to be exceptionally thoughtful but also funny in a cute way.

Upon arriving in Nièngue-Coro, Maman brought me around to greet her father's extended family, all of whom remembered me from past visits. I sat amongst innumerous younger cousins and siblings along with Maman's mother and aunts, our chats broken with interruptions of scurrying children to avoid konowolo, a customary dance that was taking place for end of Ramadan entertainment. Two villagers, dressed in costumes complete with head scarfs and masks covered in puka shells, ran about village with two tree branches which they use to punish anyone they might catch. I never saw this occur, but Maman insists she has scars from her younger days and past encounters with this tradition.
The konowolo performed a dance to djèmbe yesterday evening, and Vieux Ba (Maman's cousin) took photos. His wish to take a shot of me with the dancers made for an awkward exchange, because they don't speak. Those who spoke for them said I had to pay, something that rubbed the Malians with me the wrong way but they insisted today I'd get a chance to try again.

Each time Maman has traveled to Nièngue-Coro since her father's passing, her uncles have tried to marry her, to the point she wonders how long they'd been planning on such before her father had died. Last night, this happened again. We arrived at an uncle's house, sat down, a couple of his friends arrived, then he told me to sit and wait while Maman and he went into another room for several minutes. It was bizarre. One of the men was a hunchback, and the other fidgeted with a radio that played nothing but static before giving up and falling asleep in his seat. Maman and her uncle arrived, but only for a moment before Maman said for me to get up and leave for home. On our way back, she began to tell me about all this. Up until now, she's been able to reject these unwelcome suggestions of marriage, but if she's eventually forced into such an arrangement, she would 'disappear' (run away). We both sat in silence after this comment.

We took a walk a short ways across town in order to find reception to call both Soumaïla and Mamadou to let them know we'd arrived all right. The night sky was even more star-filled than those in Kafara, and it was pleasant to enjoy the silence of the reception spot for a moment before returning home.

For dinner, we were treated to fish fresh from a nearby river that Maman broiled in a veggie-filled broth in which we dipped bread. I'm privileged to be in Maman's culinary company.