More news from Bamako

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It’s been over a week since my last entry, so I know I have some catching up to do. I believe that I had left off just before last weekend (although I haven’t gotten used to the passage of time here, so it’s hard for me to actually remember). In any case, our big event last weekend was the Saturday game between Mali and Tchad. The big stadium was way across town (there’s a smaller one much closer to our house), and our plan was to take a couple of sotromas (small green buses) to get there, but just before we were to leave we heard that things would be hectic there, so Canadian Ak, Nora settled for a taxi. Before we left, we went to meet Jeremy, a former schoolteacher in New York who is working at the same organization as our Peace Corps friend Sara. He lived just 15 minutes away and before long we were off.

After about thirty minutes in the cab we hit a wall of traffic about 300 yards from the stadium. We decided to hoof it from there, but were instantly met with a throng of people jostling us, trying to get us to buy extra tickets. Fortunately we immediately ran into Kat, who had bought our tickets beforehand, as we were headed towards the entry. I was all the more relieved that we didn’t have to wait around to find her given the noisy crowd and the army of surly police officers in riot gear. We hadn’t even made it that far before we passed two cops disciplining a man in his twenties. He was backed up against a gate not thirty feet from the body of people moving towards the stadium, and one cop was at his side, while the other was facing him. The one facing him was shouting in his face while intermittently striking him with his baton in the biceps and thighs. He calmly endured all of this, but a group of about twenty-five young men in front of me took exception to his abuse and started yelling angrily at the police, so they quickly let him go. The whole scene lasted about 15 seconds.

As we neared the outer gate of the stadium, we saw that we would have to pass through a line of police officers. They were picking people out of the line, interrogating them, and sending them to the back of the line. As luck would have it, we didn’t make it far before we were pulled out and sent to the back of the line for not displaying out tickets. We again tried to make it through but were kicked back again, because Kat’s host brother had a water bottle with him. As we were about to get back in line, somebody pointed out to me that I would not be able to take my camera in to the stadium with me. Fantastic. I quickly tucked it into a pocket of my cargo pants, but we did not make it far before Kat got kicked out of line for having her camera around her neck. I put her camera in my other pocket, and we gave it one more shot. Although Nora had her fanny pack searched, we made it through, each with our hands overhead, our tickets clearly displayed for the police.

Once inside the gate, we saw a guy that we had met at the Vice Presidential debate the week before. He was waving us to join him in the section in which he was sitting, but we quickly saw that we would have to pass through three more layers of security. Although the first two sets of police that we encountered were frisking as many people as possible, I managed to get through without anyone detecting the cameras in my pockets. However, when we reached the final set of officers at the entryway of the stadium stands, I quickly saw that I would be found out. Sure enough, the guards immediately found the cameras, but they unhesitatingly waved me through. Whew!

Fortunately, our timing was perfect, and the game started not 10 minutes after we were seated. We were in a section with about 10 other Americans, one of whom advised us to leave before half time to avoid the impending chaos at the end of the game. I could see what he was afraid of, too, considering that at least 8 out of 10 people there were young men riled up by the match. However, he was the only one in our group to leave, and so we remained seated as the second half started. Mali had managed to score just one goal at the end of the first half despite their clear advantage over Tchad and multiple good shots on the goal. Tchad looked reinvigorated in the second half and quickly tied the game. It was unreal how the mood changed. All of a sudden, a fight nearly broke out about fifty feet away because a couple of guys had refused to sit down. Nora quickly pointed out, too, that all over the stadium similar confrontations were taking place, with people yelling at one another and struggling against the restraint of their friends to get in the faces of their opponents.

We stayed until fifteen minutes remained in the second half, the game still tied, and decided that we would leave, because we were told that a loss or a tie game would potentially produce rioting. Fortunately, we were among the first wave of people to start leaving, and so we found it easy to exit. We were halfway across the parking lot when we heard the stadium explode with cheers. We could see from the scoreboard that Mali was up 2 to 1. We easily caught a sotroma back to our side of the river, and we weren’t on it too long before the soccer hooligans caught up with us on their motorcycles. They were pacified by the win, though, and so their riskiest behavior—popping wheelies and standing up on the seats of their motorcycles while driving—were rather benign. Nevertheless, the boss of Canadian Ak, who is quite fond of the club scene in Bamako, called to advise him to stay in this evening to avoid the enthusiastic revelry. Nora and I, given how tired we were, found it easy to comply.

This past week, I was able to make more advances with my research, thanks to Nora’s help. I had told her that I needed to meet with a social scientist in the area who could mentor me and look over my materials to make sure that they were sound. (The contacts that I had established long ago back in the States had proved to be either unreliable or too busy to be of much help.) She knew of a social scientist at the Malaria Research and Training Center and so she got his contact information for me. Not only could he speak English, but he was happily willing to meet with me the very same day. So on Wednesday I took a taxi to the medical campus of the University of Bamako, which is perched atop a mountain at the edge of town to meet Samba Diop. He was extremely nice, and he explained to me that he had mentored a number of students from Canada and France. He quickly told me what I needed to do in order to get IRB approval here in Mali (unfortunately, unlike in the States, there is only one IRB, and to seek its approval one must fork over $200 to $500). He also urged me to continue on with the Bamana lessons here in Bamako so that I can be fully capable of conducting the interviews myself. Finally he gave me the number of a public health graduate student from the States who had taken Bamana lessons at a local institute. This was probably the third person who had suggested that either Nora or I meet with this woman. Apparently it’s a small academic world in Bamako.

So, I’ve spent the week days working on my IRB submissions for NC State and here. I’ve also been working on some grant applications. I do need to practice the Bamana more than I have, but Nora, in her push to learn Bamana herself, has asked a few friends if we can start hanging out with them regularly for Bamana lessons. Hopefully that will do the trick.

In the meantime, I know that once we get to Segou—our tentative plans are to leave on November 4—I will have little chance to do anything but speak Bamana, as the IRB process will be complete (or at least out of my hands).

In addition to photos from the soccer match, I’m posting some photos that we took this weekend when we went on a little hike up one of the mountains that sits on the edge of town. That particular site is about a forty minute walk from our house, and given the view and the clean air, it makes for a nice break from the rest of Bamako. The remaining photos are ones that we took on our stroll back to the house, with the last one of a herd of goats passing by our house.

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Photos

Meat on the hoof
Had I been in a more enterprising mood, one of these would have ended up on my dinner plate.