Hey guys!

You should check out my other blog, the one I’m actually writing in. Here’s the link!

Happy Sunday!


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A new beginning

Well my dears, I have decided to move on over to join the lovely folks at wordpress for this next batch of blogging adventures.  As much as I loved my time with posterous, it became clear to me that many of you were a wee bit confused by it, so here I am in a more well known and main-stream location.  I will move all the Mali posts over in the next week or so and then begin sharing the details on my next adventure!  Until then, however, happy summer!

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Grand Voyage – Djenné

We arrived in Djenné around 8. Djenné is, in a way an island, and we had to cross a ferry to get there. As with Pays Dogon, our cars were mobbed by street vendors trying to sell various necklaces, bracelets, and souvenirs. By the time we got to Djenné, however it was getting dark, so we gratefully retreated to our rooms in our hotel. The rooms were all very nice, and after we were happily settled we went downstairs for dinner. I was starving and loved our meal. We also got papaya for dessert, a fruit that I’m quickly falling in love with. They also offered tea and coffee to us, so I helped myself to some of the lovely peppermint tea they were brewing.

After dinner a few of us asked permission to leave the hotel and buy some phone credit. Once we’d left, however, we didn’t want to immediately return, and ended up wandering around a bit. As we meandered through the streets we came to a large clearing and discovered we were right in front of the mosque. Djenné’s mosque is fabulous – the city’s main tourist attraction. It was originally built in the 13th century (making it one of the oldest mosques in Mali), but it was expanded/reconstructed in 1907. It is the largest adobe structure in the world, and has to be re-mudded every year before the rainy season so that it doesn’t fall apart. The sun does a number on it through the year as well – by the time they re-mud it, it’s usually covered in cracks. The entire town helps rebuild their mosque, spending a couple days mixing and placing the adobe. Seeing this mosque that night – under the stars was incredible. Djenné has been named a world heritage site, so most of the other buildings are adobe as well, and the city’s modernization is pretty limited (obviously causing some big problems), so the stars were really clear and the city streets were very quiet. I’ve seen a lot of religious buildings in my time, but this one was incredibly moving. Beautiful, ancient, and powerful. I couldn’t get enough of it. The fact too, that the entire city’s hands go into it, gave it another special dimension. It was incredible to sit on its steps, touch its walls, look up at the tiny ostrich eggs placed on its minarets against the sky. I loved it, and didn’t want to leave. Even though we can’t enter it, it was still wonderful to see it. And, honestly; I’m not sure I’d want to enter it. I loved seeing it, forming my relationship with it outside its walls, and I like the fact that the interior is reserved for the faithful. I think that makes it all the more special.

After we left the mosque, we met and spoke for a few minutes with a one of the residents. His name was Ousmane, and he had just been at the festival as well. Apparently he is the balaphone player for Baba Sissoko, one of the bigger acts at the festival. He was very kind, and before we knew it, we were whisked off to his house to have a couple rounds of tea. His “house” was tiny, just two rooms, but he made us tea, introduced us to his mother, gave us some peanuts, and every comfort we could wish for. He was so kind, and so attentive, all of us were very touched. Moreover, he said he’d be in Bamako soon, and that we could go watch him rehearse with other musicians. So that’s something to look forward to.

The next morning we made our rounds to the most important sites of Djenné. I am so grateful now for our night excursion, as it allowed us to see Djenné more than we would have otherwise. We basically zipped into the museum, the library, the cultural center, and stopped by the mosque for a photo before we had to hurry back into the cars and head to Burkina Faso. For me, someone who usually spends time in the places I visit, this quick touristy way of seeing the city was frustrating. I wanted to spend more time, talk to more people, and was pretty cranky when we got back in the cars. But it wore off, and before I knew it, we were across the ferry and on our way.

Me with my neighbors (Caley and Sara) in front of the mosque (on top of the museum). We’re known as the Baco Dicoroni ACI girls.

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Grand Voyage – Pays Dogon

We left Segou early on Sunday morning, and as I said, I wasn’t feeling too good about it. It’s funny how fixated I can get on places. I’d been looking forward to Pays Dogon for weeks and in seconds I forgot about it as I lamented leaving Segou. The drive was long…so long. We stopped for a little picnic around 1:00 and feasted on hard boiled eggs, sardines, bread, and sodas. I’d never tried sardines, my father loves them, eats them on crackers for lunch when he can. I somehow always equated them with anchovies and refused when he offered to share. I regret that now – they were super tasty, though that could have also been because I was really really hungry. As we started out, my car had a problem. An “Oh look! Some smoky fume-y stuff is coming in through the AC unit.” moment. An “I am NOT going to die of carbon monoxide (of all things) in Mali today,” moment. We turned off the AC after that. It was a long ride, but thankfully after a while, as we got closer to Mopti, the air cooled some. The landscape was spectacular – truly rugged and absolutely beautiful. I made sure to look out the window from then on.

We stopped briefly in Mopti for gas and some snacks. I didn’t realize how crazy it was at first, but our gas station was SO much like what you’d find in the States. Unusually so, equipped with a service station filled with snacks. Emilia and I snagged some juice (apple – a rarity here), some cookies and some sour cream and onion Pringles. I feel a little guilty about how much I enjoyed those – they’re one of my guilty loves in the States, and to someone who’s been munching just Malian food for months, they were heavenly. Not that Mali food isn’t marvelous – it is, but the taste of home was very welcome.

It started to get dark after that, and then we turned off the paved road onto a rocky path up the cliff. It looked – in all honesty like the start of a horror movie. Oddly shaped trees and rocks, abandoned motos on the side of the road, men walking alone on the path, little lights in the distance. I loved it, craned my neck to check out the architecture in the towns we drove through. Then I realized, if that was the commencement of a horror flick, I’d be the first to die. I’d be that girl, the one who’s running around, looking at everything and chatting excitedly until I suffered some mysterious and horrible death. I’d be the warning to all others – leave the stuff alone, lock your doors, stick together, and pray you survive. It’s always good to have moments of self-discovery.

The route got worse as we continued, and as it got worse, our car sounded worse. It sounded horrible, in fact. Like it was going to keel over and die any second. And finally, as we tried to maneuver, the sand caught us. We were totally stuck, couldn’t move forwards or backwards. We weren’t as bad as Cherif’s car though, a few meters away, it was up to its bumper in sand. We had to get out, stand and watch as the chauffeurs tried to push it out. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry – it was close to 11:00, I hadn’t had dinner, and our cars were stuck in the desert. In the end we were transported to the hotel in a working car. The chauffeur drove like a madman – fast, crazy. I now think I know what it feels like to be in a car chase scene in a movie. But we made it okay, ate dinner, and by the time we were finished they had miraculously freed the two cars and all was well.

The next day, we took a hike to the top of the cliffs and down the other side. It was beautiful, magical. We got to visit 3 different villages, see the countryside, view the dwellings in the cliff sides up close. I was totally exhausted by the end, but I loved every second of it. Well, save the last few. We had been told that some guys would help us carry our water and help us with the more technical parts of the climb. I was reluctant to hand over my water. As a former big hiker/backpacker, I have a certain pride about carrying all my stuff myself. But there was a moment when I needed both my hands, and one of them took my water bottle, and only gave it back so I could drink, before reclaiming it. It was, in a guilty way, kind of nice. And he was sweet, offering me his hand when the going was tricky, carrying my bottle on his head to make me laugh. Anyway, most people had similar experiences, and for those who haven’t climbed/hiked much, these guys were saviors. At the bottom, however, things got ugly. We had been told that Cherif would pay for their services, but these guys didn’t wait long before they began to demand money from all of us. Some acquiesced, handed over 2000 francs or so, others had to endure the angry glares of their unpaid guides. Mine, thankfully, did NOT ask for cash and I escaped into a car pretty fast, but it was stressful for everyone else, and not a good final note for the hike.

Caley playing with a young boy who joined us on the hike.

After a quick lunch, and a nice nap, we headed down to visit a local sculptor. His work reminded me a lot of Dolo’s and I chatted with him for a while about his practice, what materials he used, what exhibitions were like, etc. It was really cool for me, and he was very nice, so I really enjoyed our afternoon and stayed at his shop for a couple hours.

We packed everything up the next morning and, after breakfast, settled ourselves in the cars. We stopped briefly at a small town where some people bought some thing’s before we left. These towns make me sad. Cherif told us that over the years, these towns have become accustomed to tourism, that their hotels are full to bursting and many people began to make their livelihoods on selling souvenirs to tourists. Now, with the problems in the North and the swiftly advancing desert, people hardly ever visit, and these vendors grow desperate. For me, this produced a constant mix of emotions – I was irked at being bugged, pressured constantly to buy some small idol or necklace but I also understood, and felt sad for these poor people who are going to have to rethink their lives if all this continues. Apparently the sand was never as bad as this year – some cars briefly got stuck, but it was never a big deal. Not the case for us.  Even though we took a different route leaving, two cars got seriously stuck, and needed serious work to get moving again. Guess which two? Cherif’s and…you guessed it, mine! I think Emilia and I were cursed on this trip – we even chose a different car, but we still got stuck. It was pretty ridiculous. So, anyways, Rick Perry, I think climate change is really a thing, you know, now that I’ve actually seen PROOF of the advancing desert, I think it’s a pretty safe bet.

We stopped at two more towns before quitting Pays Dogon. The first, was a small village where we watched a Dama, or Dogon masquerade. Now, I’ve had mixed feelings about this for a while. On the one hand, the Dogon are known and celebrated for the Dama, it’s spectacular – one of the oldest and best preserved traditions in the world. On the other, however, is the fact that this dance was NEVER supposed to be seen by Western viewers. Tourism has changed all of that. It’s kind of sad, one of their most sacred traditions has become an act for curious Western viewers. Part of me wanted to refuse to watch it, on principle, out of respect for what this was. Another part of me, however, wanted to see it – to experience this marvelous show, cited as performance art now in African Art textbooks. I wanted to see them move, to see one of the most memorable things I studied last term. Of course I did see it, and of course it was incredible. These men are amazing, the way they move, with those heavy masks blows my mind. The Dama is, truly, something you will never fully understand until you see it – and even then you won’t really get most of it. It was incredible though, even with the twinge of guilt I felt, the anger at all the Westerners who stole this tradition.

Kanaga Dancers

Our last stop was Bandiagara – a larger city, where we lunched at a very nice hotel. It was filled with toubabous which, as always, was kind of weird, but we got a marvelous meal and I saw a parrot (!) amongst the foliage. So that was cool.

All in all, Pays Dogon was interesting, mystifying, and made me feel very conflicted. It raised a lot of really interesting questions for me, questions that I will undoubtedly ponder for a very long time. And for that, I am very grateful.

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Grand Voyage – Segou (Festival sur le Niger)

We next visited one of the festival’s main sites and saw that the “Festival sur le Niger” is, in fact, on the Niger. By which I mean that the stage is in the water and has to be accessed by a boat that’s parked at its side. We snapped a few quick photos and hung out talking with people for a while before heading back. Even though music hadn’t started yet (all music at this venue is in the evening and it boasts all the main attractions) it was still insanely busy, dancers milled about and performed for tourists, Tuaregs wandered offering to sell jewelry, and musicians climbed out of cars with heavy instruments. I even saw the calabasse player who accompanied Habib Koité. He remembered us (we are somewhat conspicuous I suppose) and chatted with a few of us, telling about how he was playing with another artist named Mariam Koné later that afternoon. (She’s another artist you should check out – she heads an acoustic group in Bamako and their music is great.)

After a very yummy lunch at the hotel, we met a Carleton alum who was visiting the festival. He’s now an ethnomusicology professor and told us a little about his experience as an undergrad and after. He also plays the kora, and runs an ensemble at his university. I got his contact info, and now, thankfully have a resource back in the States.

Next, we headed out to see some of the afternoon’s performances. We two different women sing, and both were phenomenal, one’s music typically accompanied performances using huge puppets of fish, and the crowd loved it when they appeared during her performance. They were enormous, operated by men on the inside and the “swam” around in front of the stage for a bit.

We hurried back to the hotel for a quick dinner and to clean up before the evening’s festivities. Cherif was feeling sick, so he and some students who felt tired ended up staying home. The concert was packed with people, and getting a spot near the stage was challenging. We fought our way through though, and were able to enjoy the music from a relatively close distance. I ended up retreating to further up, and watched the performance on one of the many screens projecting it after a while, as some Tuaregs were flirting with me, a real creeper was getting in my space, and I just felt kinda claustrophobic. I ended up running into the calabasse player again though, and we talked for a while, which was fun. We didn’t end up going home till 2am, and once we got there Somaila surprised me by saying “Discotheque?” So, after dropping some things off in our rooms, we hurried out again to another venue where a dj would be playing music till 6. Of course, they hadn’t started yet when we got there, so we heard another group play for a while before we started dancing. Once we did start though, we had so much fun. We were joined by some of Somaila’s friends – two girls who were working for the festival, and I had a blast dancing with one of them. She taught me a ton of new moves and laughed at me when I didn’t get them right. It was really fun, and I think all of us appreciated doing something a little crazy.

We slept in late the next morning, as those if us who went dancing stayed out till 5. Our day was mainly spent relaxing at the hotel, though we also watched part of a documentary on the Dogon country (our next destination). It was really interesting, but unfortunately the sound was terrible so it was difficult to understand. We next visited (briefly) the bogolan artisans, and all of us purchased a few more things for our friends and families at home. Then we washed up, and ate a delicious dinner of fish and veggies and cake (!) – it was Molly’s birthday – before piling in the car for the concert.

If I said the concert was packed Friday night, it was nothing compared to Saturday. We made sure everyone had phones before splitting up to explore/find spots. The place was packed. Also – I forgot to mention this earlier, but we saw more toubabous than we’d seen in the entire trip – combined. I’m pretty sure all the Peace Corps volunteers took the week off to come here. It was really strange to see them all – especially since most were crazy drunk and acting like imbeciles. Way to represent.

Salif Keita started playing at midnight. I was on the far right – near the river with a mediocre view of the stage. Unfortunately the sound was not especially good were we were, and everyone was talking, so it could be hard to hear. Everyone loved his performance, and the crowd sang along to all his songs. By the way, did I mention that we met Salif Keita? He and Cherif grew up together, and I think that Cherif is the only person in the world who can get/command him to do things. So, he asked Salif to come down and watch the film with us in Nana Kenieba, and he did it! He didn’t end up watching the film – he just hopped out of the car for a few minutes, chatted with Cherif, introduced himself and got all our names, and then went back. It was crazy cool to shake his hand, and I was kinda shell-shocked for the rest of the night. Anyways, he gave a good show, and it was very cool to see him in concert.

Salif finished playing around 1:00 and people began setting up for Habib Koité, who’d be the closing act for the night. A couple of friends and I decided to try to get closer, and made our way in the crowd right in front of the stage. It was packed, hotter and sweatier, but the crowd was also energetic, the sound was much better and I had a great view of Habib playing. We actually throughout the performance pushed closer and ended up directly in front of the stage at the water’s edge (this was facilitated by the fact that a bunch of people left). The performance was superb, he was dynamic and engaging and his music was wonderful. I was transfixed the entire time and danced a ton. It was a great ending to the festival, and although (once again) I didn’t end up asleep until close to 5, it was well worth it.

Leaving Segou the next morning was hard. For a number of reasons, I’ve fixed on to the city, and I was really sad to leave. After two magical nights as well as some great encounters with musicians, I was very reluctant to head out. Moreover, Oumar is always so accommodating that I don’t want to leave his beautiful hotel and wonderful person. I nearly cried in the car as we drove out – this probably had more to do with my lack of sleep than anything, but I also know that when I return to Mali, I will have to come back here.

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Grand Voyage – Segou (Weaving)


We met early on Thursday to leave for the Grand Voyage. Of course, we had a last round of classes first. All of us were together all morning for our last rounds of Bamana and French. We were all especially sad to to see the last of our Bamana instructors and snapped a group photo with them before we said goodbye.

After a quick lunch, we piled into the cars, counted and recounted to make sure everyone was there, checked and rechecked to make sure the air conditioning worked, and finally set out. The ride to Segou was uneventful, all of us spent it chatting with our car mates and the drivers or listening to music. Arriving in Segou was like a homecoming. Our first visit there had been in the early stages of the program, and we were all so happy when our cars pulled up in front of Oumar’s hotel. We grabbed our bags, and hurried in, settling ourselves in our old rooms. Most of us were pretty tired, so we spent the first night at the hotel, relaxing. Several different musicians entertained us that night – the chasseur from last time, and another group run by Oumou Sangaré’s former drummer. Most of us milled about outside, listening to the music and occasionally dancing. As for me, I was wiped out, and ended up passing out early.

Our next day was crazy full. After a quick breakfast, we headed out to visit a weaving guild. As my mom (in the States) is a weaver, this visit was super cool. Women in Segou were taught to weave by colonial missionaries as “something the women could do,” and the practice got a strong foothold in Segou (though there are apparently similar places in other villages in Mali). This particular place had some trouble, however, as they broke and ran out of the materials to card the wool. Thus, one of Cherif’s earlier groups had a student study with them and later published an article with an anecdote asking people to send materials to Cherif. Moreover, another group fundraised enough money to buy the foundation a computer and one of the students returned to install it. Both were really successful endeavors, so Carleton now has a really special relationship with this place. These women were incredible – they begin learning to weave at age 18 and work till they’re close to 60. They receive the raw wool, and card it, spin it, dye it (using similart techniques to the bogolon place), and then weave it into elaborate rugs. They use vertical looms – tying the wool onto strings and then trimming it for that velvety texture. One meter takes a single weaver one month to make. The rugs are beautiful, and ridiculously cheap compared to what it would be in the states. The whole place inspired me – the baskets of yarn, big looms with kind women working diligently on them…I hope to go back someday.  Here are some pictures so you get an idea of how awesome it was:

Sorting the wool.

Carding and spinning.

Washing the wool.



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Sur la plage

We finished our sejour with a trip to an island in the middle of the Niger. It was just what the doctor ordered – cool, serene, and beautiful. Apparently Salif Keita composed one of his albums on the island. It makes sense. The place was tranquil, yet it could also exude creative energy – filled with interestingly shaped trees and quiet spots for reflection – I loved it. I hung out in the shade for a bit, watching others play on the strand and climb trees before I joined them to wade in the water. This was done with somewhat of a guilty conscience as I was forewarned not to touch the water if I wanted to avoid parasites. But the water was deliciously cool and Cherif gave it a green light, so hopefully I won’t become deathly ill and my mom will not have to say “I told you so.”

We spent a few hours by the shore. Some people discovered clay under the sand and molded it into mini sculptures. And some of us sang a Malian song and did a dance in the Niger. So much fun.

The week here has been full, but pretty uneventful. We leave for the Grand Voyage tomorrow – a prospect I both look forward too, and dread. It’s a testament to my happiness here that I get so reluctant to leave Bamako, but I feel like I’ve finally found my stride. I talk to people on the street, all my haunts are full of people who know my name, and I’m comfortable with my house and family. I’ll miss them in the 10 days when I’m away. Fasirima (one of my tea buddies) reassured me that I’d be missed, and gave me a hug last night and my host mom seemed sad that I’d be gone for so long. It warmed my heart. The bad news is, I will probably not have Internet for the next 10 days and will have to try to keep up with writing posts so I don’t fall horribly behind when I get back. But you’ll forgive me if I do…won’t you?

Hope your weeks are full and enjoyable!
Until next time!

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We visited Kirina on Sunday to see a music school there. I assumed this would mean we’d be bused to the village, see the school, and then make our exit, but we ended up being greeted by most of the village with instruments. They escorted us to various officials’ houses, playing, singing, and dancing all the way. We ended up settling down at one point to meet the elders, and the women and children danced. We also watched another mask dance – specific to this region. He was spectacular, and as we made our way to the school he jumped in front of us and indicated that we should get our picture with him. Cool, no?

The school was really special – they showed us the instrument room where they houses ngonis, djembés, koras, balofones, etc. Then we sat with some chasseurs and watched the kids perform various instruments and dance. The school gives lessons in music, dance, English, and French and is a part of Playing for Change. (Website here: check it out!)

We were joined by a couple who had just donated money to the school. They didn’t speak French, so all our interactions were in English – which was really weird. I’m starting to ease into French, so it feels strange now for me to speak any other language with Malians (save very broken Bambara). Funny side note though, I recently discovered that most Americans who visit Mali don’t speak French. Maybe that was a no-brainer, but it totally shocked me. I cannot imagine trying to navigate such a different and busy and social country without any linguistic connection. I already struggle a bit because a lot of the population doesn’t speak French, and fewer speak English. Considering the fact that the best part of this trip has been forging connections – this news made me sad. At any rate, it’s meant that I’ve been repeatedly mistaken as Italian or French because I speak the language.

The one weird part of the trip was that there was a ton of filming underway. We filmed the elders as we interviewed them in Djoliba, we were interviewed about our experience there, and in Kirina three different men with cameras filmed everything that happened. In some ways, I think this was cool – and it’s neat that they wanted to document the experience. On the other hand, it definitely made me uncomfortable at times. In Mali there is (traditionally) an idea that when you film or photograph someone, you steal their soul. For me, the entire time I was on edge about offending the elders and other villagers. Plus, it got to be a little distracting. I missed out on a bit of the masquerade because guys kept stepping in front of the mask to film him. Worse, when we were being greeted by the elders, one of them put his tripod between us and the man talking to us. And I know some of the elders at Djoliba were disgruntled when a camera equipped with a bright light appeared in front of them and blocked their view of the film. It’s really made me more conscious of how I film, and made me think long and hard about a lot of things. I enjoy film and photography as much as anyone (more than some people probably) and feel it’s important to document my experiences (especially for you guys), but it’s a fine line to walk without becoming distracting or offending others. Something I’ll have to reflect on more in the future.

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We left Friday afternoon for Djoliba. The ride was not very long, although we had to wait at a few places in Bamako before we left. We took the bus, which is my favorite method of transportation. All of us cram in there and end up talking and laughing most of the way to our destination, so it’s a great way to travel. When we arrived, we were greeted by djembe players who escorted us to the center of town. Once there, we met the elders of the village, and after introductions we danced for them. I made a new friend almost instantly with one of the kids hanging around us. Her name was Nantene and we danced together a lot. She LOVED dancing. She dragged me out often and would wait for moments when we would be the sole dancers out there. When we weren’t dancing, I let her sit on my lap and we smiled at each other. As usual, neither my Bambara nor her French were good enough for us to really talk, but we still enjoyed each other’s company. After introductions we made our way to Cherif’s sister’s house…a proper paradise on the edge of the village. It was lovely and surrounded by a beautiful orchard. The food was spectacular – some of the best I had on this trip, and the fruit was out of this world. I love fruit, but never so much as when I’m in the heat. It can be difficult to get the really good stuff in Bamako, however, so this was a real treat. The oranges, were undeniably the best I’ve ever eaten. Florida doesn’t hold a candle to Djoliba, these oranges (or lenburuba in Bambara) were fantastic – so juicy that your hands were soaked and there was always a puddle on the ground after you finished one. It was heaven, and I overate a lot. The meals were always so good that I always ate too much, and then I’d stuff as much fruit as I could fit in my stomach. It wasn’t the healthiest option, but who knows if I’ll ever get stuff that good again.

An interesting aspect of this trip, was that we would be showing a film created in 1962 about Djoliba. Apparently, the Malian government teamed up with the Americans, to create a “Model Village” and chose Djoliba to be the guinea pig. So, they went to the town, built up a lot of western styled houses in a new location, and helped the villagers move there. Now, there are several problems with this project:

1). The new houses, because they were modeled after western homes, were completely unpractical for the Malian family. Malian families are a good deal larger than American ones so the houses were, naturally, too small (usually only three rooms to share between 10-30 people). Parents told us later that they send their kids out of the house and into the world earlier than usual, as they don’t have enough room. Then there’s the fact that the materials they used were completely impractical – in particular, the sheet metal roofs made the houses insufferably hot in the summer (vs the nice terra-cotta with a woodenly roof).

2). They didn’t actually finish the village. Unfortunately, after making a few houses, both governments decided to abandon the project and retreated back to Bamako with all their equipment. The villagers have since built up the village, but it was clearly hard, and they had to rebuild things as the houses by the river were abandoned/destroyed.

Anyways, the Americans made a film about this project, which Cherif translated into Bambara and brought back to the village. We got to see it before we left, and let me tell you, it was interesting. It was mainly propaganda for the American and Malian government, but the shots of them destroying a traditional house as concerned elders looked on broke my heart. The trip was mostly organized around this screening – we went to watch it with the villagers both nights, and the next day toured the village and interviewed elders about their experiences during the project. Both were really enlightening, and I was lucky enough to sit next to an elder during the screening who pointed out himself and his father to me. Overall, the people were really excited by this film, as it allowed them to see past villagers – people they knew – again. Everyone was murmuring excitedly and pointing out people they knew. So that was really cool.

Our trip had a slight sad aspect, however. Apparently the morning we arrived, the wife of the chief drummer died, and the village quickly buried her, so we wouldn’t be exposed to it. It was so sad to think of, and although they paid us every courtesy, I felt bad about intruding at such a bad time. We were told that the festivities were more restrained for our group than usual, but I was fine with that as most of the time I was too full and tired to dance. Nevertheless, dance we did to Nantene’s delight, and a bunch of us girls got farewell kisses from one of the djembé players at the end.

We also ended up meeting some students from an architecture school in Bamako. They had seen the film and came to interview the elders with us. It was really nice to meet some people my own age and these kids were all really cool and interesting. Most were still in University but some were grad students, and they came from all over the world. There were students from Mali, Benin, Niger, Spain, the US, etc. I really enjoyed talking to them and hanging out.

Right, I think that is enough for now! I’ll type up the rest of the trip in another post!

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A Busy Week

Perhaps because of the break last week, or perhaps just because, our week has been CRAZY busy. We’ve had some sort of special meeting or trip everyday. As always, these encounters are both enlightening and exciting, but it was a little frustrating and exhausting for us. For me, I’ve been out until after 7 every night this week, so when I finally make it home, I’m utterly exhausted and crash. Last night was especially bad on that count. Cherif told us we’d be leaving town to go visit…somewhere. None of us were really sure where we were going. The journey was frustrating. Cherif predicted it would only take 40 minutes, so he rented a sotrama for the lot of us. So, 20 of us squeezed in the back of it and we set out. Now, sotrama’s aren’t renowned for their comfort, and we were pushing the maximum capacity. Everyone was squeezed so tightly together that sweating started almost immediately. Then the traffic ended up being really bad, and what was supposed to take less than an hour, ended up taking almost two. Suffice to say people were hot, bothered, dehydrated (in my case), and very frustrated by the time we stopped. The place turned out to be pretty interesting though. It was a large plantation where they grew millet and turn the oil into biodiesel which they sell here. Naturally (pun unintended), this is much more eco-friendly than importing fossil fuels for the cars, and it costs Malians a lot less as well. It was a quick, but interesting tour, led by a very attractive young man who we’ll meet again in Segou. Not that I was just shallowly focusing on physical appearances…it really was interesting, but that was nice too. Certainly made the overwhelming, long drive more worth it.

This week I also visited the tailor a few times. I have to say, of all the people I’ve met here, he’s one of my favorites. It turns out he DOES speak French, so I can go and chat with him and design outfits. All the people who work and hang out there are also nice. One, upon hearing that I sing, insisted that the next time I visit I sing for the lot of them. Moreover, if you go around 3, you get a free cup of tea out of it! Anyways, I visited him several times this week with friends, and we’re quickly becoming buddies, which makes me really happy.

My biggest source of busy-ness this week, however, has been the quest for kora lessons. I thought for a long time that learning the kora could be really cool. I play the harp, and the kora is kinda like the harp’s great great great African grandfather. It’s even called the African harp. Thus, I’ve always thought it could be interesting to return to the origins of my instrument. Not to mention a kora is a much cheaper and more portable instrument than the harp. Anyway, actually getting the lessons and instrument has proven to be much more of an ordeal than I thought. I talked to Cherif about it, then didn’t hear anything for weeks. In the end a friend reminded him of it and he called someone. Next thing I knew, I was supposed to call and set up an appointment. Everything was a-go. So, I plucked up my courage, and dialed the number he gave me. The guy who picked up (it turns out) was NOT the guy who was supposed to teach me…it was his nephew. After a confusing conversation, I finally talked to the instructor, who agreed to give me lessons and told me to make an appointment with his nephew. We settled on Thursday. Unfortunately, as you recall, I was unable to leave on Thursday and was obliged to cancel my lesson.

After a few days, we settled that I would have a lesson on Tuesday afternoon. Unfortunately, when Tuesday came, it turned out Abdama (my instructor’s nephew who was supposed to pick me up) had forgotten how to get to my house. I ran all around the house and up and down the neighborhood, trying to find SOMEONE to give him directions…no such luck. So, we settled that we would meet at the CCF (French cultural center). So I ran out and found a taxi driver to take me there. That turned out to be a weird ride. He was nice enough, chatted with me, invited me to share his lunch, etc. He also asked me to marry him, though, so after I definitively refused (told him I couldn’t till after my studies and that I had a fiancé) it was kinda awkward. I then had to wait on the corner of the CCF for a while. It wasn’t awful, I chatted with a nice guy who was sitting nearby and watched a lot of hippy toubabous come and go. It was a bit stressful though and I was happy when Abdama finally arrived. Abdama, it turns out, is in his third year at the university. We are about the same age and got along really well, talking about music, school, travel, etc. When we got to his house, he showed me into the courtyard where we’d have the lesson. This was the busiest courtyard I’ve visited – private lessons would be impossible. One corner had a tv around which men gathered to watch football and the news, the other was occupied by women cooking and doing laundry, and another houses a horse in its stall. So everyone was busy.

Abdama showed me the room where they kept koras and kora parts (they make the instrument themselves) and introduced me to the guy I’d be buying a kora from. He was nice, but freaked me out when he named an astronomical price. It was still less than most instruments in the US though, so maybe it was fair? Anyways, we discussed and I told them I’d think about it and get back to them soon.

As we waited for Abdama’s uncle, he took a kora and played a piece for me. He told me that you typically learn a piece, and then improvise, adding in parts. At one point he even played some chords to imitate a harp for me – it was really cool. Then he passed the instrument to me. Of course I had no idea what to do with it, but he showed me how my fingers should rest and let me play around with it.

In the end, my instructor never showed up. Apparently his wife was sick and they were at the hospital. I was forgiving, but a little frustrated and troubled. I mean, I’m ok with Africa time, and don’t really count on things running according to scheduled times, but I do expect them to happen on scheduled days. Combine that with the price of a kora and I began to wonder if lessons were worth it. So, I talked to Cherif the next morning, and things started to make sense. First of all, it turned out these guys doubled the price of the kora, so it really was too high (as I suspected). He was also disappointed by the fact that I still hadn’t met my teacher, so right then and there, he called a friend and arranged for us to meet after dance class. This guy is going to make my kora, and is offering it for a good price. I will also get to be present when he builds it, which I think is SUPER cool. I feel like I will respect and love the instrument so much more after that experience. Moreover, he’s giving me lessons! I am scheduled to have one this morning! And I know he will be a great teacher as he already started with me on Wednesday. As we waited for Cherif, he played me a piece which he said was pretty easy. After he finished he said, “Il faut voir,” – you need to see it, and passed the kora to me. He then proceeded to show me different strings, told me what notes they were and which other strings corresponded. Then he taught me the accompaniment, and seemed pleased with my playing.

This experience was truly wonderful for me. I missed my music class, and learning a new instrument is always exciting. Moreover, learning from such a patient and excellent teacher is great, and after the headache I had on Tuesday, I started to feel really good about learning this instrument. So, although it took a while to get started, I am so excited to learn kora, and hopefully bring one home with me.

We leave for Djoliba this weekend! I am sure I will have LOTS to say when we get back, from what I’ve heard, this is going to be a great visit with a really interesting twist. But that’s enough for now! Don’t want to spoil the surprise!

Bon weekend!


Posted in Mali 2012, Travel | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment