This evening around 6pm, after a day of apartment hunting with a friend, working on my computer on an NGO project, and catching up with phone calls after the weekend, I psych myself up and set out to run. I pass by my guardian and his family sitting on their patio downstairs. “I ni ce,” I greet them. “K’an ben sooni.” I’ll be back soon! My downstairs neighbor waves at me with a cigarette in his hand- “Wait,” he says to me in French, “I’ll go get my things and then I’ll accompany you on your run.” “Next time,” I reply, and his laughter follows me out of the courtyard and down to the newly paved road that I call my street. I didn’t bother to ask if he’d run with the cigarette or without it…
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| The newly paved road where I start my runs. |
Moments later, my feet are pounding the pavement and my legs were feeling good. After missing a long run yesterday due to too much fun and too little sleep the night before (oops), they are feeling fresh and limber. I pass by the impressive Chinese building (not the embassy, but a consulate?) and the sign for the “Le Manguier” hotel and bar that I’ve wanted to check out since passing it during a run last week. I head for a boutique a few blocks ahead and hang a left just across from it on to a dirt road that has turned to muddy red slop after a day full of rain and drizzle. I can’t complain, because I love the overcast sky and the temperate conditions that make this run feel invigorating and comfortable rather than stifling and difficult in the heat of the sun.
My route takes me past a lot sometimes used as a soccer field and across a small bridge covered in earth. I choose the wrong path through some brush instead of negotiating puddles and I end up with muddy, squishy tennis shoes. I turn right where the path leads away from the river to the main road near the Magnambougou market. I look out for sotrama vans as I cross onto the pavement and start up the hill that will take me to another dirt road and another neighborhood area- I prefer these quieter dirt streets to the busy exhaust filled thoroughfares in the neighborhood… even if they are riddled with rocks and other potential ankle twisters.
As I wind through the streets I pass the Catholic church belonging to my local quartier and I head back towards the paved road. My eyes on the street, I look out for potholes, rocks, puddles and streams of water to avoid. Gradually, I realize that the trickling stream I am watching wash down the street is not clear or muddy, but bright crimson red! It’s water filled with blood, and I look back to catch a glimpse of an animal being slaughtered outside a family compound. This is, after all, the last evening of Ramadan, the holy month of Islam. Families all over the quartier, the city, and most likely the country are sacrificing animals at this time and preparing to break a month of fasting by treating themselves to feasts of meat and other specialties!
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| Praying at the end of Ramadan in Mali |
The past month has flown by. I had some expectations for my first Ramadan in a Muslim country. I expected tired and crabby people to cross my path and bring me down. I was worried about offending people by eating and drinking during the day while they were trying to go without any foods or liquids (including water!). But, in true Malian fashion, people remained mainly upbeat and understanding about the way things were going this month. Ramadan doesn’t seem to have such hard, fast rules in Mali. I met many Muslims drinking tea as usual or waiting to fast until “next week” because they weren’t feeling well. Granted, fasting is not a requirement of the ill, pregnant, breastfeeding, old or very young, but here there seems to be little outright disapproval of those eligible to fast who might not for a day or two or more. When I explained to people that I was Christian and that even if I fasted, it would lack the religious significance of their actions (fasting is meant as a way for Muslims to learn about patience, spirituality, humility and submissiveness to God by giving up food, drink, sex, etc.- think a little like Lent), they seemed to understand and excuse me from even trying. Of course, every once and I while, I ran into the odd person who would tell me I couldn’t handle it or that it would be far too hard. Those of you who know me understand the power of these words and my need to explain their speaker’s misunderstanding of my capabilities. To these people, I explained that I was training for a half marathon. Running many kilometers a day. Working very hard at sports. I NEED water, I would explain. I am strong and physically fit. But I need water to keep me healthy. This was a good way to validate my need for food and drink and most people seemed to understand… or at least to accept this explanation. I guess I could have always just begged sickness….
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| With my friend, Ryan, after my first half marathon. April 2010. |
But, in fact, I am training for a half marathon. Next month, I will run through the center of Accra, Ghana with other expats and West Africans to complete my second half marathon (in sh’allah… God willing… ). I began training at the start of this month of Ramadan and am now up to 10 mile long runs and feeling pretty good about it! This running has given me my own chances for reflection and thought during a month of reflection and holy focus. I have discovered beautiful places in my own neighborhood that I never would have found by car, enjoyed the rain and the cool weather, cleared my head, felt healthy, and even established a bit of a routine.
My favorite times to run are early on weekend mornings and around seven in the evenings on weekdays. These are the quietest times in my neighborhood and the surrounding quartiers and also the coolest times of the day (for those of us who aren’t willing to get up at 5 or 6 am or run late late after dinner around 10). Running at these times helps me avoid the most potent exhaust fumes and the most congested times when narrow roadways are filled with pedestrians, motos, and cars. I hear far fewer chants of “Toubabou!!” (white person!) and am far less likely to be nearly run down by motos (it has happened, sadly enough, even on wide roads). If I never have to hear a child yell “bobaraba” at me again, I will not be disappointed (this means “big bootie” or “fat ass,” depending on how much benefit of the doubt you give to the namecaller).
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| Ordered new shoes! I hope they get here soon! |
Long runs on the weekends bring the added benefit of variety- I can go places that I can’t make it to during shorter runs throughout the week. I most enjoy running out past the Magnambougou market to the road leading to the third bridge that is almost ready for inauguration and traffic (or at least it looks that way to my non-engineering eye). As you reach this route, there is a small turn off on a dirt road running towards the river. The road takes you over a bridge, onto a concrete platform, across a one-person-wide pier and onto a dyke that runs east with the river creating a canal between it and the shore next to the road. This dirt path is wide enough for cars, but only hosts motos, cyclists, and pedestrians, and is not often highly populated at 7:30am on Saturdays or Sundays. The wind, the sound of water rushing under a small dam, and the bird calls and chirping bugs are the closest semblances to the beach I have found here in Bamako. While I run on this strip of land, I enter a state of Zen that I don’t even allow reckless motos to penetrate. I like the calm quiet of the morning hours and am still amazed by how much I can accomplish before noon when I get up and run at 7!!
But the most magical time to run is at 7pm on weekdays. During Ramadan and every other month of the year, 7pm is about the time for the late evening call to prayer. But, during this month, the 7pm prayer takes on a particular significance. This moment signals the end of the day’s fast and the beginning of a large communal meal, started by steaming kinkileba tea or maybe some dates and milk. Running at this time is a really awe inspiring experience. The roads are empty and peaceful as members of Mali's 95% Muslim population join with their families for a meal to break the fast, and the competing calls to prayer resound from the mosques in the area. Running down a dirt road in the fading sunlight, past a mosque where men are praying on mats lined up outside the door, I can’t help but be amazed that this is where I live and this is the place that I have gotten to call home for the past year. During these moments, I’m honestly glad that I forced myself to put on my muddy tennis shoes and head out to the busy city streets for some exercise.
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| Sometimes the sky is this beautiful during evening runs |
In addition to the moments of introspection, calm roadway conditions at 7pm (in fact, the whoe traffic rush hour pattern shifted so the bridges became packed at 5 pm instead of 6 or 7) and shorter lunch waits at restaurants, and despite the decrease in street food vendors and the even shorter than usual attention spans during meetings (or the lack of attendance in general- experienced in Banankoro a couple of times this month), Ramadan offered a sense of ritual even to this non participant’s day. By running regularly and observing revised traffic migration patterns, I felt at peace more often this month. I hope this will remain true in the coming months I have yet to spend in Mali and throughout the decisions I will be making in the near future. Though I haven’t had to wait all day for a bite to eat or something cold to drink, I have learned ever more about the importance of patience this month- patience with training programs, with tired fasting Malians, with the speed of project conclusions, and with the need to make big decisions and travel plans. I hope that we can all hang on to this patience that Ramadan has showed us. We shall see, beginning tomorrow morning, as I spend time with my host family and negotiate my way around to greet other Malian friends in my stiff bazin fabric and fancy shoes. I know my patience will be tested as this city of millions attempts to do the same. Let’s just hope it doesn’t rain… In’shallah!
