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. 

They live in the quartier of Kalabankoro, which despite being part of the capital city, had much more in common with a small Malian village than I expected. The sense of community was there, and I spent much of my limited time there chatting out by the dirt road with her nephews Ladji and Kante, and their friends over tea.

This past Monday, I took a taxi to the far opposite side of Bamako to the quartier of Bulkasumbugu. This is where many of my friends from Makili, young men from 18 to 35 years old, come each year for work. This work is known in Bambara as fini gɔsi (to beat fabric).

My host brother Ladji (left) and a neighbor of mine back in Makili, Ba, fini gosi (beat bazin fabric with large wooden mallets).

The work involves beating local bazin fabric with large wooden mallets in order to loosen up the stiff waxy fabric, rid it of wrinkles, and even out the color. This is done for both new fabric, as well as old. After so many washes, the fabric gets so crumpled it is difficult to wear. Ideally, the fabric is stiff and waxy. Personally I am not a fan, especially given the constant heat. It is like wearing a thick plastic bag over your entire body. But in Mali, no clothing is more formal.

It really is an odd job, completely foreign to me as an American. And the mallets are actually very heavy. But it is the major, and really only job that young men from my village can get in the city, especially given their lack of access to education. Each of the four kin (neighborhoods) of my village have their own fini gɔsi yɔrɔ (work place), complete with their own small sleeping quarters. But they are all in close proximity to each other.

The young men of Diarrakela, one of the kin (neighborhoods) in Makili, call this minimalistic thatch structure home while in Bamako.

The fini gɔsi yɔrɔw are all simple thatch structures, unable to be locked or secured. So some of the guys generally sleep there each night, while others sleep in a rented room in a concrete building next door.

Bamako is not the cleanest of cities. Even when moving away from the city center, you find that people are living next to mounds of trash (note the kids playing on the mound of trash to the right). But I can't say that I ever felt uncomfortable there. There wasn't much of a smell, and the strong sense of community made it easy to overlook such details.

It was really cool to get to visit some of my good friends in their Bamako environment. I met my friend Bamoussa in the nearby market on Monday, from which he took me to Katilela's (his kin's) fini gɔsi yɔrɔw. We chatted with the other guys working there: some friends from Makili as well as some men from elsewhere. We ate a communal lunch bought from a street vendor together, had tea, then Bamoussa walked me around the community to visit my other friends from village.

Me and my friends at Katilela's fini gɔsi yɔrɔ.

Posing for a picture while chatting over tea at Diarrakela's work place.

After catching up with friends over more rounds of tea, I spent the night chatting back with the Katilela guys. I decided to stay overnight, not wanting to risk taking a taxi all the way across the city at night.

Despite being in Bamako, life really didn't feel much different than that in the village. The work is different, but lifestyle and sense of community very much the same. Bamako, it seems, is very much the same Mali I've grown to love after all.