Rules of the Road: Volume Two

Some ominous clouds and a rainy windshield in ACI 2000 this morning

As a tip of my hat to the current rainy season, and today’s conditions specifically, the second volume of the Rules of the Road series will be entitled:  

Rainy Days Don’t Get Me Down.

I have already written about some of the beautiful things that rainy season brings.  Cooler air, soothing sounds, interesting sights- all of these are the positive staples of “l’hivernage” here in Bamako.  However, rain does present some unique concerns and interesting scenarios when it comes to driving in the city.  However, I find that the rain brings more positive qualities than negative ones when it comes to getting around in my car (or at least that’s what I’m going to keep telling myself).  

A few positives about driving in the rain:

1.   (Almost) No Motos!!!  This may be one of the best benefits of downpours and sprinkles in Mali.  Roads that are usually jammed with moto bikes that make me nervous at best (and road-ragey at worst) become shockingly calm.  The first time I drove in a big rain here, I couldn’t figure out why things seemed less stressful even though I could barely see a foot in front of me.  I attribute this to the lack of motos on the roadways.  A bonus is that if you drive past a gas station with a bit awning or under an overpass, you get to see herds of moto drivers hanging out and waiting for the rain to pass.  A secondary bonus is that you also see a few brave souls driving through the pelting rain- sometimes in full rough weather gear (think bright yellow hooded rainslicker with matching pants) and other times wearing plastic baggies tied around the head to protect a precious weave or braids.

Traversing the new bridge this morning.  Light traffic!  Better... NO motos!!

2.  Drivers are often a little more prudent on the roads during times of monsoon.  During a couple of excursions I made during downpours, people were inching along the roadways and being a little less hasty with their turns and risky intersection crossings.  Of course, you’ll always run across a couple of jerks who think that the rain doesn’t apply to them, especially if they’re in their big SUVs or giant trucks.  But for some reason, I feel less angry and more sorry for these drivers in rainy conditions. 

3.  Which brings me to another big positive—my attitude and patience level in the rain.  I just feel less pressed to get anywhere when it’s raining.  In fact, there are times when I have (very acceptably) cancelled meetings or plans because of the rain and a real hesitancy to drive in it on a particular afternoon.  I guess it’s harder for me to get caught up in roadway competition (real or imagined) when there are such adverse driving conditions to focus on.

4.  Another great thing in the rain, though not really about it… my new tires and windshield wipers!!  At the beginning of rainy season I was terrified to go even a short distance if it was raining because my tires were basically bald and my windshield wipers only made comtact with a sixteenth of my windshield.  Now, with brand new tires and wipers, I am no longer afraid of hydroplaning at the slightest touch of the brake or of hitting something because the windshield is too wet and blurry.

My sweet new wheels!   No more hydroplaning.

 5.  You get to see funny things when you’re driving in the rain (if you have time to pay attention because your windshield wipers work properly).  From the aforementioned plastic bag hairnets and full rain gear to fancy canvas window covers for the sotramas (I was shocked at how nice these covers are because the big green vans themselves are often in miserable shape!), and makeshift umbrellas, there are things to be amused by when on the road in the rain.

6.  A rainshower is a free car  wash… and my car is always in need of one of those!

Of course there are some downsides to rainy day driving…. Hidden potholes, puddles that could be shallow or could be oceans- you never know, crazy drivers who don’t seem to notice the rain, getting to/from and in/out of the car, the mud, the mud, the mud…   But, I think I’m getting used to taking most of these things in stride.  I didn’t let the rain foil my plans to run errands this morning… after all, it’s really much easier in a car than it is on foot, by bike, or even via public transportation.  So Rule of the Road Number 2 might be restated:  Rain can be a blessing, especially when you have your own car!

Rules of the Road: Volume One

Baby Car back in November just after I bought her

I apologize for the drought of interesting blog entries.  Things have been busy and I haven’t been so great at making myself sit down and write about the things happening here every day.  To be honest, I can’t tell you about my routine because I just don’t have one.  I started to think about the things I could share about my stay here and my day to day life.  One thing that never ceases to be a burden and a benefit is my car.  Driving in Bamako is an adventure every day.  It is one major source of my proudest accomplishments, biggest time savers, greatest frustrations, tears, anger, relief, and much more.  There are days when having and using my car make things so much easier and put me at ease.  And other days when I get pulled over multiple times, get flat tires, have to sit at the garage, get screamed at by crazy Malian chauffeurs, and end up generally frustrated.  What better stories to share than the ins and outs of these extreme emotions and (hopefully) interesting anecdotes?!? 

Rule of the Road Number One is: Creativity is Key

Rule of the Road number one could just as easily be that there are no rules, but this would be exaggerating just a bit.  Rather, I like to think of this rule in terms of positives- meaning that creativity and innovation are key parts to driving in Bamako.  Being a clever driver is always useful because it can help you 1) cut in front of more cars, 2) get places more quickly, 3) avoid more accidents, 4) avoid getting pulled over, 5) and generally make for less waiting and more eventful car trips. 

Creative driving includes, but is not limited to:  using the shoulder to avoid waiting in traffic and then cutting in front of all the cars you just passed; driving in the middle of two lanes to prevent anyone from passing you and thereby maintaining your position “in front”; slowly inching into traffic until you have completely blocked one lane and drivers are forced to let you turn in front of them or cross a street; passing slow moving cars on narrow roads with finesse and (sometimes reckless) agility; having your broken down van towed by your friend’s two door starlet to get it to the garage (I don’t think I’ve ever seen a real functioning tow truck here…).   But two of the biggest keys to creative driving that I have noticed are short cuts and detours. 

Traffic on the "new bridge"- four lanes with a median!

Every taxi driver has his own short cuts.  He might take you down a dirt road that zig-zags through a quartier that you didn’t even know existed just to avoid a police post where he might get pulled over.  He might take you down a street he knows has a great fruit selection because he wants to buy some mangoes, but also because he swears this way is faster (of course).  Similarly, taxi drivers are usually excellent when it comes to detours.  In the city, streets (or worse, bridges) can be closed inexplicably (or for instance, at commonly known but never posted times like Friday during the afternoon prayer), routes can be blocked entirely by accidents at rush hour, or traffic jams can make attempts at forward motion so futile that you feel forced to change your route.  There are never posted detours during any of these times.  In fact, even during road work there are never any signs offering assistance to drivers seeking a way around the mess that is created while improvements are being made.  In a city where road signs are almost non-existent to begin with, detours are just as important as short cuts and must be memorized through experience or trial and error. 

I am beginning to feel more and more capable and more and more Malian in my mastery and use of short cuts and detours.  I know that if the traffic for the old bridge* is backed up to the last light before my house, I should cut down a parallel side street and turn right into traffic just before the bridge, avoiding up to a 20 minute wait.  I know that if I take the old bridge, I should make an immediate left upon leaving the bridge instead of sitting on a one way road waiting to turn right and being “cut” by big trucks and annoying taxis.  I now know at least four different ways to get from my neighborhood to the Hippodrome neighborhood where several friends live and I have even come up with variations on these four major trajectories.  In cases of bad traffic or accidents, I detour accordingly.  In short, I feel like I have gotten to know Bamako over time by driving around town and operating through trial and error.

Crossing the "old bridge"- two lanes and lots of proximity to motos

However, I was reminded this weekend that I shouldn’t feel overconfident about my shortcut savviness.  The crazy drivers and traffic patterns in Bamako can always find a way to throw “sure things” for a loop.  It was Saturday around noon.  I was running a little late for lunch at my research assistant, Binta’s, house.  The bridge gave me little trouble and I wasn’t even sweating too much as I approached my favorite and most clever shortcut…. The fruit road by the French embassy that helped avoid the  crazy one-way street near the Bank of Africa (I know… these landmarks aren’t very helpful, but just know that I had historically saved up to 20 minutes of waiting time using this very shortcut!).  I waited a little longer than usual after making my turns and it slowly became apparent that no one was moving- not the line of cars I was waiting in or the vehicles approaching the intersection from the other road.  There was actually a police officer directing traffic, and as I approached the intersection (eventually, and slowly), I tried to make eye contact and indicate that I didn’t understand what was going on.  People seemed to be turning around, and it appeared as though there was a bus up ahead blocking the narrow thoroughfare.  Still, it didn’t look like anything too grave.  However, the officer was making everyone in my lane turn left or make a U-turn to avoid the road ahead.  Once I gathered this and decided on the U-turn option, I took a moment to shake my fist at the middle aged man behind me blaring his horn and yelling at me as though I was the one to cause the need for a detour, and then I turned. 

During my shortcut, I snapped pictures of this trash pile on the route

Now, I had a problem.  I was back at square one where I had exited the bridge, and I had no idea how to get around the particularly tricky stretch of road that was blocked.  A similar scenario had presented itself before- that time I was coming from the opposite direction at night and found the road blocked by three semi trucks who had not done a very good job of sharing an intersection.  I had to totally retrace my route and make a  large arc around the scene of the jam.  On Saturday I had no particular desire to make a huge detour out of my way and I knew there were back roads frequented by taxis, semis, and other vehicles, so I decided I would risk it.  I called my research assistant and got instructions from her husband and set out on a bumpy dirt road that was filled with other motorists cleverly avoiding the roadblock in the same way that I was. 

Cows eating trash while I wait in traffic taking a detour

The detour was relatively uneventful, and Binta’s kind husband, Cissouma, met me along the route to guide me the last bit towards their home.  Even that was a little tricky as a road that was normally passable had been blockaded that morning by huge trucks and some makeshift barriers.  Finally, I arrived Chez Binta, only 20 minutes late and a little sweatier for the effort.  But now, I was armed with a route that could be a useful detour in the future, or even a new short cut!  Over fonio (Malian cous cous) and delicious peanut sauce (Binta added cabbage because I told her I liked it a lot), we discussed research, English language, photography, their son, Oto, and of course- the lamentable route that ran past their neighborhood and had caused me momentary difficulties.  “It’s terrible!”  Cissouma agreed, in a supportive way.  He suggested I give myself extra time to get home before my next engagement so that I could have time to spare in case of heavy traffic.  I willingly agreed and headed out to face my destiny on the road…. Fifteen shortcut-less minutes later, I was home without a hitch.  Thanks to a little creative driving (I blew by a slow moving truck before reaching the bridge, and blared my horn at some taxis trying to cut in front of me from the side of the road), and a fortunately minimal amount of traffic, I had an uneventful trip- the best kind! 

Be sure to stay tuned for upcoming entries on other things that can make for eventful car trips…. Read about my tactics for avoiding police officers and about my experiences with Malian mechanics!

*The city of Bamako is separated by the Niger River.  I live on the south side of the river in a slightly more residential area whereas the city center, biggest markets, US Embassy, and many friends are on the North side of the river.  The two halves are connected by two bridges… the “old bridge” is a 2 lane bridge closest to my house that leads straight into the main market.  The “new bridge” is a 4 lane crossing point that goes close to the US Embassy.

The Winds of Change

Rain last week at my apartment

I started this blog post last night* as the winds screamed and the dust whipped outside of my apartment.  With the door open to let the breeze come off my balcony through the screen, I could hear the storm brewing and take advantage of the strong cool breeze coming into my bedroom- ahhh.  It also meant a lot of dust made it onto my newly cleaned bedroom floor, but you win some and you lose some!  The wind was a relief on a night when my A/C unit didn’t seem to want to blow cool air, but it made for unsuccessful blogging.  I didn’t get much past the title of this post before my electricity flickered and then everything went black. 

It was really coming down!

The winds have really been picking up in Bamako and with them, come the rains!  I hope that this is a sign that the hot season is ending and the rainy season is well on its way to cooling things down and turning things green***!  We have had a couple of mango rains and a couple of teasers, but I am thinking optimistically that this is the start of something a little more serious!  Impending rain cancelled my trip to Banankoro last Thursday and forced me to retreat back to my house with my research assistant because I couldn’t even see enough to drive her home!  Earlier this week I got stuck in the car waiting for Zak to bring food from inside a restaurant.  He had to make a dash for the car when it became clear that the rain was not going to let up.  Today, the rain has forced me to stay inside rather than driving to Banankoro with my research assistant.  I was hoping to start a week of village stay to wrap up fieldwork, but alas, mother nature conspired against my plans by unleashing a downpour complete with booming thunder that sounded like a mine explosion (or at least what I imagine that would sound like).

My apartment building and neighboring phone tower after a big rain

The world is becoming greener, muddier, cooler, and more slippery, but the winds are not signaling just the coming of rain and the change of seasons around here.  I know I have written several times of changes going on, and I think that’s because it’s easier for me to write about the atypical or different things that happen to me here, rather than describing the day to day events that seem really routine to me.  This time, the changes are most significantly marked by an exodus of friends and colleagues and a vacation season (meaning lots of people taking trips to the US and elsewhere) that has left me feeling rather antsy to think about my plans for the fall  (and beyond) and to work a little travel into my life.    

Change: Zak's hair.  Before.

My weeks have still been consisting of a few days of teaching English and a few days of researching in Banankoro, but that, too is ending this week with my final English class and a push to wrap up interviews with village women and leaders.  By this time next week, I hope to be able to report that my fieldwork has really come to a close.  Now I transition into a period of basic analysis and “Where do we go from here?”  This question is one that has been creeping up for a while now, and I am now faced with a self imposed sense of urgency to create a game plan about what I can and will do in regards to the program that I have spent the past several months evaluating.  There is a long and complicated back story that accompanies this question and I’d be happy to share it with those of you who might be interested.  But I’ll just say for now that I am beginning to realize that there is only so much that one person can do and that a year is the blink of an eye in the scheme of things.

After.

More change will be coming soon, as my grant officially ends in August.  I am eagerly awaiting responses from applications submitted in April/May and will know within a few weeks what the general plan for my coming months will look like.  I may be jumping the gun a bit, but as so many around me begin to leave Bamako, I am beginning to feel like things here are coming to a close for me, too.  And in a way, they are.  But there is still a lot to do and much to enjoy!  However, it’s really never too early to start thinking about my next trip, right?  Weigh in, friends… Morocco, Ghana, Senegal, France?  What do you think….?

An exciting change!  The addition of a puppy to my life!  Meet Zira!

*I actually started this blog post about a week and a half ago (at the time, it was last night).  For some reason I have become terrible at finishing posts... I actually have several half finished entries sitting in Word waiting to be scrapped or saved...

**When I started writing this post, the arrival of rainy season was not yet totally apparent, but now, I think I can say that with rains about every other day it is here and picking up force.  

More change in Bamako- the third bridge being constructed in town

***Mali typically has a rainy season from June- September/October (or thereabouts) and the wettest month is August with an average of 8.7 inches of rainfall.  Temperatures decrease quite a bit during this time and the banks of the Niger River swell during this season.

Segou Sunset

Segou Sunset as seen from our pinasse

The first time the alarm rings I am confused and can’t figure out what’s going on.  After my 10 minute “Snooze” grace period, I remember what the incessant beeping means and I drag myself out of bed.  After a quick shower I make my bed and straighten up- it’s always better to come home from a trip and be greeted by a clean house.  Ready with backpack and granola bars I walk out along the quiet dusty road to hunt for a taxi.  It’s early for me, but not really so early for my neighbors- the sun has already started to shed light on the day and the neighborhood is stirring.  I find a taxi without trouble and we stop to pick up Zak before heading to meet friends at a nearby restaurant, Amandine.

We arrive as they are hosing off the patio, washing off the grime and dust of one day to prepare for the traffic of another.  They aren’t popular at this hour, but at 6:30 they are already open.  We sit zombie like in front of the TVs and make simple conversation with two Canadian girls who will share our ride.  It’s too early for Zak to talk and my brain seems sluggish and reluctant to react to conversation.  This changes a bit when our car arrives.  Our friend, Cecilia, smiles and waves from the driver’s seat of a massive SUV with diplomatic plates and African printed seat covers.  She will be our driver for the weekend, a brave and economically sound choice for this trip.  Though they got as little sleep as I did, Cecilia, Erin, and Martha are excited for the trip and already energetic about the day.  I remember that despite my morning grogginess, I am excited for this trip, too! 

After a few hours in the car, expertly negotiating potholes and avoiding big speeding trucks, singing along to the iPod, and waving at villagers we pass along the route, we arrive at our lodgings- a cute little hotel and artist co-op at the edge of Segou near the river.  By this time we’re all awake and our group of five celebrates the start of our vacation with late morning beers, delicious tomato snacks, and some juicy juicy mangoes.  As the wind whips my hair and I laugh with friends on a lovely shaded patio I am so excited to be out of Bamako and starting this little adventure. 

Lovely travel companions Cecilia, Erin, and Martha

Bellies happy and legs stretched after the ride, fatigue begins to set in and even the enthusiasm we all share can’t buoy our energy levels quite enough.  A nap in the A/C is just what the doctor ordered!  After a couple hours sleep, I rouse myself and quietly shower and dress.  I choose a long skirt and wrap a scarf around my hair to keep it from turning to tangles in the wind.  I make a couple phone calls and set out to visit Mama Fatim, the woman who hosted me during my last visit to Segou in February.  Because we’re out of the center of town, I walk a ways before I find transportation.  It is hot hot hot this afternoon and I’m glad I’ve brought a nalgene full of cool water to stay hydrated along the roadside.  I pass venders and greet them in Bambara, usually getting a pleasant and encouraging reaction, but occasionally encountering some taunts and some “Toubab” chanting children.  Eventually, I find a moto taxi that will take me part way to my destination- all the way into town for just 100cfa (about 25 cents).  I attempt to make the entire transaction and trip in Bambara and it works until I realize I’ve gone too far and I have to explain to the driver that I need to stop immediately, please!  Luckily, I’m not too far off my route and I quickly find a taxi to take me the rest of the way.  A quick pause along the road to buy some mangoes and I arrive at Fatim’s, full sack of ripe orange mangoes in hand and only slightly sweaty for the effort. 

The visit with Fatim is a joy.  She is genuinely happy to see me and to inquire after my friends that she met during the last trip.  She demands why I would stay in a hotel when I know I can always stay at her place, and I explain that I am here just for one night with friends who will be leaving Mali soon- for good.  “Toi- tu ne vas pas quitter le Mali, n’est pas?” she asks.  You won’t leave Mali, right ?  « Il faut chercher un mari ici, » you should find a husband here !  “I love Mali,” I explain, “but my family misses me and hopes I will come home.  My grandmother recently sent me a note saying she loved me and thinks it’s time that I come home!”  This she understands.  “This is your mother’s mother?” she asks knowingly.  “It is like that with mothers and grandparents.  You should go home.  But you can find a husband here and come and go.  Some time here, some time there.  This is best.”  Madame Keita, a neighbor visiting for the afternoon, agrees with an appreciative cluck from over on her couch.  Now that this is decided for me, we move on to conversation about the politics of Africa.  Gbagbo on TV in his underwear, Gaddahfi and the rebel armies, and the dissolution of the government in neighboring Burkina Faso- “l’Afrique est gaté maintenant,” Fatim decides.  I offer my two cents, but there’s really not much else to say.  Africa really is “broken” right now in a lot of places.  So we move back to talking about friends and her son Cheik, who is in Bamako.  We see each other every so often and she inquires again about his health.  Then, nothing important left to say, a silence descends upon us, broken by only by the whirring of the fan, the soft snoring of Madame Keita who is now napping on her couch, and the sound of children playing outside in the courtyard.  I have grown more used to these silences, but they still remain more awkward for me than for most Malians, it seems.  When I announce a few minutes later that I should go, Fatim protests, “Already?” even though we’ve been sitting in silence for what seems like a while.  She ushers me to the road with a gaggle of children in tow and puts me on the back of a moto belonging to a man who eagerly volunteers to take me to town in lieu of looking for a taxi. 

Reunited with my friends in the city center, I peruse the offerings of artisan shops set up for the viewing pleasure of tourists.  This is the third time I’ve visited Segou in the past six months, and I’ve spent a bit of time near these stalls, so I have some old “friends” to greet as we walk up and down the street popping in and out of makeshift boutiques and dodging Tuareg salesmen all hocking the same leather covered boxes.  I do my best to greet salespeople in Bambara and try to pretend that I really know how to speak the language.  Even when a couple of vendors approach me in English, I respond in Bambara- it’s usually a better bargaining tool, it gives me practice, and it’s often met with enthusiasm along the way.  I make friends with a fellow Maiga (that’s my family name here in Mali) and buy a mirror that I didn’t even know I wanted.  When I become tired of the searching and the hounding, I sit under an awning and drink a coke with Cecilia while Erin and Martha play with the son of a fabric saleswoman. 

Drinking sweet and delicious bissap tea

The highlight of the day is just ahead.  We have arranged to take a pinasse along the Niger River for an hour and a half just as the sun is setting.  As we wait for Zak to join us, I negotiate with the boat guide and make a request for tea or delicious bissap (hibiscus juice) to be served during our tour.  I really like this guy, Ibrahim, and his crew member who is also a Maiga like me!  We share some friendly banter and I am assured that we have lucked out with this choice of guide!  As we set off on our journey along the river and across to peak at the neighboring Bozo village, the sun begins to set.  The setting is beautiful and the company couldn’t be better!  I sip delicious bissap tea (I guess maybe my Bambara wasn’t that great… instead of tea or bissap juice we got bissap tea- it’s awesome!) and look out over the river with my camera.  At this moment I am happy and I feel full.  A momentary silence comes over the group as the moon rises and the sun slips below the horizon.  Even a temporary loss of engine function goes practically unnoticed as we enjoy this relaxing ride.  As we pull into port, we thank the two guides who made our trip possible and I am genuinely happy to share some money with them and take their card so that maybe we can visit again.  In a place where I often feel pestered and have maybe become a little jaded, it’s nice to meet someone in the tourism business like Ibrahim, who is truly helpful, kind and accommodating. 

Fresh off the boat, we head straight to Djoliba hotel for brick oven pizza specials.  I load mine up with toppings, and the result does not disappoint!  Bellies really full and happy, we stop at another hotel for chocolate mousse, a glimpse of a soccer match on TV, and a wind down after the day.  I sleep well when I make it back to my bed and even sleep in a little the next morning because, hey- we’re on vacation!  And vacation it is on the lazy Sunday that follows.  After a lazy breakfast shared in the shade, all the girls pile into the SUV and we visit a Bogolon co-operative supported by the EU and run by local Malian women.  I debate over pillowcases and finally buy three after agonizing for far too long over decorating accessories.  We leave Zak to rest at the hotel (poor guy has come down with a cold) and continue on the Auberge hotel where we have made a date with their pool.  I spend the rest of my afternoon basking in the sunshine, swimming, and eating poolside, sharing girl talk with my friends.  I begin to take offense as the waiter acts annoyed at our group, his customers.  I would never treat customers with such an air of disinterest and resentment, I protest to myself, but I refuse to let him get me down because my food is good and the pool is brilliant!  This is a feat for me, and something I find I accomplish less easily during the day to day grind back in Bamako. 

Refreshed from a swim and an afternoon in the sun!

We pile into the car at the end of the afternoon, refusing the last pleas and offers from nearby vendors, and bid Segou goodbye.  I spend the next few hours singing songs with friends, swapping stories, and shifting back into Bamako mode as phones begin to ring and evening plans are made.  As with all good trips, I am sad to see this one end.  It marks the end of a weekend, the end of a “vacation” and the beginning of the end of my friend Erin’s stay in Mali- she will leave at the week's end.  I write about this trip now, in detail, because it was such a pleasant little surprise.  I always enjoy going to Segou and especially spending time with friends, but this simple weekend trip kind of jolted me out of a routine in a way that needed to happen.  I recently have come to feel as though I am sort of going through the motions here in Bamako- I research a few afternoons a week, teach English for a couple of hours, exercise in the evenings and schedule dinner plans with friends a few days in advance.  Even in Africa, things have managed to become a little “ho-hum,” and I’d like to avoid that as much as possible!  Mostly I think this will just take a slight change in attitude and a renewed sense of energy about each of my daily commitments- an effort that I need to make and a consciousness I feel I need to work harder to maintain every day.  But let's face it, a great mini-vacation once and a while surely doesn’t hurt!             

It's Getting Hot, Hot, HOT!

Hot season has arrived in Mali.  Ok, it’s actually been here for quite a while, but it’s now in full force and I am daily reminded of its fury.  The first time I came to Mali, I arrived at the beginning of February- a month that grows hotter each day and begins the period not so fondly known here as “la chaleur” (the hotness).  But during this stay, I was lucky enough to experience a cooling of things in October and then a period of cooler days and evenings (more fondly called “la fraicheur” or coolness) that even necessitated sleeves at times.  Whereas before, I knew nothing but hot, this hot season comes with the knowledge of how pleasant the times really can be in Mali.  In that respect, it is just a little more cruel.  “La chaleur” reared its ugly head in earnest for the first time this year in early March.  After our weeklong trip to Burkina Faso, we arrived in Bamako to a hotter city and some of the other tell-tale signs of hot season’s arrival. 

NOTE:  Mali is always hot (by Indiana standards anyway).  Even in the “cold” season, daytime temps were usually in the 80s and the temperature at night rarely dips below the 60s.  However, during the hot season, we often see 105-110 degree days in Bamako, and at night, we don’t get much of a break.  There are nights when newscasters warn viewers that sleeping inside is dangerous, and each year, several people die due to heat related illness.  Days and nights this hot are characterized by other special qualities that one can only attribute to “la chaleur.”

Hot season staples:

• A hotter wind- this quality is quite disappointing, because even on a hot day, a breeze can be enough to make things bearable.  But during the hot season in Mali, even the wind becomes warm, and driving with the car windows down just doesn't offer the same amount of relief that it does during other times of the year.
• Dust- lots and lots of red dust.  Again, Mali is always pretty dusty, but the hot season is hotter and usually drier than most other periods of the year, and thus, things become quite dusty.  This means that I have to actually dust the leaves of the plants that are on my balcony!
• Constant bathing- I have been bathing far more often than usual these past several weeks (and I typically bathe once a day anyway… ), like most Malians.  This is one of the things I was instructed to do by my host family when I was here before, and the necessity is still here this time around.
•  Excuses- sometimes welcome and sometimes frustrating, hot season brings with it the ability to duck out of things “because of the heat.”  This can be very useful if you want to get out of an afternoon trip to the market or explain why you can’t visit a friend or family member until the later evening hours (thus making the visit a bit shorter!), but also very frustrating when you are conducting interviews and women refuse to come because it is too hot to leave their houses in the afternoon.  This can also work to the benefit of others and you might find yourself with cancellations for plans because it is “too hot” for your guests.  As much as Malians like to talk about being used to the heat, it can still be a deal breaker for many activities.
• The sound of heat- I kid you not- this exists!  While sitting under the metal hangar in front of the Banankoro CSCOM a few weeks ago, I kept hearing a tinging sound that got me excited inside- I thought it was raining! Sadly, the sounds I thought were rain drops were really telltale signs of heat on the roof above me.  The flexing and swelling of wood and metal during these months really gives a sound to the heat that we feel all around us!

This post is probably not doing a lot for my case that everyone should visit me in Mali (seriously- I have a spare room!), but it’s really not all bad.  The hot season also brings a list of good things along with it and there are certainly other counteracting measures that I am grateful for during this time. 

Hott* stuff

A refreshing afternoon treat- lemonade by the pool!

• Mangoes- These are some of Mali’s greatest gifts.  Maybe even a way of apologizing for the heat and making it more bearable.  For those of you who love mangoes or mango flavor, imagine multiplying that love by 10, because Malian mangoes are at least 10 times better than the imported ones you find in the states.  And there are so many kinds!  Sweet, sour, juicy, and colorful, these are heaven sent!
• Mango rains- these little treats come just every so often, and usually at night.  The rain cools the air (before making it more humid) and brings that beautiful rainy scent to the ground.  We just had a little rain last night- just a teaser of what is to come in a few months. 
• Thin cotton complets- these puppies are great, and they are an introduction for me into a whole other realm of Malian style.  I am working to gather my own collection of hot weather clothes, just like any good Malian woman.
• Fewer mosquitoes- they don't like the heat either!  One thing we have in common....
• Cold water and frozen juice- Have you ever been so thirsty that nothing sounds as good to you as a fresh glass of ice water?  Nalgenes full of cool H2O are better than ice cream or chocolate on days like those found during hot season.
• Ice cream- even though cold water is sometimes all I crave, ice cream is definitely a welcome treat during hot season.  Never have I been so excited to have a soft serve machine a 3 minute walk from my house!
• Swimming pools- I have always loved to swim, but during the past few weeks I have honestly wanted nothing more than to spend every afternoon at the pool.  This, of course, is not really possible, but I have been able to spend my share of refreshing moments pool-side.  It’s so great to have friends willing to invite you over for a dip!
• The fact that I am constantly glowing- glowing or glistening… I use both of these terms.  I like to think of sweat in a positive light during these months.  It is my way of feeling less disheveled next to Malian women who look as though they’re constantly surrounded by personal air conditioning units

Oumou and I, "glowing" just a little

Which leads me to the number one Hott thing about hot season:

• Air conditioning.  I am not even ashamed to say (anymore) that I caved and bought myself an air conditioner.  It makes sleeping through hot nights possible and allows me to spend each night in my bed, rather than on the communal roof of my apartment building.  Though the first blast of heat each day can be a bit of a shock, air conditioning is more than worth it, and it’s like I have a sixth sense for scoping out places with air conditioners these days.

So in sum:  It’s really quite hot here.  But I get to wear cute summery clothes, eat lots of ice cream, and swim in pools before going to bed in air conditioned houses (ok, a slight exaggeration, but mostly true), so really I have it good compared to most of my friends and neighbors who find a way to suffer through the hot nights and deal with the heat each afternoon- without pools and a/c units.  I respect “la chaleur,” but I am grateful to be able to arm myself with little weapons to fend her off long enough to reach the rainy season!

  

*the two t’s denote a positive spin on “hot”

Sunday = Family Fun Day

The National Park of Mali

I can’t believe it has been almost six months since I have seen my family.  Sure, we have great skype dates (often on Sundays!) and share nice email exchanges (even my brothers have written me kind emails during my absence), but it has been a while since I’ve been part of a family gathering or a holiday at my home.  But don’t worry… I am getting to experience many of the joys of family events here in Mali!  From weddings and birthday parties to holiday feasts and family dinners, my host family from my first stay in Bamako has been sure that I have the opportunity to get a little family life in every once and a while.  Last weekend was one of those times.

  

Everyone back home knows how difficult it can be to plan a family event.  Especially as children get older and more involved in their own activities, it can be difficult to find a weekend where everyone is free to visit grandparents or go out to eat together.  I know my family even struggled to plan holiday activities around various sports schedules, school functions and work commitments.  Despite the strong family ties in Mali, I learned last weekend that as siblings grow up and move out, it becomes increasingly difficult to get everyone on the same page here, as well. 

  

Oumou and Boubar, Koke and Mama- newlyweds

Let me set the scene for you:  Back in December, 2 of my sisters got married (on the same day!)  (This was during my delinquent blogging phase… The event was certainly worthy of a blog, but I failed to give you one.  But check out the pictures from the day here).  Following some of the wedding festivities, the brides and grooms and I went with the photographer/videographer to the National Park of Mali for a photo-op.  As our entourage paraded around from the park entrance to the fountain to choice foliage backgrounds and back again (to take photos next to the fancy car, of course), we saw groups of family and friends enjoying picnics and relaxing on the grassy grounds (we also provided a little late afternoon entertainment for park goers as we posed for photos and traipsed around in fancy clothes).  Since that day, my sister Oumou has talked about how much we NEEDED to have a picnic in the park.  Honestly, this suggestion for an afternoon activity was voiced with such concern and urgency that I began to think it should happen sooner than later.  Finally, when she revisited the idea at my oldest sister’s birthday party the last weekend of February, I got my calendar out and started looking at dates. 

Upon my return from Burkina Faso, I sent out the signal to all my siblings.  “Let’s have a picnic in the park,” I suggested in a text message, “How about this weekend?”  The only response I received was from Oumou, whose sense of urgency about planning a picnic had prompted me to take action.  “Actually,” she responded, “This week doesn’t really work for me.  Sorry.  I hope you are well (all in French).  Goodbye (in English).”  So, I regrouped and proposed a date for the next weekend- March 20.  This date seemed to work for everyone, and I actually got affirmative responses from 3 of my 4 siblings (of those 4 who are old enough to text, anyway).  Mama, my oldest sister, suggested that we all prepare something and then bring it to the park to share at 2pm.  “Perfect,” I replied, and volunteered to bring pasta salad and chicken salad sandwiches to share.  Mama promised to inform the rest of our siblings of the plan and I made it through a week of work and spent the greater part of my Saturday afternoon in the kitchen making chicken salad, starting some pasta salad, and chopping fruit for a fruit salad to take to a BBQ at a friend’s house that night.

After a day of kitchen work, I got a frantic call from Oumou, “Aissata!  You did not inform me of the plans for tomorrow and what I am supposed to bring!”  I apologized, explaining that I had planned to call that night to confirm the time.  After all, my other sister had volunteered to relay the plans for preparations to my other siblings.  I went on to say that I was making a sort of chicken and mayonnaise sandwich as well as a pasta salad and some lemonade to share.  However, it wouldn’t necessarily be enough for everyone to eat a full meal (I have learned by this time that if you say it’s enough for everyone you better have a vat of food- not just enough for all invited guests but for expected group members and every friend or family member they might think to bring along).  “Well, Aissata,” Oumou explained, “I had planned to make fries.”  Sounded good to me (most of you know how much I LOVE fries)… “You must make some beef sandwiches as well so that everyone will have a sandwich!”  After a day in the kitchen, this is not what I wanted to hear…. I explained that I had already made a lot of food and that I was planning for everyone to bring things to share.  “What is Mama going to make?”  I asked.  “She is making Zamé (a fried rice dish that includes some veggies and often fried fish… a filling Sunday favorite),”  Oumou explained.  “Great!”  I said, confident now that there would be more than enough food for everyone and unsure as to why Oumou was making this into a stressful situation.  “You make fries, and I am sure we will have enough to eat.”  This was met with relief and confirmation… “I’ll see you tomorrow at the park at 1pm.”  “I thought we were eating at 2pm?”  I said… but agreed that I was the one who had made an error and planned to be ready to go before 1 the next afternoon. 

On Sunday morning, I woke up late after a bit of a late night with friends at a house party.  I called my brother, Papou, several times to see if he would be interested in carpooling to the park.  When I continued to get his answering machine, I called Oumou, who informed me that she didn’t have a ride anyway, so I should come to her house at 1:30 so we could go to the park together.  At first I was confused… Wasn’t the rendez-vous supposed to start at 1:00?  I wondered.  But, in all honesty I knew I could use the extra hour to finish the pasta salad and take a quick shower, so I agreed to the arrangement.  I buzzed around the kitchen chopping tomatoes, cucumbers, onions and olives, mixing vinaigrette and tossing pasta with veggies and feta cheese.  I showered and packed up in time to leave before two, but my kitchen was a mess and the lemonade wasn’t cold.  I arrived at Oumou’s at 2:00 apologizing for being a little late, but I was ready to get the show on the road- after all, chicken salad is not good if it sits in a hot car for too long! 

Adja and Oumou serving up treats last weekend

I should have expected the scene that I arrived to find… Oumou and our sisters Adja and Bibi were waiting at the house for Oumou’s husband to return with the car.  Oumou was actually ready to go, but when Boubar arrived he was hungry and wanted to eat- not understanding that the point was to eat at the park.  So, while he ate, we got his two daughters (more on them later) bathed and dressed and started loading the cars.  After a frantic call from Mama who was dealing with loading food and children, we set off for the park.  The timing was actually nearly perfect- we pulled in and began unloading picnic wares and Mama arrived with her Mercedes full of food and kids.  We entered the park and paid for 7 adults and 8 children under the age of 10!  “It’s like we brought the SOS Children’s village* with us!” Mama exclaimed as we trekked through the park in search of the perfect picnic spot near the swings and far enough away from other visitors. 

We found the perfect spot and spread out blankets, coolers, and dishes, and the kids headed for the playground.  I served up chicken salad sandwiches and reveled in the praise (and, I sensed, shock and awe) that I got for my cooking.  I’m pretty sure that all of my Malian friends (and possibly most of my American ones) are convinced that I can’t cook anything.  This was a pleasant surprise for my host family, and every member of our party from the adults to the youngest child got to try a chicken salad sandwich.  The pasta salad was not such a hit… but that just meant I had lunch and snack for the rest of the week! J 

Our group- lounging in the lovely grass!

After all of the hectic preparations and coordinations, the picnic itself was pretty low key (as picnics and most well planned family gatherings usually turn out to be).  The children played on the swings and the climbing toys and the adults took turns watching and playing with them.  The exception to this rule was when Damba, my sister Mama’s son (well, really he is the son of her husband’s first wife… but he’s her son, too), took off wandering on his own.  We found him across a large green space down playing quietly by himself near a creek.  I spent time following him around after that and also took my turn pushing kids on the swings and helping them play on the exercise trail equipment (think updated version of the fitness trails from the 90s- like the one near the field hockey field and the mandala on DPU’s campus).  I took this opportunity to talk with Oumou about the children present (2 belonged to Mama’s husband and his first wife, 2 to Oumou’s husband and his first wife, one was my younger host sister, Bibi, another was the daughter of Mama’s best friend, and the final two were our twin cousins- the daughters of my host mom’s sister and her husband- whew!).  It was a surprise to me that the majority of our party turned out to be young children.  It's hard to believe that my siblings (and peers) are starting families and chasing babies.  The afternoon was a bit of a reality check in that respect.  But at least a reality check in a choice locale...   

Five of those climbers belonged to us!

The National Park is truly an oasis in Mali.  It is one of the very few clean and well kept spaces in the city and it has remained as such since its reopening last year.  The entry fee is a bit pricey for most Malians (200- 500cfa depending on age and day of the week== 50cents to $1), and even more expensive for foreign visitors like me (1,500cfa or $3… I still haven’t convinced them to create a foreign residents price… ).  Thus, it attracts what I would consider the more privileged of the Bamako crowd.  On this particular afternoon (and during other visits to the park) I saw lots of well dressed couples canoodling on the lawn, totally cool teenagers hanging out with friends, photo shoots and picnicking groups.  Even the youngest children playing on the playground were dressed in fancy bazin outfits and complets that I would have liked to get copied in my size!  Across from the swings, a group of 4 teenage girls dressed in skinny jeans and form fitting tanks huddled together to take a self portrait- faces close together with one friend precariously tilting the camera with an outstretched arm, trying to get the best angle.  A well dressed Mauritanian man tried to spark a conversation with my near the swings.  He was in business and possibly a very eligible bachelor, but the fact that he swore he had seen me at the park the previous weekened even though he also claimed to have arrived only 2 days earlier was a bit of a deal breaker... The other parents monitoring children on the playground were equally as fancy, and those adults in the area who weren't were likely housekeepers or nannies along to watch the kids.  Maybe they were necessary because the children's mothers were some of the many women I saw wearing high heels- stumbling through the gravel paths and sinking into the soft freshly watered ground! 

The place to see and be seen- sweet photo shoot in the park

The Park is clearly the place to be and to be seen.  And with a visit to the bathroom running 25 cfa (or about 5 cents- the cost of a banana or small sachet of water), it is sure to attract a certain kind of crowd.  When a park attendant came by to give us a trashbag so that we could clean up our mess, the joke was whether or not we’d have to pay for that, too!  It’s amazing what maintenance and care can do in terms of limiting fly infestation and helping air quality.  The Park is a gleaming example of these principles, and of course it takes money to maintain the beauty of this oasis- you honestly don’t feel like you’re in Bamako when you’re there!  It’s just a shame to me that more Malians do not have the opportunity to visit this beauty of a place to enjoy fresh air and cool trees during the hot season or to allow their children to roll around and play in the grass rather than the red dusty dirt of a side street.  Maybe one day the National Park management will be able to offer free admission one afternoon of the week or find a way to make such a lovely and important space more accessible to all Bamakois.

So, family and friends, don't be too worried that I am missing out on the stress, bickering, and eventual relaxation and enjoyment associated with family gatherings.  Last Sunday I got to enjoy a true family gathering in a home away from home (a lovely park with GRASS and shade!) with a family away from family.  Complete with a little bit of planning stress, some relaxation and down time, squirrely children, and a couple of minor arguments, I enjoyed my Sunday family fun day- and trust me, no one went hungry!  

*The SOS Children’s village is an international project with a few sites in Mali.  It is a unique sort of orphanage in which children are placed in homestead settings with a caregiver- a stand in mother who lives with them and cares for several children at one time.  It is actually quite logical in a place like Mali where family is a central part of life and it is unusual to find orphans who aren’t taken in by other family members.