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| My friend Bamu, the 'mobilitigi', stands in front of his bashé just before leaving Ségou one afternoon. |
11/3/11 – Thursday
At 5:45AM I biked down to the gas station which Bamu, the ‘mobilitigi’ (bashé driver), told me to be at by 6AM. The Yolo ‘mobili’ (bashé) hadn’t yet arrived, and Bamu’s phone wasn’t on when I tried to call him.
At 5:45AM I biked down to the gas station which Bamu, the ‘mobilitigi’ (bashé driver), told me to be at by 6AM. The Yolo ‘mobili’ (bashé) hadn’t yet arrived, and Bamu’s phone wasn’t on when I tried to call him.
So I waited, soon joined by a woman heading out to a village along the same route, past mine. She called her contact, Soumalɛ, but he said there wasn’t an extra place for me. They claimed another vehicle may be available, so I nervously continued to wait after her 'mobili' left.
Just after 7AM, I was finally able to reach Bamu, who told me to wait there. 15 minutes later, as I was buying an egg sandwich breakfast, he arrived in his empty green bashé. He ended up shuttling me back to the bus station, where his older brother’s ‘mobili’ was to leave shortly.
So I waited there, chatting with the young teenage apprentice Papu, who was very amicable and made good company. I also spoke with a couple women from a nearby village who asked me to greet Koka, my ‘jatigi’ (host father) for them.
A man came around collecting money. When I told him where I was going, he was about to ask the ‘mobilitigi’ for the price, but I told him the standard fare, 2,000 CFA, and he accepted that amount. But he later came back saying that the ‘mobilitigi’ said that it must be 3,000 CFA. I tried to negotiate out of it, thinking this was a ‘white person’ inflated fare, but ended up paying it. I later noticed that he made all of the Malians pay extra as well.
They had been loading up the vehicle throughout the morning, but around 12:20PM, the ‘mobilitigi’ said he called Bamu. Since there was a large number of people queued up to go, they decided that both vehicles would go together.
While we were waiting, a young man was chatting with the two women I spoke of above, when one of the women mentioned that a Bakai from Siyjan is her older brother’s son. Bakai was the name of my ‘jatigi’ (host family) in Siyjan when I stayed overnight for their 'jako bɔ ɲɛnajɛw.' So I asked if his wife is Hawa, and she said yes. So we discussed this common link, and they then asked me to come visit them in their village and stay overnight. I joked that I’d probably show up there and they’d forget they ever knew me.
Papu was also seated with us, and people kept complaining to him about having to pay the inflated 3,000 CFA fare, yet still having to wait an excessive amount of time when we were told we would leave ‘sisan sisan’ (now now). The women joked that he should have to buy us all lunch. Papu then agreed and convinced his ‘mobilitigi’ to give 1,000 CFA ($1) to allow him to buy us all a common dish of rice. But at that moment, around 1:30PM, Bamu pulled up in his green bashé, so we never got our food.
They directed those of us going to my market town to switch to Bamu’s bashé, and proceeded to load it up. While I was seated with the others inside the bashé, a man came in, apparently working in some way for the bashés (but not Bamu nor his apprentice), demanding that I pay an extra 500 CFA for my bike. He told me this in angry French and continually refused to switch to Bambara when I told him I don’t speak French. I refused, saying that I already paid much more than usual. Bamu heard this, and finally called from behind the bashé, ‘Maliki, A ka ɲi’ (Maliki, it’s fine!).
People continued to squeeze into the bashé, five to a row. There were a lot of young men on their way back from working ‘fini gosi’ (beating fabric) during the growing season in Bamako. We finally left around 2:15PM.
While on the road, I was thinking about how inconvenient and uncomfortable, but more so, how entertaining and fraternal travel is here. Although we sat uncomfortably close to each other, practically on each other’s laps, everyone was in good spirits and joking. When we passed through the check point out of the city, where women aggressively hawk food through the windows, most people bought food and they all shared it with those around them, often with people they never even knew before.
Around 3:15PM, while riding along the red clay road to Dioro through millet and bramble fields, we felt a huge jolt down and forward, vaulting us out of our seats, and the ‘mobili’ came to an abrupt stop. Everyone rushed out to see what happened – the front right tire was bent and twisted up. The metal connection between the axle and the wheel had snapped. Bamu, his apprentice, and a couple other men got to work trying to fix it.
About 30 minutes later, I took a look at their work. The men were digging a hole under the wheel, since the jack they had didn’t bring the vehicle high enough, so they could reattach it. I looked underneath the vehicle, and found that they had fixed the connection by lashing the axle and wheel together with rope wrapped several times around the metal pieces.
Shortly thereafter, once the wheel was reattached, they started up the vehicle to try out their repairs, and predictably, the front end promptly fell out again. Bamu said that the ‘mobili’ was now beyond repair for the day, so he told me that he called another ‘mobili’ to come and take us the rest of the way.
For about 45 minutes, Bamu was making calls to other drivers, so I wasn’t confident that he had actually found another ‘mobili’ to take us. People in this country are notorious for lying simply because they are afraid to tell anyone anything they do not want to hear. He certainly seemed to have trouble convincing either the replacement bashé driver or the mechanic to come out. And at one point, he was in the midst of arguing for a man to come when the line abruptly cut out and he said his phone credit was finished.
I ate a loaf of bread I had bought earlier and chatted with the others around the vehicle. Bamu’s apprentice told me that they returned from their route late last night, at 3AM. So they decided to sleep in instead of driving to my market town at 6AM as Bamu had promised.
I was chatting with one young man who joked that people from my village love to dance. He showed me a video on his phone of animated monkeys dancing to one of their standard dance songs, joking that these are my villagers. As you have seen from my other posts, he does speak the truth. They are far from monkeys, but do know how to have a good time.
Despite the circumstances, everyone was in high spirits, joking. Bamu even took the time to transfer music to his phone. Local women in donkey carts would ride by, and the men would joke with them as they passed, mostly about giving them food since we all were hungry from the day. They scrounged up some 'banangu' (edible roots) in the process.
I was waiting outside with the others, now in the dark, when our new bashé arrived around 6:30PM. We all went right up to claim our seats, and I took one against the window in the second-to-last row. Our row ended up with only 4 adults, as opposed to 5 in the other rows. And our 4 adults were younger, smaller guys. So we were fairly comfortable.
A young girl of maybe 7 was handed back to the young man to my right, and another young girl sat between us. A woman in front of us turned around and asked me if I could ‘catch’ her child (‘I bɛ sɛ ka den minɛ?’). I put my pack down on the floor and lifted the young boy of about 4 over the seats and onto my lap.
The man next to me looked over and joked that I have children. I cracked back, ‘I don’t know how it happened. I should have been more careful!’
Around 6:45, all of our gear was transferred to the roof of the bashé, and we were on our way. The young girl next to me immediately fell asleep with her head resting on my chest. I held the boy on my lap, letting him rest his head on my left arm. He promptly fell asleep as well. I found myself guarding his head against outlying branches of shrubbery crashing through the window.
Not long after, the ‘mobilitigi’ got a phone call, then immediately pulled off the road next to a small village at about 7:30PM. I asked what was going on, as the passengers were saying that ‘this mobili is now broken, lots of hardships today!’ They told me that gasoline was leaking from the vehicle. The smell of gas was particularly strong inside.
The ‘mobilitigi’ asked us ’who’s bike is on the roof?’ I told him it was mine. He asked if I had a bicycle pump, and I said yes, but I don’t think it will work on this vehicle. I was confused – is there also an issue of tire pressure?
So I lifted the boy from my lap and sat him down on his own, then joined the others outside. I asked them, ‘what will a pump do?’ They showed me a little compartment inside the floor of the passenger area by the door, which was covered by a metal plate. Within this were two tubes, no longer connected. Instead of gas simply passing from one tube to the other, it was leaking out. They told me my pump could fix it – I failed to understand how. So I grabbed my pump from the roof and showed it to them. They said that it wouldn’t work, disappointed. It was then that I understood their intention – to sever the tubing from a standard bicycle foot pump and use it to mend the connection.
I was waiting outside with the others, now in the dark, when our new bashé arrived around 6:30PM. We all went right up to claim our seats, and I took one against the window in the second-to-last row. Our row ended up with only 4 adults, as opposed to 5 in the other rows. And our 4 adults were younger, smaller guys. So we were fairly comfortable.
A young girl of maybe 7 was handed back to the young man to my right, and another young girl sat between us. A woman in front of us turned around and asked me if I could ‘catch’ her child (‘I bɛ sɛ ka den minɛ?’). I put my pack down on the floor and lifted the young boy of about 4 over the seats and onto my lap.
The man next to me looked over and joked that I have children. I cracked back, ‘I don’t know how it happened. I should have been more careful!’
Around 6:45, all of our gear was transferred to the roof of the bashé, and we were on our way. The young girl next to me immediately fell asleep with her head resting on my chest. I held the boy on my lap, letting him rest his head on my left arm. He promptly fell asleep as well. I found myself guarding his head against outlying branches of shrubbery crashing through the window.
Not long after, the ‘mobilitigi’ got a phone call, then immediately pulled off the road next to a small village at about 7:30PM. I asked what was going on, as the passengers were saying that ‘this mobili is now broken, lots of hardships today!’ They told me that gasoline was leaking from the vehicle. The smell of gas was particularly strong inside.
The ‘mobilitigi’ asked us ’who’s bike is on the roof?’ I told him it was mine. He asked if I had a bicycle pump, and I said yes, but I don’t think it will work on this vehicle. I was confused – is there also an issue of tire pressure?
So I lifted the boy from my lap and sat him down on his own, then joined the others outside. I asked them, ‘what will a pump do?’ They showed me a little compartment inside the floor of the passenger area by the door, which was covered by a metal plate. Within this were two tubes, no longer connected. Instead of gas simply passing from one tube to the other, it was leaking out. They told me my pump could fix it – I failed to understand how. So I grabbed my pump from the roof and showed it to them. They said that it wouldn’t work, disappointed. It was then that I understood their intention – to sever the tubing from a standard bicycle foot pump and use it to mend the connection.
So instead the men went into the nearby village in search of plastic tubing, and returned with some scraps. They were able to repair it, and we were back on our way at about 8:40. Unfortunately for me, however, the two young girls had not returned to our row before a very large, old man took their place, shoving me completely against the window. And the woman in front again passed her child back to sit on my lap. I am not sure why, she had more room than I did!
Finally at 10:30 PM, we arrived in my market town. I collected my belongings, then biked the 4 kilometers on dirt trails through the fields back to Makili in the dark using my headlamp.
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