The Local Side of Bamako

Every Malian who has ventured to Bamako seems to have taken a few of these pictures. Posed, in front of the gaudiest of backgrounds. Here I am with my friend Bamoussa at their friend's photo studio next to their fini gɔsi yɔrɔ. But I wasn't supposed to smile!

I never felt much of a connection to Bamako, Mali's capital city. But I'll be the first to admit that I had never really given it a chance. Bamako, to me, was always that dirty, crowded, sprawling city that I had to visit on occasion for official Peace Corps business. I always treated it as a transit point. Somewhere I had to pass through to get back to the friendly confines of Ségou.

This trip gave me the opportunity to get to know the real Bamako, outside of the government-dominated quartier of Hamadallaye and the busy market centers. While in Bamako, I stayed with Haoua, my former APCD (Associate Peace Corps Director) for Water and Sanitation. Her family was amazing during my stay, welcoming me into their home and helping me out when going to and from the airport, especially given my lost luggage.

Haoua, my former APCD, helped me out a lot in Bamako, serving as my jatigi (host family). It was great to catch up, and get to know the rest of her family during my time there. 

Tempering Expectations

Over the past year and nine months since I was evacuated from Makili, I have been in regular contact with our committee members over the phone. Despite their many challenges, I was generally pleased with what I heard from them about their work. But being back on the ground, I quickly learned that things were not so cut and dry. The committees remain active, but they certainly have plenty to improve upon.

One of the first things that stood out to me was just how filthy the pumps were. While I was in Makili, the village itself established the following two rules: that people must remove their shoes prior to stepping onto the concrete apron, and that the pumps were to be swept clean every morning prior to them being unlocked. But, as you can see from the picture below, neither task has been happening as of late.

The pumps are still in heavy use, providing the village with a safe, reliable drinking water source. But the water and sanitation committee's rules enforcement has left much to be desired.

More concerning was the lack of enforcement of the rule banning the slamming of the pump handle. Whereas the previous rules were primarily cosmetic in nature, this rule actually has significant ramifications regarding the longevity of the pump. When the handle is slammed, the actual components of the piston within the ground face undue stress which can lead to premature breakage and pump failure. Throughout my three weeks in village, I witnessed user after user slamming the handle without repercussion.

Maliki ka Ɲɛnajɛ (Maliki's Party)

On Friday January 17th, my village threw an incredible ɲɛnajɛ (party) for me. They paid for a dununw (traditional drumming) group, a local jelicɛ (griot), and, for the first time in over 10 years, actually made jakow (traditional mascots/costumes). They also slaughtered a goat for a village-wide meal of kini ni tigadɛgɛna ni ba sogo (rice, peanut sauce, and goat meat).

Everyone had a great time, and the village was clearly buzzing from the excitement of putting such a celebration on for the first time in recent memory. It was just awesome to be a part of something like this, where all of those involved are personal friends. The village as a whole worked very hard to put this together, and I can't express how much it meant to me.

Preperations

Each kin (neighborhood) made their own jakow. Thursday in Katilela, Drissa and Adama stitch together grasses from kɔlɔn kɔnɔ (the rice fields) for a jako while Badaou, Famoussa, and Bala work on tying together the wooden carcass of sticks.

Bala jokingly dances with the jako carcass as others look on.

Return to Makili in pictures...

Yɛ drives his misiw wɔtɔrɔ (cattle cart) through the dry fields of the Sahel outside Makili.

Remudding the walls of the offering site for Dumbashu (Mawlid), the Islamic holiday commemorating the birth of the Prophet Muhammad.

I bɔra i ka so, i nana i ka so

I bɔra i ka so, i nana i ka so. You've left your home, you've come to your home. This traditional Bambaran saying, signifying the enduring hospitality of the Malian people, is the best way I can begin to describe my trip back to my village of Makili.

Having the opportunity to return almost two years after being evacuated was an extraordinary experience. In one sense, everything just felt normal. I've come back home. The village, the environment, the friendships were just as I had left them. Even my house, somehow still vacant after my departure, was returned to me for those three weeks.

I yala yala'd, walking throughout the village, joining people to chat over tea. My language came right back, along with the memories and the names of the people whom I shared them with. I spent all of my time in the company of friends, not really doing much, but doing exactly what I came there to do.

This was not the ideal season for a visit. It is currently cold season in Mali. Although this may bring a welcome reprieve from the intense heat, it also means that the people of my village are busy during the days cutting rice in the fields. But despite all of the work, my friends in Makili really made me feel appreciated.

They gave me a warm reception upon my arrival, and before leaving, threw an amazing ɲɛnajɛ (celebration) in my honor. A goat and several chickens were slaughtered for me during my time there. For the celebration, for everything, they refused any help from me.

Despite all of the positives, I'd be remiss not to mention the harsh realities which face this country. I knew that conditions were difficult, but somehow, after spending time in Kenya and back in the US, everything felt more real. I knew, of course, how dry this region is. But breathing through the incessant veil of dust and trekking through trails of sand after a long reprieve really put the harsh environment into perspective.