luniversa

Bye Bye

2006-05-24T18:13:00.000+02:00

Ok, it's over.
After the long trip from Tombouktou to Bamako, I made it home.
Thanks to all those who had the patience to read through this.
I'll miss this funny tool. Really kept my mind thinking!

Seeya soon!

Twin sisters

2006-04-28T15:30:00.000+02:00

Djenné, Tombouctou’s twin sister city, was not exactly it. First of all its architecture is amazing: there are two main architectural styles, the Maroccan and the Tukolor, and both kinds of houses are gorgeously looking and have beautifully decorated windows (similar to those in Tombouctou but not as beautiful). Crafts are of higher quality and more varied; streets are more lively and the Monday market is huge and colourful. Nothing can compare to the charm of the desert but Djenné does have something special, so I’d say that if I had to choose I’d surely pick Djenné for a day visit. However the desert was astonishing (although short because of the Gheddafi rent-a-camel initiative), and nothing beats it.

Le pays du Moulhoud

2006-04-27T16:04:00.000+02:00

Islam’s second most important festivity celebrates the anniversary of Mohammed’s birthday and baptism (one week later). It is a huge deal in the muslim world. Eveline and I left Bamako a couple of days before the celebration of the birth and Tombouctou already was in a little turbulence. As to the trip it really turned out being the trip to the Pays du Moulhoud: intense prayers every day and night, when believers sing Koran suras. Even on our pirogue trip on the Niger we were obliged to listen to religious songs all night long, one night that we camped in front of a little village. Eveline (who did Arabic-Muslim studies) had never heard those melodies before; they actually sounded like repetitive traditional songs (one was just like Amazing Grace). So she woke up every morning singing “Allah in the greatest” or (night best hit) “There is no god like Allah-la lala lala…”.

Monsieur le Niger

2006-04-26T15:20:00.000+02:00

In the course of out trip, Mopti was quick and fast. But from Mopti the best part of it began: a 3-day-cruise in a little pirogue on the Niger to Kouakourou, on the way to Djenné. Seidu and Sidi, our two piroguiers, they cooked for us, made tea for us, rowed all day long, accompanied us in several little villages on the way and gave us the chance for interesting chats. As to Eveline and I, we just had to look, be cradled in the slow and reassuring motion of the pirogue, enjoy the scenery and the visit to the villages, where hospitality could be exchange with some cola nuts, a tuberous with a slight hallucinogenic power that Malians like to chew.
“Mali Mali” (tranquille tranquille, i.e. calmly, no worries) were the key words of the trip, together with other mottos like “Mopti by night, Tombouctou by day” or “Hakuna Matata”. Seidu and Sidi kept repeating all this several times a day, sometimes adding thinks like “Jusq’au Niger c’est Mali”, “En Angola c’est plus Mali” et “En Italie… bon… c’est pas Mali”. Eveline, right from the start, was named “Madame Mali”.

Sleepy Tombouctou (but not too much)

2006-04-22T14:47:00.000+02:00

The Moulhoud, one of Islam’s main festivities, had a very special celebration this year in Mali. Gheddafi arrived in Tombouctou and had a very long and quite aggressive speech in front of a huge crowd of Muslim believers, gathered at the municipal stadium (since no mosque in the city was big enough). Those who couldn’t make it there, followed the solemn event on TV.
Because of this special occasion, the city was more crowded than normal, while the rest of the year, it is a quite sleepy and silent village of 4.000 inhabitants. Here in particular, toubabs are targeted and spotted as soon as they get off the plane of 4x4, but since Eveline and I were accompanied by a local, everything turned out fine. We even had a short desert trip, which was amazing but short, since all camels in town were rented by Mr. Gheddafi for his self celebration and had to be in town most of the Mouhoud week (he rented 5.000 camels and 5.000 horses).
The city is extremely hot: in april from 11 am to 16 am it is impossible to get out of your house. In fact we slept and drank all the time, until we were finally able to stand the weakening heat and walk a while.

Hot spot

2006-04-22T09:15:00.000+02:00

Too hot in this country, so we ended up sleeping on the roof. We attached some rope to some nails in order to place the mosquito net, and… done. The mattress was ready to use.
Sleeping of the roof seemed great, but then a series of unfortunate/bothering elements came along:
1. Annoying/noisy neighbours (laughing and/or making parties and/or chatting until dawn on the roof)
2. Unexpected chill at 3 4 a.m.
3. Blasts of wind (some nights had severe storm warnings whose rain never came)
4. Appelles à la prière (the first muslim prière of the day is announced by a sonorous Carnegie-Hall-like echoing of Koran’s suras, coming from the tens of mosques in our neighbourhood)
5. Unexpected heat (in April, even the roof is too hot).

City of comb (and of needle)

2006-04-22T09:11:00.000+02:00

Hairdressers’ and tailors: the most widespread jobs in the city. You find their boutiques every other meter. Plus, people have an average of 20 pairs of shoes per person. Why?? And they take extreme care of them: I often catch my neighbours washing them all in a bucked late at night, or early in the morning.

Le Dimanche à Bamako

2006-04-08T23:33:00.000+02:00

It really is the official wedding celebration day in Mali’s bright and sandy capital, not just the title of one of Amadou et Mariam’s hits. And you notice it! If you walk in any dirt road city neighbourhood (so if you just get out of the few cemented streets in Bamako), you will unquestionably run into a canopy made from scraps of UNHCR (or other UN agencies) plastic sheeting, and a hundred wedding celebrants, singing, clapping hands and dancing in the colourful frame of fresh jacaranda flowers; a local percussion band play and bang; everybody celebrates.
Of course, no problem if you stay and watch.
A recent NY article perfectly describes the scene. You can find it here.

Hail to the mango tree

2006-04-08T13:57:00.000+02:00

Beautiful, simply beautiful. It comes directly from our childhood drawings: the beautifully green tree, ending with a sharp cut, perfectly parallel to the ground, and spotted with beautiful orange/yellow fruits.
It's the mango tree, the baobab's counterpart in Mali's wet region. This tree makes the fortune of so many families, who sell its fruits to anyone who buys them. See some pics of mango sellers in Sibi and in Sibi again.

Dam: it’s forbidden to take pics

2006-04-07T13:54:00.000+02:00

Eveline and I took off early in the morning (too hot to sleep) for a day visit to the Sélingué Dam, 150 km from Bamako, heading south. Strictly forbidden to take pictures there! So forbidden that nobody checked and I took like 8. The dam hosts Mali’s most important hydroelectric power source and provides energy to the whole capital and the surrounding area, although when the water level is low, the dam is hardly able to produce any electricity at all.
The dam retaining basin forms an artificial lake of 430 km², which allows agriculture on the irrigated perimeters as well as fishing (the provisioning of Bamako of fish comes mainly from Selingué).
The lake shores are dwelled by many fishermen, their women and children. We asked one of them to take us for a pirogue tour whose price was negotiated from 5 to 1 euro. With our 30 minutes tour the guy probably made his month (in fact he kept chuckling and laughing all the time). While Eveline and I took pics to us and to him, he said “Don’t take the dam; it’s forbidden!” But he couldn’t explain why…
We then aimed at a toubab hotel, where no toubab could be found, just 30 very noisy and happy Malian teen-agers, making a total mess in the big hotel swimming pool. Whenever one of us girls were alone in or by the pool, all boys started calling: “CHERIIE!!! Viens ici!!” or making that nasty noise we are used to making when calling our dog or cat, in order to catch their attention...
So by the 10th call I was totally upset and replied "Cherie tu le dis à ta soer" (Cocca lo dici a tua sorella) (You call your sister sweetie). I don’t know if the guy got it since he carried on.
Then four teen-girls showed up, all dressed up and jewelled up. One among them was particularly sexy-dressed and amicable to the guys; so when they appeared the guys completely forgot about us and ignored us ever since.
16.30, time to leave before it gets dark!

Gotta be wise

2006-04-06T16:07:00.000+02:00

UNESCO choffeurs always give us toubab-stagiaires life lessons.
Monsieur Touré drives me into the Bank of Africa parking lot; I go in, get my cash and get back into the car. We get to the exit and suddenly M. Touré stops and asks the guardian for some of the tea that he’s drinking. He hands it to M. Touré and he drinks it in one shot. We thank and take off, fast.
M. Touré: “I had never seen that guy before, but we, the Malians (actually he said the black), are like this: we trust and help one another. If I came here tomorrow and the gates were closed or locked, he would let me in”.
Mali is not wonderland, but it is true that people in need cooperate a lot, and not only in Mali.

Mistresses of balance

2006-04-05T00:02:00.000+02:00

I vote for African women’s head objects transportation to be proclaimed UNESCO’s world intangible heritage list! We all know that African women are able to transport anything on their head (from water buckets, to huge food bowls, to anything at all, heavy or light), careless of the distance to go or the weather (sunny, windy, and so on). However in Sikasso I saw the apocalypse of it: 3-meter-long wood loads…
Congrats, really. Big up.

Shy?

2006-04-03T22:55:00.000+02:00

On the second night, while heading to our rooms in the hotel in Sikasso, a woman stopped us. She was being sent by the guy from the patisserie (right after asking us if we wanted to sell him our car).
She said that it wasn't time to sleep yet and that the patisserie guy wanted to coser with us, that means have a chat.
Was he too shy to ask himself?
Evidently he was too shy to ask that but not to ask us for our car...
After this pitiful Middle Ages (or grade school) scene of love intermediation, it really was time to sleep.

Sikasso, business capital

2006-04-01T13:22:00.000+02:00

Located in the south-western part of Mali, right in between of Burkina Faso, Côte d’Ivoire et Guinea, the Sikasso region is an area mostly devoted to trade and commerce. i.e. to say, no tourists but businessmen come visit.
Tea, cotton and soap are the region's main products.
I tried to adapt to the sit and asked around how I could start a tea business, since tea plantations grow a lot in Mali’s greenest region. Piece of cake!
Unfortunately the only tea stocking place I found in Sikasso (right by our hotel - I admit I didn’t search much) was managed by someone who could barely speak French and did not have an email address.
However, the business atmosphere was easy to spot: the patisserie owner wanted to buy our car and often when I took a photo, somebody would pass by saying: “Do you sell it? I will buy that!”

Le jour des martyrs

2006-03-29T22:25:00.000+02:00

March 26th, national holiday in Mali (jour des martyrs, in memory of the people killed in the 1991 popular revolt against President Traoré). A long weekend for us in 2006.
We take off and head towards Sikasso, 395 km one way.
Believe me, it's not worth it, although landscapes from the car are not bad and people are nice and friendly.
It is a business city and the surroundings don't have much to offer to the tourist. Here Sikasso's main attractions.
In town:
- a pile of dust and wasteland (the ancient city wall)
- a hill with an anonymous two-storey building (the ancient royal palace)
Out of town:
- a rock formation with piss stinking dwellings and their inhabitants plus a little bat cave where a middle aged man spends his day, reading the Koran in company of his white rooster (the Stone Mosque)
- a walk to the top of the mosque, guided in most cases by a local boy, careless of the kind of shoes you are wearing (actually an Indy-Jones-like hike mined with several sudden death risk facts such as wearing flip flops + sweating, like in my case)
- some water falling for one meter or so and plenty of people taking soap showers in it (the Farako falls).
That’s about it.

Two hills

2006-03-28T23:05:00.000+02:00

Bamako is divided by the Niger river (Djoliba). Two hills border the city. On the former lays the palace of President ATT (Amadou Toumani Touré); on the latter the University of Bamako, the only one in Mali. So people refer to the two hills as la coline du pouvoir and la coline du savoir.
The coline du pouvoir is astonishing; when you get there you fell you are in Miami rather than in Bamako. The road and the surrounding areas are clean and spotless; everywhere you see green and freshly watered yards and lawns. There is also a wall that borders the road to the Palais with graffiti portraying Mali’s most important personalities, sketching Malian history highlights and the country's most representative features.

Pizza Bamako

2006-03-25T18:17:00.000+01:00

My friends convinced me (ok, let's say "convinced") to go to an Italian place: Da Guido. "Pizza is delicious there". We'll see - I thought.
Well. I know it's hard to have good ingredients, mozzarella, mascarpone, prosciutto cotto and so on... But if you DON'T - why on earth do you cook Italian in Bamako??! There's so much delicious food here, especially fish, and excellent restaurants. Stick to those!
I fell like advising: Bruxelles, Chez Thierry and Akwaba (nice live music on Fridays and Saturdays).

Discobamako

2006-03-18T10:56:00.000+01:00

The little toubab UN community sets rendez-vous at 0.00 sharp on a Saturady at Privilège, local disco, or better said boite-de-nuit (textually night box).
Delightful stream of international-northern and central American hits, beautifully mixed with bambara rap and African evergreens.
Among the rest we point out: I’ll be missing you, Love generation, La gasoline, Con te partirò reggae remix and Shakira’s best of.
Interiors: 70’s like, lots of mirrors and strobe lights of course.
Participation: local population: 85%; toubabs: 15%.
Discount/sneak in systems: the usual ones (“You’re the friend of my friend and I never saw you in my life? You get in for free”).
Entry cost: expensive! 7,50 euros, drinks not included.

Just don't ask me how (much) I am

2006-03-15T23:22:00.000+01:00

Bamako's bargaining activity is unequal. Crafts such as cloths, leather objects or pottery can go down to 900% of the price. Nothing, I say nothing at all at Grand Marchè has a fixed price, from aluminium pots to soap, from plastic carpets to cotton western style T-shirts, from can openers to TV cables. However other negotiations are hard to get.
Vegetables bought on the street are not variable at all. The only thing that can happen is that you are nice enough to the seller, maybe you tell her (it's always a she) a couple of bambara words, you greet her long enough and she will stick an extra mango or banana into your plastic bag saying "Cadeaux!".
As far as taxi fares... well you already know everything: they are a perfect benchmark to understand how things go around here in wil west Africa (taxi fares dealing spans stick around 500/750 max FCFA, i.e. 1-1,5 euro).
Prices for products in shops or stores are usually pretty fixed as well, hotel rates in non-luxury venues are pretty flexible on the contrary. Hotel de luxe, though, represent an astonishing exceptions: while a one-year entry ticket to the sparkling, refreshing, western snobbish, rich-toubab-like style swimming pool normally costs 380 euros, Thierry got it for 215.
One tip: don’t start bargaining if you are not really interested in the sale: bargaining can last forever!
Thierry and I were taken to the Caverne de Ali Baba to see some bogolan, indigo and other traditional cloths made and distributed by Mamadou Diarra, father of a big family of cloth makers. Well, they kept us over one hour, showing us a whole range of cloths we weren’t even interested in. In the end, since I quite liked one of them, I asked the price. I wish I hadn’t: we begun bargaining in an endless discussion. Well, the first price was 60 euros, which after an exhausting discussion, got down to 10. So… unless you see your dream thing… don’t ask how much it is!

Comment tu t’appelles? Faut changer!

2006-03-10T19:04:00.000+01:00

Malians are little demiurges: they have the habit to give foreigners Malian names. As soon as you get to Mali, your original name has got to change. People who meet you and get to know you, will immediately give you one. And in Mali that will be your name.
If someone asks your name and you answer with your real name, they will be a bit stupefied and reply: “Ah, ok, but… what is you Malian name (like he was saying: tell me your real name, don’t’ fool me!).
Eveline, my new collegue at UNESCO, and I, sitting and eating on the street where a woman cooks and sells what she cooks, were addressed to by a group of young men who asked us what our name was.
My friend, still not having a Malian name, answered first.
“Eveline W***”
And the most talkative guy of the group:
“No no no, it’s gotta change, it’s gotta change… You are now Mariam Diallo, c’est fini!”
He tried to give me a name as well but fortunately it was to late. His efforts to name me “Howa Diallo – lots of imagination – were useless because I had already picked a different family name and a name that sounds really charming to me.
So… The demiurgic effect got me as well. I now Achaïe Sidibe, ethnic group Peul.
When picking your name of being given one, you have to be careful, and know what you are doing: Family names play a very relevant role in society. There are so many ethnic groups there, that you need to know what your name means and where it comes from.
Family names identify a person’s ethnic group, indigenous local language, the possible location of the origins of the family, and the associated traditional family occupation.
Here some examples of family name and relative ethnic group:
Traore, Diarra, Coulibaly, Diabate, Sanogo (Bambara)
Cissé, Sidibé, Sangare (Peul)

Feel for some tea

2006-03-03T18:03:00.000+01:00

After travelling for four days and being invited to have tea with complete strangers, I decided to quit being shy and started to look for more tea in the neighbourhood.
I suddenly noticed how tea pots and charcoal stoves were everywhere, close to every door front, under every wooden roof, close to every shady wall. I just had to pick where I wanted to invite myself.
I chose a little place close to my favourite banana seller. There I took a troisiem and the picture you see. I was then talked to by a nice young man on the way home who wanted to come to my house. I said no, but I would come for some tea tomorrow. Once a I got home, my neighbours offered me a deuxiem, much better 'cause stronger and more tasteful. I didn't refuse.
See what time I get asleep tonight.
Curious to see how they pour tea from a very high distance from the glass and they keep pouring it and pouring it from one glass to another, to the pot, then to the glass again. Takes forever. But it's worth it.

Strage di cuori

2006-03-02T19:03:00.000+01:00

On our way back to Bamako, we stopped in San, a little town not very from Segou.
Typical scene: my boss gets off the car with the driver, asks a man if he has some meat. He does and it's almost ready. Some people appear; they take two benches, a piece of wood as a table, put them behind a wall in the shade and our table is set. They find some water to let us wash our hands, some soap... Everything is ready in two minutes!
The guy minces the meat, a little boy arrives with 4 Cola-Colas (rigorously in glass bottles, please) and we can begin eating. With our hands, of course; needless to say.
Great.
Two other people are sitting by us, making tea.
I ask if they can make tea for us later. They will.
We are done eating. Suddenly the boy with the sweetest eyes in west Africa appears, pouring tea for us.
In front of my boss, the UNESCO Paris director of Heritage and Museums and the driver, the boy engages with me the following conversation:
Boy "This is death"
R. "Excuse me?"
Boy "Yes, this is death"
R. "Why do you give me death??" (Thought it was poisoned actually...)
Boy "The tea"
R. "I see..."
Boy "This is the first tea, and it's bitter. Like death"
R. "Ah... I see. And the second tea?"
Boy "The second tea is life, because it's tasty"
R. "And the third tea?"
Boy (looking straight into my eyes) "The third tea is love, because it's sweet..."
We all drink the first tea. Then the second is soon ready.
Then it is time for us to leave.
Boy "Are you not waiting for the third tea?"
R. "No, sorry. No third tea for me in Mali"
Boy "Ah..."
Silence
R. "I shall take it in Florence"
Boy (destroying all the magic of the moment) "Ah! Fiorentina, the football team!"
R. (thinking): "mmmmm"

Boy (going back to the romantic mode): "Will you come back?"
R. "I don't think so"
Boy "You are so cool..." and keeps staring at me until our car is out of sight.

So now you know all tea nicknames.

Baobab – top of the pops

2006-02-28T19:52:00.000+01:00

All Little Prince lovers will excuse me, but baobabs are awesome. African sunsets wouldn’t be the same without them.
They offer this continent so much, beginning from beautiful landscapes, shelter for bird nests, and a perfect location for beehives. (Big up)
Baobabs can live up to several hundreds of years and the cavities in their trunk often host Dogon sorcerers’ tombs or gather water which can be used in dry periods. They give delicious fruits called Pain des Singes (Bread of the Apes) you can eat or make a drink with; the fruits skin is hard enough to make bowls out of it; or it can be used as a combustible, since it burns very slowly.
Baobab leaves can be minced and boiled and they are edible, or they can be dried and crumbled and a lotion can be made out of them (for skin infections and articulation pains). Flowers are also used for decoration during ceremonies.
Local populations love and worship baobabs.
A legend says that the baobab tree once upset a god, so that the god grubbed it out and put it back into the ground upside down. This explains baobabs root-like branches.

Careful careful

2006-02-27T10:40:00.000+01:00

Acutally the Mission Culturelle has to have a control on the activities around the cliff, otherwise a total anarchy would take place.
If the 1.000 FCFA sign keeps standing there, sooner or later every inhabitant of Ireli will start puting up their sign outside of their house charging visitors for pictures and entrance. And tourists will not come anymore.
Tourism in Mali is complicated, very complicated, and incredibly expensive (most tourists are over 50). There are no "independent" tourism services (no bus, for example) and distances are such that you definitely need to rend a 4x4, a driver and a guide to visit Bandiagara cliff, unless you want to walk, find rides and be obliged to stay there a week or so.
Then: everyone improvises tourist guide activities, so you never actually know whom you are travelling with.
All this said, tourism is not so developed.
This helps the cliff and the villages to be preserved. But around Bandiagara no service planning, or incrementation is conceived: as soon as tourism will increase a little tiny bit, it will be a total mess.
Management plan needed!

Charge me some

2006-02-26T10:33:00.000+01:00

It is interesting to see how locals see tourists and local authorities manage cooperation projects, intermediating with local populations which all have chiefs, sorcerers and so on. The funniest thing happened in the village of Ireli, where a brand new togu-na was built upon President Chirac's official visit to Pays Dogon. The togu-na is colourful and nice looking, but clearly fake. However, it stands right at the beginning of Ireli: you feel like taking a picture. Unfortunately a sign close to it charges you 1.000 FCFA if you do.
While we were bordering the cliff, the director of the Mission Culturelle (organisation in charge of heritage conservation in Pays Dogon) stopped looking for information, since the Mission did't give permission for such a "tourist tax" for pictures. He quarrelled with the guy standing by the fake togu-na, who argued back and claimed he was the chief of the village and that he had the right to put the tax "otherwise the thing will fall apart...".
It shocked me because he clearly was not the chief of the village and his attitude was totally aggressive, and his mixed language was hard to understand. The discussion was long and didn't take anywhere. The main ideas were: on one side "Chirac should be proud that a tax is created for him"; on the other: "Chirac would be upset to know that his image is exploited this way".
But this all culminated in an emblematic exchange:
"Let's then ask Chirac what he thinks"
"Whatever. Chirac is too busy to deal about this".
So we all went for some delicious couscous in Banani.

Off I go

2006-02-26T00:05:00.001+01:00

So I was off to Pays Dogon, for work. Pays Dogon is one of the best known sites in Africa: it's huge highlands, then a beautiful cliff with many Dogon (local population) villages attached to it, and on the foot of the cliff desert lowlands. The work concerned the construction of a museum close to one of the villages. Great experience, especially because I got to visit a really amazing place that I would have wanted to visit anyways, and because I got a glimps of how hard it is to work with culture in a developing country.
Dogon architecture is popular all over the world. every kind of building with a specific function has a particular architectural style associated to it: tigu-na , meeting place for elderly people, are round and straw roofed, guin'na , mud made sanctuaries, have a front provided with little hollows for bird nests, grenier, for storing, are squared base and have a conic shaped straw roof. Dogon villages are very ancient; all buildings are original.

Just a little bit longer

2006-02-25T15:33:00.000+01:00

The greetings post requires a specification.
After the prelude, the prayer part begins. The two speakers greet Allah and pray that Allah helps the other, his/her family, friends and so on to keep healthy, that his/her work is profitable, etc etc.
This part is usually shorter than the first one and basically just elderly people use it.
Malians are so used to the greeting procedure that they do it incredibly fast! Shocking!

Taxi stories (4)

2006-02-20T12:48:00.000+01:00

Taxi drivers averagely get 1.5 euros of gas every time. Understandable.
It's also understandable that, once you get closer to your destination, taxi drivers stop and pick up other passengers. Good way to save time and immediately acquire new clients.
Now something a bit less understandable: sometimes drivers pick up their new clients while you're in the cab at the beginning of the ride. This is surely a good way for some scale economies or otherwise this happens every time the driver is not completely satisfied with the price he's bargained with you.

Sibi (how a mobilette can save a car)

2006-02-19T22:41:00.000+01:00

If you ever go to Sibi, about 50 km south-west of Bamako, careful with your tires. Better (I'd say imperative) to take a 4x4. But if you want to visit Danga falls, the main attraction in the area, you definitely need one: the road is impossible and you need to cross a river to get there. We had an old Wolkswagen Golf, so half a way from Sibi to the falls we turned back, heading towards Bamako. Well, 17 km to our final destination (home), we got not 1 but 2 flat tires... Malian hospitality and helpfulness saved our lives once again: after helping us remove the two tires, a boy took his mobilette (a little motorcycle that most people here have), loaded the tires on it, took them to the closest place where they could be repaired, took them back to us, and put us back on track in less than one hour.
Apparently in Mali there is nothing, but if you ask, you manage to find all you need. However you gotta have a bit of luck: if we had gotten stuck on the way from Sibi to the falls, where no cell telephone connection or village exists, I would have probably posted this next week.

Connectivity

2006-02-19T22:34:00.000+01:00

The fixed telephone system had no chance in Mali. Since it was too expensive to even cable all houses in the capital, nobody has a telephone at home. So the city has now tons of "cabines", it teems with them. As a matter of fact every 100 meters you generally find: 1. somebody selling bananas, 2. somebody selling papayas, 3. a telephone cabin.
However, almost everybody owns a cell phone! In fact the telecommunication system actually skipped the basic step to jump directly to the individual telephone service, which requires minor infrastructure.
The same thing happened for the internet. The ones who have it at home, use a radio connection, not a cable one. In fact... See what I got on my roof?

Just to say hi...

2006-02-19T21:42:00.000+01:00

Don't think that "just saying hi" to someone takes little time. It does not.
First of all you, all regularly polite conversations begin with an at least 2 minute long "prelude", usually consisting of:
a. "Hello"
b. "Hello"
a. "How are you?"
b. "Fine"
a. "And your family?"
b. "All fine"
a. "And your health?"
b. "Hamdulillah (Thank God) all fine"
a. "And have you slept well?"
b. "Yes, fine"
a. "All right"

Other questions must be asked depending on the situation. On a Monday you usually ask "What about the week end?". After a sickness (maybe a week! after a sickness) "Have you well recovered?". And so on.
After all this a regular conversation can begin.

When you get to work, you have to say hi to all your mates, all of them (takes about 40 minutes in my office).
And very important. You say hi to basically everyone you meet in the street. They will all answer, if it's not them saying hi to you beforehand.

Bambara, the local language, totally reflects the importance of greetings. There are 8 ways to say "hi" (!!) depending on:
- the time of the day (one way from dawn to midday, one from midday to 3pm, one from 3 pm to 6pm, one from 6pm till the end of the day)
- the number of people you are talking to (one or more).
Answering is not so obvious either. There are words that don't mean anything: they are just the answer to "Hi" or to "Good evening". And the answer changes if you are a man or a woman...(!)
Apparently it is considered very impolite to ask somebody something before asking how they are, their family and so on. Attitude changes a lot. Following the greeting protocol (especially using some local words) will really help you out when you need information or assistance. And every time you take a taxi, needless to say.

Paint it yourself!

2006-02-19T21:36:00.000+01:00

As you may suspect... Sorry! No malls, no big stores in Bamako, like in many other African capitals. The city is a whole huge marketplace or a continuum of little tiny shops. Everything follows the good-old rule of "coping" and "making do". All products are shown on the street, from fruits and vegetables to furniture, to pots and cutlery, to bogolan and pottery, to motorcycle and bicycle equipment. Have no clue what is going to happen during the rainy season.
Shop signs are hand made as well, as you can see in the picture, often calling into being an unimaginable creativity. Here you get a tiny lump of it.
Commercials are also just on the city walls. Dado Maggi and Buongiorno tomato sauce are absolute rulers.

Taxi stories (3)

2006-02-19T19:38:00.000+01:00

More on taxi services.
First of all, you don't pay for the time you actually stay in the car but for the distance. And you bargain the price, of course. You can't lower it very much, but some. But you've got to respect some minimum rules, for example: every time you cross the river, it's at least 1.500 FCFA.
Stops are allowed. If you have to stop on the way to the agreed destination, just say it: the driver will say "Il y a pas de problèmes" and drop you off, waiting for you even 20 or 30 minutes if you need it.
Many times the opposite happens: the taxi driver stops 5 or 6 times on the way to mind his own business: gets gas, talks to somebody, buys some water or some fruits, and so on. You just patiently wait, anyway there's nothing else you can do!

Taxi stories (2)

2006-02-18T10:07:00.000+01:00

Ok, you need a bike, a matress, whatever. Who's going to help you bargaining? Always him: the taxi driver. There's a taxi hub, close to my house. All taxi drivers know me by now and it gets easier to bargain the price of the ride. Once Thierry and I needed to buy my bike and his matress at the Sogoniko market, we made the taxi driver our best friend and went shopping. He accompanied us all over, discussed with the sellers for over one hour and helped us transport home all the stuff we bought (including a queen size matress).
He's really nice and every time he sees me he asks how I do with my bycicle. If I can pick my driver that's him.

The funny practice of slaughter

2006-02-18T00:29:00.000+01:00

The very first day I woke up in Bamako it was Tabaski, one of the most important Muslim festivities. Everybody dressed incredibly elegant; they wore their brightest colours and the finest fabrics; women walked on extremely high and fashionable heels on the sandy ground, just to match the rest of the outfit. So Bamako’s street all of a sudden got filled up with charming nuances and astonishing reflections. Oh, let’s not forget the intense smell of just cooked mutton meat. But… what about the ram? Mmmm, it wasn’t hard to find out, since on Tabaski rams get slaughtered all over the country in the middle of the street! Impossible to miss it, as you can see in the picture. People seem to enjoy it very much; it’s a celebration after all. The meat is immediately cooked and served for lunch in a day-long family celebration. Too bad I was too shocked on my very first day in Mali to enjoy the party. Next year, if I’m still around some Muslim country, I won’t miss it.

The change dilemma

2006-02-18T00:03:00.000+01:00

I vote for a change machine in Bamako! Funny enough, it seems impossible to gather coins in your wallet! You always end up with banknotes of 10.000 FCFA (more or less 15 euros), ‘cause everybody always deals with little amounts of money. So you can never exchange “big-size” pieces. If you ever go to Mali, make sure that you taxi driver has change for what you are going to give to him. In fact, taxis are the worst change-related experience: all taxi drivers have no money with them, one or two banknotes if you are lucky, and some coins. I happened to wait up to 20 minutes for the taxi driver to find change for my 5.000 FCFA bill. Most of the times, if you say that you just have 5.000 (for example), the taxi driver will drive here and there on the way to your destination, asking people in order to find change for you. But apparently regular shops, passers-by don’t work. Just gas stations and taxi hubs (?!!?). Other funny episodes about taxis coming up.

Taxi stories (1)

2006-02-17T09:59:00.000+01:00

Taxi drivers offer much more than regular transportation. If we don't consider the fact that most of the times they don't speak French and that they have no clue where they have to take you, they can offer many services, very useful to the toubab. Among these: money change, telephone recharge, grocery shopping and eat-and-drink.
One story for all.
One of his very first days in Bamako, Thierry, a friend from Belgum, got into a cab ready in front of his hotel to go to a certain destination that - of course - he didn't know where it was. The taxi driver didn't either. After a while searching, Thierry wanted to call to know how to reach this place but he had no cell phone yet, so he asked the driver if he could borrow his phone, but he had no credit. So Thierry bought 3.000 FCFA traffic and made the call. Got to the place, the driver asked him 3.000 FCFA for the ride. Thierry said: "I spent 1.000 for the call; I'm just going to give you 2.000 'cause I'm not going to use the rest of my credit" And the driver: "I'm not either! You just keep the phone and when you're done you give it back to me". And so it happened!

I'm (not) a believer

2006-02-14T18:26:00.002+01:00

While travelling on the pirogue, Salif told us that many people are convinced that AIDS does not exists, that is it an invention of the Americans. To prove what he was saying he asked the rower if he believed that AIDS existed or not. He said in bambara (Mali's main dialect): "No; it's an American invention!". And then told us a story about a couple who was diagnosed AIDS, then moved to a rural village along the Niger asking an old sorcerer for help, and after one month they were healed from AIDS.
Young men and women are the most affected by HIV/AIDS problems, especially in rural areas where traditional practises (most of the times not implying basic hygienic standards) are most eradicated. Let's just name female genital mutilation for all.
I'm probably not the best person to analyse the problem so I will stop here, but if you want to have a deeper look at what UNESCO does against HIV/AIDS, you can visit and browse portal.unesco.org. If somebody has other links to suggest, please comment.

Com'on hold my hand

2006-02-14T17:40:00.000+01:00

Don't get surprised if you see couples of men or of women (but mostly men) holding hands in the Malian streets. Even though this form of public display of affection is almost gone in the west, here it is very common and diffused among people of every age: children, young, middle-aged, old. So sweet.
One would be inclined to think that it is a demonstration of homosexual love, but as you know that is not at all tolerated here. As far as homosexuality is concerned, it is a real taboo. I just read an article on a magazine, saying it was brought to Africa by the "European man". As far as I've heard, people don't even think it really exists (like other things but I will talk about it in some other posts). A friend told me of a couple of men living together in Mali for many years, sleeping in the same room. It was so evident that they were "a couple", but apparently most people thought they were just really good friends.

Tea keeps you up

2006-02-12T23:34:00.000+01:00

Malians like good tea. But it's very strong and often gives toubabs a little headache. Tea is made by sticking chopped tea leaves in a little tiny teapot, filled with water as well, which is then put in live coals, in a little tiny charcoal stove. The same tea pot is used up to four times (with the same leaves I mean): the first tea is strong, keeps you awake; the second one less strong; the third one is light; the fourth one very light, served to children, often with milk. Malians usually drink it in front of their house, and enjoy it in company.
They make tea anywhere. In Segou we put our life at risk by making some Niger-water-tea in the canoe: we thought we would fall over.
Allrighty. Strict and to the point. Tea is really wonderful here, tastes great and builds friendship. We love it. Big up.

Sorry,... may I?

2006-02-11T11:47:00.000+01:00

Picture-taking is another issue. Markets and busy places where many whites visit are often taboo. In far off villages, where they perfectly know what cameras are, they are tolerated and even liked: adults let their kids come and see our pictures on the display.
I have to say that Mali is ok from this point of view. Not always and not everywhere, but it's ok (except when they treat you badly just because you have a camera in your hand). Listening to Novella, Senegal is a nightmare.
We were invited to a party in the street (there are many here). Everybody was so elegant, wearing the typical Malian clothes, and dancing. Novella asked if she could film and she was answered “No problem”, so she could film the whole thing and I take as many pictures as I wanted.
I would expect more privacy in private life matters (a party) than at work (the market), but apparently I’m wrong.

Segou 4 fun (it's hard to trust people)

2006-02-11T11:10:00.000+01:00

Suddenly I found myself travelling to Segou with a new friend from Italy, Novella, who has been living in Dakar for over a year.
Segou, a 3/4-hrs-drive from Bamako, is a particularly warm, cosy and welcoming city, and people are extremely nice and helpful.
Another hard task for the toubab: trusting people.
In Africa, no matters where you are going, whom you are with or what you are doing, it is very common to be followed by half a dozen locals/curious-money-or-company hunters. But Mali is much calmer from this point of view; people often stop you just to have a little chat and then leave asking nothing in return.

Novella was shocked. Apparently Senegal is the opposite: every time somebody talks to you, even though it doesn't seem like it, there is always a good reason (for them): basically either money or a passport stamp. She often says: "Senegal ruined me" and that it's now impossible for her to trust Africans.
In Segou we met Salif, who accompanied us in a tour "en pirogue", and let us meet two other guys who helped us find accommodation, nightlife and things to do for the rest of our staying. It took us a while to trust all these people, who never asked anything back: they really helped us in everything until the end, when we were tricked, lost and upset at the busy busy bus station right before going back to Bamako.

Shopping matters

2006-02-11T10:20:00.000+01:00

Even though racisms works both ways, being a white in black Africa often brings you an almost constant sense of guilt.
Yesterday we tried to shop at the Grand Marchè. After the usual exhausting 1-hr-long bargaining, we managed to lower the price of two bogolan from 120 euros to like 20. The Grand Marché is not the very best place to souvenir-shop? Actually it should be, even though some tourists do go there: negotiation is possible (in some west-oriented shops it's not) and the offer is huge. Anyway I am sure that what I bought for 20 euros is maybe worth 5, but, after the exhausting negotiation, you do feel somehow obliged to buy what you have been discussing about for so long. And you do feel somehow guilty about bargaining over 50 euro cents in a developing country, even though it shouldn't be so.
Simply for being a "toubab" (white), prices go up 500%, in some places or towns. Bamako is one of the places, even though it’s the capital and things should be calmer. Segou is a little town about 3/4 hours from Bamako, and even if it is quite touristy, sellers neither are so aggressive with toubabs nor do they higher their prices so much for them.

Bamako fish tank

2006-02-10T10:57:00.000+01:00

After a while in Africa, it gets really weird to meet white people in the city: automatically you think: "What is a toubab doing here!", when you are a toubab as well.
Another un-nice sensation we had yesterday in the bar/patisserie you see in the picture.
Some local people have a snack there too sometimes, but basically foreign residents, rich Lebaneses or Arabs are the majority, like in most restaurants or bars. Just money makes the difference. And air conditioning.
Besides the fact that air conditioning made me fall sick after 2 weeks here, it also requires closed doors and windows, actually separating the indoors and the outdoors worlds: rich and toubabs (always looking kind of unhealthy and weak compared to locals) inside, Bamako outside. I call this the fish tank effect, that – with that glass window and that little girl staring outside – felt even more intense yesterday.

Here we go...

2006-02-09T15:02:00.000+01:00

Apparently, if you don't have a blog you're out.
I don't believe it, but since I am curious (and not so busy at the moment) I might as well give it a try.
There are so many dead sites out there. One more will make no difference.

Welcome!

r