Niono to Bamako to San & back to Bamako

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Wow, it’s been far too long since my last post. As I recall, we were still in Niono when I last wrote. That was two weeks ago, at which point the slow pace of life was starting to drive us to restlessness. We were also embroiled in a bit of a conflict, for Nora’s supervisor/logistics coordinator was staging a coup, refusing to send us a transport back from Niono even though her supervisors had agreed upon this arrangement. By the time the weekend of November 30th had rolled around, we had made up our minds to take a bus back, although we were not too happy about this considering the number of irreplaceable documents that we would be forced to stash under the bus and that it would nearly double the travel time to 8 hours.

So, you can imagine my surprise when on Saturday afternoon, Nora’s last day in the field and the day before we were to catch our early bus back to Bamako, we got a series of calls from the Save The Children telling us that there was a transport on the way. So, in just the space of a couple of hours we packed up our stuff and departed Niono.

Once on the road we found out that our friend Yaya was waiting for us at his brother’s house in Segou. Apparently his brother had been involved in a motorcycle accident and Yaya had caught a ride with the driver. We met him and had a nice dinner at his brother’s house under the stars, marveling at our good fortune.

After dinner, Nora and I went to a nearby hotel, and that’s when my stomach distress began. I thought that perhaps that I had eaten too much at the prodding of Yaya, but by the time morning rolled around, I found that this was not the case.

After an uncomfortable, albeit eventless 4-hour ride, we were in Bamako. I must say that I can’t really recall what we did in our first week in Bamako. It took me a couple of days to recover from my illness (or so I thought, see below), that I do recall. I also took up 2 hours of Bambara lessons a day, which I really found to be enjoyable.

The following Sunday, we woke up early and took a taxi to Yaya’s house. We then headed over to a bus depot to catch our bus to Yaya’s village for the big Muslim holiday of Tabaski. Even at 7am, the depot was bustling with hundreds of people waiting to board their buses back to the village. We had to wait for our names to be called before we could board, and fortunately Yaya, in whose name the tickets were, was called relatively early on, so we boarded early. The bus quickly filled up to the point that the aisle was impassible for the amount of luggage piled into it. Beyond that there were extra people admitted who were forced to sit in the aisles on the piles of luggage. Even so, we waited around until 8 before our bus made any sign of movement.

The journey was long and mostly unforgettable. We made over a dozen stops, seemingly at random. It seemed nearly an eternity before we reached Segou, which was the first time that we got off of the bus. After crawling over luggage and seats we headed for a group of scraggly bushes where dozens of passengers were relieving themselves. Given no alternatives, we joined them.

After another 2 hours, we reached our stop. Yaya signaled to the ticket taker to pull over and we staggered off of the bus on an empty expanse of road between vast rows of harvested millet. We crossed the road to a small mud brick house and joined a man sitting under the porch covered with dried millets stalks. Yaya called his family and requested a donkey cart, which would take about an hour to arrive, but we were just glad to be off of the bus. Besides, the silence and clean air made for an amazing contrast to Bamako. Before the cart arrived, we did manage to carry our things a quarter-mile down the road. I’ve posted some photos that we took under a tree at that location.

The donkey cart arrived not longer after that, driven by two boys who could not have been older than 13. We loaded up and were off at a walking pace. The countryside was beautiful, with open millet fields, giving way to sandy scrubland. We traveled like this for about three miles before arriving at Yaya’s village at dusk. Like Yaya, the village was small and tidy. It couldn’t have been more than 100 yards in diameter with small, walled compounds interconnecting with one another. If the walls had been any higher, or the village any larger, it would have been a maze. As it was, we stuck to one side of the village, which contained around six compounds belonging to Yaya’s relatives. As it turned out, the village was dominated by Dembeles (Yaya’s family), and, sure enough, even a five-minute listen to the local radio confirmed this by the ridiculous frequency with which Dembele was uttered.

Our first two stops were at Yaya’s aunt’s and grandmother’s compounds. These were small affairs (about 50 feet by 30 feet), with everything neatly compartmentalized. There were small hay-filled pens for the goats and sheep, spare two-room buildings for sleeping, and small thatch covered structures that served as porches. Our third stop was at the compound of Yaya’s father and two wives. We met Nana, Yaya’s mother and Nora’s namesake, who was a spry, doting, and absolutely tiny woman. We also met Datigi, Yaya’s father and my namesake, who had a gregarious and commanding energy to him. We were lavished with attention and blessings at every stop, although this was all in Bambara, which made it difficult for me and impossible for Nora to follow much. Next we stopped by Yaya’s half-brother’s place, which was beautiful. Unlike the other yards of swept sand, his was large, elaborate garden of papaya, banana, and guava trees, made possible by the hand-dug well in the middle of the compound. Finally we went to the newly built earthen house where we would stay. Like the other houses in the village, this one had two rooms, each about 8 x 8 feet. The floors were of packed earth and the ceilings and roofs were thatch. They were fantastic for staying cool during the day and holding heat at night.

That evening we ended up in the large garden compound. We were surrounded by men and boys (this was apparently the male hangout), and the women and girls only showed up when they were bearing food, which they was pretty often. We were served chicken with sauce, sheep liver, lamb meat with rice and sauce, one after the other until we had to beg off for bed. When we got to our little house, we found that Nana had brought fried plantains, which Yaya insisted that we eat as well. And that set the pace for eating for the next 24 hours.

In the morning, we had more meat with sauce and dege, a sweet soup of millet, before heading off to the Tabaski holy service. The service was held outside, perhaps because all of the people who showed up would not have been able to fit inside the small mosque that was right next to Yaya’s parents’ compound. Nora and I took part with about 60 other people. Fortunately following the others was pretty easy as it was not a very interactive service. Afterwards we went back to Yaya’s family compound, where we took a lot of the photos of the family, many of which we posted here. We then hung out while the Tabaski sheep was slaughtered and butchered, which took remarkably little time. After greeting Yaya’s family again and wishing them well for the feast day, we changed clothes and embarked on a long walk into the millet fields with Yaya and his brother. They pointed out the various properties and led us to the rice fields, which they would be harvesting in the next couple of weeks. After what seemed like an eternity in the strong sun, we came stumbling back to the village fatigued by our journey. After cleaning up (and, let me tell you, bathing was quite the public affair, as the 5 x 5 foot stalls that housed the latrine holes as well as served as a place for bucket bathing had 4-foot walls and abutted a main thoroughfare), the onslaught of food began. I don’t quite remember how many plates of various organs (stomach, intestines, and lots of liver) were brought to us, but I do know that I ate more than I should have at Yaya’s strong encouragement. We were also given papayas, plantains, dege, and the list goes on.

This went on until dusk, at which point Yaya told us that we would have to see his aunt who lived on the outskirts of the village. She actually lived about a half mile outside of the village, but she had a small gathering of people there, and the feasting continued. We hung out there for about an hour before heading back in the moonlight, which was bright enough to lead our way. Entering the village that night seemed magical. The light from the stars and moon overhead were strong enough to see everything, but only in a pale monochrome, giving a soft white glow to the mud brick walls and buildings. It was a very surreal, albeit very brief moment before we again retired to the garden compound. Nora and I managed to beg off early for some much needed respite from eating and socializing. Of course, Nana had brought more plantains for us, and we were compelled to eat those, so I was not surprised to go to sleep with an aching gut.

However, when I woke up in the middle of the night with a painfully swollen gut, I knew that things were not alright. Sure enough, I had the exact same symptoms from the weekend before, so it seemed that our friend Sara’s prediction that I had Giardia (which I had not treated the first time and therefore was subject to returning) was true. Fortunately, Nora had brought some medicine for it, but that didn’t stop me from spending the rest of the night in a miserable state, awake and freezing, for I had gone outside to wait out the sickness by then. If nothing else, the night sky was beautiful after the moon set, and I must have seen a half-dozen meteors that were larger than any I had ever seen before. By the time dawn rolled around, probably about three hours later, I was feeling a little better, albeit exhausted. Even in my state, though, I had to be insistent about being unable to eat anything.

By the time we left, we had five chickens in hand that were given to us by various relatives of Yaya’s along with a big back of peanuts, fruit, and hibiscus leaves. It took us a good 15 minutes to walk the 30 yards from Yaya’s parents’ house to the nearest road out for all of the goodbyes that we said. We also had to promise to return, but that was pretty easy to do.

In spite of the high spirits, I was not looking forward to the 10-hour trip ahead of us.

Because Nora needed to pick up a key to the place that she would be staying while doing her field work in Tominion, our plan was to donkey cart it to the road (1 hour), go to San (another hour), get the key, and then catch a bus back to Bamako (8 hours). We made it as far as the road before our plan hit a snag. Not only were there very few buses head to San, the two that we saw were completely packed. I’m not sure if Nora was prompted by my increasingly miserable state, but she managed to get a hold of the Peace Corps volunteer whose house key she wanted to pick up and make another arrangement. Not 30 seconds later we were on a bus headed to Bamako.

Because the bus was already full, we were forced to sit in the back seat, directly in front of the engine, which made for a sweaty ride. Otherwise, the medicine kept me pretty stable, so aside from the heat and the length of the journey, it wasn’t too bad. Nevertheless, the sight of dirty, noisy Bamako was a godsend. We collapsed with exhaustion once at home, at which point my sickness started working its magic. I ended up not eating much more than a couple pieces of bread and a small handful of peanuts over the course of three days, so now I am quite the lightweight in spite of all of the feasting at Yaya’s village. I’m better now, although the thought of meat, dege, papayas, or plantains is enough to make my stomach lurch. Yaya in all of his good-nature has invited us back to his house today (in fact in just one hour) for another meal. I’m still trying to think of how I can dodge any eating.

Other than that, I have found someone to distribute my questionnaires to the university students, so I am eagerly anticipating getting that off the ground this next week. Nora will be leaving on Tuesday for Tominion. I’m to meet here there on the 23rd so that we can head out for Dogon country on the 24th to spend the holidays with our visiting friends from Durham.

I’m posting quite a few photos from Niono and Yaya’s village. Here’s also the link to the music that I uploaded from the Baba Sissoko show that we went to nearly a month back (http://www.sendspace.com/file/bsywrn). I hope everyone’s well!

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Photos

Suburbia
The burbs of Bamako are even more soulless than back in the States!