Wintering in Bamako

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I realize that it’s been quite some time since my last entry, and though I have been quite busy in that interim, when I catalog the events of those weeks, only a few things stand out. But, boy, do they stand out. More on that in a bit.

Since my last writing, I’ve been up to my ears in research. I’ve received over a thousand pages of questionnaire data from collection here in Mali, which represents not quite half of what I will end up with. I’ve also been collecting online survey data from students back in the U.S., and with the beginning of the spring semester, I’ve been working with students on three projects that I’m coordinating at NCSU. Finally, I’m on the cusp of beginning focus group data collection, which hopefully will be a launching pad for many future research opportunities here in Mali. With all the rapid progression of data collection, I have a hard time believing that we have not reached the halfway point of our stay here. It’s exciting to think about the possibilities, but it’s admittedly a little exhausting too. With that fatigue, I’m starting to grow tired of my routine of long days of isolating work. Fortunately, we’ll be headed to Segou next week for the Festival on the Niger, and immediately after that, Nora’s parents and brother will visit for two weeks, half of which we will spend traveling around Mali.

Interestingly, the weather has taken an odd turn as of late, almost paralleling my mood. It wasn’t until a couple of weeks ago that we were actually experiencing proper winter weather. Before it was still getting up in the 90s each day, and the nights were not especially cool. More recently we had been having clear, mild days and chilly nights down in the low 60s, I would guess. Two days ago, it became very overcast and even cooler, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d expect rain even though the rain isn’t due to start until March.

Unfortunately, a tragic event marked that shift. Just a couple of days ago I had headed down to the main road on this side of town in the hopes of getting a few things at one of the two large grocery stores and the only office supply store I have seen in Bamako. I was on my way back home, walking along the busy road and enjoying the clear, warm day. The sky was remarkably blue for Bamako, and the mango trees along the side of the road had already produced half-sized fruit. I was just collecting a mental snapshot of the moment when I head a yell up ahead. I glanced down the road in time to see a pickup truck careen off the road to an abrupt halt on the shoulder, spilling one occupant in the bed nearly onto his back by the roadside, although he quickly recovered. I then saw a sotroma (a VW van-sized public transport) come to a stop directly behind it. As I closed the 50-yard gap between myself and the traffic incident, I immediately saw a dumped motorcycle, and then a man, the rider, lying directly behind the sotroma motionless. Everyone on the sidewalk had stopped to watch, and several women were weeping before 30 seconds had even passed. Given the position of the rider relative to his bike and the sotroma and the fact that nobody made any move to check on him, I quickly got the impression that the accident was fatal. I walked the remaining mile back home badly shaken.

That day, I couldn’t bring myself to mention it, not even to Nora, until late in the evening and, even then, just in passing, even though it was on my mind all day. The next day, the sky darkened, and even the inauguration of Obama, which we watched with nearly 100 Peace Corps volunteers at the American Club, could not revive my spirits. The odd thing is that the effect it has had on me has been very subliminal. The imagery doesn’t consume me; I haven’t dreamt about it; I don’t even think about it that much. But ever since then, I’ve been in a bit of a funk. I think that it has acted as a force of separation between me and Mali.
Anyway, I suppose I don’t have much more to add on the subject. I know that such accidents are very commonplace here. We’ve seen a number of accident scenes since we have been here, and most of the people that we know in Bamako have witnessed one or more fatal accidents. Just yesterday, in fact, when I explained that I would rather take a taxi to pick up concert tickets for Friday than ride on the back of his motorcycle he told me that he had seen a few gruesome accidents. His recourse was to buy a helmet. My recourse is to look forward to 4 days of music at the Festival.

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Comments

[Brad]

sobering story
Hi Paul, I just found your blog. I miss seeing you and Nora. I hope you enjoy your time with Nora's parents and Court and that the music festival broke the funk. --Brad