Arrested Development - Coup d’État in Mali

Buba (or 'Boi' for short), my friend Lamissa's son, thinks fighting is bad.

On Wednesday I received a couple of text messages from the US Embassy. They mentioned fighting in Kati, the major military base outside of Bamako, and gunshots in downtown Bamako. I talked about it with my friends in village, and they called a friend that is currently working in Bamako. From him, we learned that the national television and radio service was shut down – they assumed by the president, Amadou Toumani Touré (ATT), perhaps because they made a bad comment about him.

But I awoke Thursday morning, surprised to find the BBC World Today radio program leading with ‘Coup d’état in Mali!’ It was a shocking development for a country that has been held up as the leading, model democracy in West Africa. More surprising considering that the presidential election was to take place next month, and ATT wasn’t even running! Sure-fire regime change, no coup required!

Although the coup was not particularly violent and proved to present a very low security risk to us, I began to worry that we could be evacuated. If the civilian government of a country is overthrown and a military government takes over, a military government which America refuses to speak with, can Peace Corps really work in that country?

On Friday afternoon, my fears began to materialize. We were ordered to leave village on Saturday and await further news/instruction. Although nothing was concrete, the possibility was and is there that we could be evacuated, sent to another country, not to return to our villages in Mali again.

So I decided to prepare for the worst. I did not want to get stuck in the situation where I could be forced to leave Mali without personally saying goodbye to my friends in village and ‘closing out’ my work, turning it over fully to the village.

I spoke with Sorti about upcoming work required for the fish pond. The time has come to harvest the fish pond, but unfortunately I might not be there for the work.

After the news, I immediately spoke with Sorti, the acting ‘dugutigi’ (chief of village), his father Madou, the official ‘dugutigi’, and the heads of the committees I am involved with. Friday night and Saturday I largely spent walking about the village informing everyone individually of my potential departure.

My friends Bamoussa, Famoussa, Dara (top) and myself, Daouda, and Babilɛ (bottom).

I was deeply moved by the reactions I received. Over those couple of days, no one had dry eyes (which for me, currently suffering from a bad case of 'ɲɛdimi', or pink eye, in both eyes, was an especially messy affair). I have really gotten close to the people of my village, and they truly have become family to me. I was moved to find that the feeling is mutual.

My good friend Senata and I. Her 'konyon' (wedding) is to happen next month. Hopefully I can be present.

I was told that I truly am ‘Makilikaw yɛrɛ yɛrɛ’ (a true Makili villager, one of them). They expounded on how I chat with everyone and know everyone by name. They said that everyone is sad to see me leave. Shaka, my friend Dara’s father, said that ‘Makilikaw bɛɛ’ (all of the villagers in Makili) are in my hands.

Myself with a group of men I often chat with afternoons: Bamoru, Beenamadou, Baysa, and Bayani.

I held a meeting with the Water and Sanitation Committee first thing Saturday morning, as I wasn’t sure when I would actually have to leave and wanted to make sure that they will carry on our work in my absence.

During the meeting, I explained the situation in the country and why I likely have to leave. I told them how bad it is to me and how they have become my family. I told them ‘my work here is likely over, but I will return. I will never forget you all, and as soon as I can get the money, I will return to visit,’ as the tears started to flow.

I told them, 'while I have been here, I have always strived to teach you skills so that you can do work on your own, whether I am here or not. Whether an American is here or not. Whether foreign aid is available or not. I had planned on being here to help you all until after Ramadan, but unfortunately it likely will not be allowed. But if I did good work, if we did good work together, the work can go on without me.' They all said that it would.

I proceeded to discuss every project we are currently working on, and the committee's role into the future. The well construction project is the hardest one, simply because it requires significant money to be collected from each household.

Some young men fetching water from the pump in the morning as women wash clothes nearby. This was one of the two pumps we replaced last year. The committee is responsible for maintenance and repairs, and are now working to enforce pump rules and collect monthly dues.

I told them ‘I know there are hardships; the money hasn’t been given yet. But I know you all can finish it without me. I taught Aliwata to list what must be bought, the quantities. So when the money is found, you can use that list to buy everything you need. Once the materials are delivered, I know you can build the concrete rings, buld the well – you all have done so before.’

I started really tearing up, as I pleaded with them that 'it would be very good to me if you go through with this project. And I know some of you have said that without me it can’t be done, people won’t pay. But its your village, if you want to work to improve it, you all have to work on your own.' Baba, who had initially opposed the project, told me not to worry, they’ll make sure the money is given. It will be done. Dramani, the president of the committee, echoed this sentiment.

After I finished describing all of the work, Dramani said ‘we understand. All of our work, it will continue. None of it will stop. We will do all of it.’ As he said this, my tears really flowed, and I weakly said that would be very good to me. Very good to me. He said that in a month you can call us and you’ll see, we’ll be able to tell you what has been done. I looked around and saw that everyone had tears streaming down. Dramani looked around too, and he said ‘ahh, we are all crying this morning.’

After our somber Water and Sanitation Committee meeting, we took a group picture. Not a happy looking group.
Top Row: Yaoussa, Baba, Sorti (the acting 'dugutigi'), Aliwata, Aissetta, Korɛ, and myself. Bottom row: Dramani, Bayani, Aja, and Ba.

They then talked about wanting to hold a ‘ɲɛnajɛba’ (big party) for me with traditional drumming and a ‘shɛni’ (dance party) before I leave, but the time is too short now due to the coup. They said it is very bad to them that I am leaving.

I was able to weasel my way out of leaving on Saturday, and instead left village on Monday morning, which made me the last of the PCVs to leave site. This allowed me to have a relaxed day with my friends in village on Sunday, before participating in the first part of a long-awaited ‘ɲɛnajɛ’ in the ‘kin’ (neighborhood) Diarrakɛla, the 'kin' in which my 'jatigi' (host family) is located.

My friend Basounalɛ and I. I am in my Diarrakɛla uniform. We all got clothing made out of common fabric. But Monday was the day we were all to wear our uniforms. I could not be there.

I unfortunately missed out on the ‘dununw’ (traditional drumming) which took place Monday afternoon. More importantly, I am missing out on one of my close friend’s, Bamoussa’s, 'konyon' (wedding). It is taking place Monday night and Tuesday, and they had chosen me to play a key role as a ‘kɔnyɔnbɛna,' as I had done at a couple wedding’s last year. I was hoping that I could stretch out my time in village until then, but it was not in my hands.

Shaka, Omaru, and Noohoo tailor the clothing for Bamoussa's 'konyon.' I had bought some of the fabric, but was unable to stay for the 'konyon.'

Jelica and Yacouba dancing during the Diarrakɛla 'shɛni' Sunday night.

But I enjoyed the ‘shɛni’ Sunday night, and they had me say a few words over the microphone. I never went to sleep, staying up until morning, wanting to take full advantage of the little time I may have left in village.

I am not sure where the political situation will go from here, but it is beginning to look more promising that democracy could be restored sooner rather than later. Apparently it is actually a possibility that ATT could be returned to power and elections could proceed. I strongly hope that this is the case and I can return soon to village. But if it doesn’t happen and I can’t return again, at least I have left the village prepared.

Buba might be ready to leave, but not me, not yet.