Bamako Bride*

Less than a month to go in my Bamako adventure. My final month coincides with the opening our newest small business venture for his family - Bamako Bride. We are still proud taxi owners, but we figured it was time to diversify. We have opened a small bridal rental shop in the family's neighborhood -Niamakoro. It's a brightly painted (pink and blue) shop next to a newer Eco-bank with full length glass display windows in front. We have 14 wedding dresses (much thanks to my mom and wedding guru Viva Max!) and a whole bunch of "pret a porter" party dresses (many donated by friends and family- thanks!). We are shooting for a bride-friendly - queen for a day scene that mixes urban Bamako fashion with American bridal stamina.

Solo - my former driver - now mans the shop. Drissa's family brings him lunch everyday. Drissa's brother Yacouba helped us to secure and renovate the space. My neighbor, Nicole, and I arranged the display - wedding dresses along a long rack to the right and other dresses hung all around the left hand wall. We have a cheesy 1980s Macy's Dept style mannequin. Yacou and Solo bought an expensive mannequin and a wig and a hairnet that holds on the wig.

For our promotional shoot, Yacou asked his fiancee and her friends and his friends friends to come be in our catalog. I called on my friends Devon, who works for an NGO here, and Hillary, a teacher, as well as Nicole - to add some American models to the mix. I played photographer and stylist and all the girls worked together to model all 14 dresses. 8 models changing in a tiny room with one mirror. Trading jewlrey and dresses trying to to maximize both preferences and the the best fits. Everything accomplished in 3 hours - pretty amazing.

I used pics from that day to make a catalogue and business cards. I had limited photo-editing software, so I used old school "Paint" (an early 90s relic found in the accessories tab.) Those who took computer class in the early 90s will appreciate the way I used the eraser to delete the background images of this photo so that just Bintou (host niece) and the model remain.

Drissa has just started distributing business cards. My friend Sam is working on a logo (yeahhhhhh Sam)! Next step is posting fliers and sotramas that go to Niamakoro and a lottery for a free wedding dress rental for university students on campus.

So if anyone knows anyone who needs to rent a wedding dress in Bamako - send them our way!

*Rock'n crazy microsoft paint skills on this photo.

You're so 2000and late*

It's now been more than 10 months since I first touched down on Bamako soil - and I can say - the times are a changing. I would like to see the Western Union money transfer total for the month of Ramadan. Up until September, there had been a slow and gradual rhythm of a few more cars here and there, store facades sprouting up like mushrooms. But then in the month of Ramadan and forever after there has been this explosion of fancy cars (porche cayenne's, brand new bmws), fancy hairdressing shops, kids wearing jeans and designer t-shirts, men in super expensive basin. When I first came to Mali - there were no such things as hair salons or non-diesel, non government cars.

What happened? Why aren't we feeling the financial crisis in Bamako... I have a couple of guesses - 1 is that malians don't have access to credit. Credit has always been hard to get and expensive here (relatively). So - when there is a credit crunch - Malians aren't effected. Most Malians living abroad aren't citizens and therefore have difficulty creating a credit profile. The stuff that people buy is bought with cash and paid in full. My guess is that while the US has suffered this financial crisis, Malians expats have been scooping up stuff on sale and sending over here to Mali - where again - people buy stuff with cash.

Second, I want to talk to study people who study customs regulations in Bamako, but I have a sneaking suspicion that there has been a great deal of regulation and standardization this year. Sure, people who know people probably get out of most taxes, but I think the rules of the game are being applied more broadly and becoming more transparent - meaning more people can get into the import game.

Third, remittances, remittances, remittances, - western union and money gram - everyone is getting much more organized and Malians making money abroad can send it over here at their convenience. For just 8 euros you can send money from Europe and have an email receipt an hour later telling you someone picked it up. It costs about $2 to send money across Mali.

However, my observations apply to the capital city - BAMAKO. I just got back from the regional capital of Sikasso - near the Burkina/Cote d'Ivoire border and it was like being in Bamako 7 years ago. Tough to find a fan, a cool drink, or a working internet connection. We interviewed 100 respondents in Sikasso ville and then another 100 in 5 surrounding villages. It was a shocking reminder of the stark contrast between urban glitz of Bamako and rural poverty. Most shocking was speaking to female respondents from the villages. Mostly, men tried to prevent us from speaking to them (oh the women don't speak Bambara - meanwhile - they would greet and joke with us in Bambara as we walked past). When we did get a chance to speak to some women - they were so uniformed and unaware it was a truly overwhelming. The good news is that their daughters (for a large part) are going to school. Hopefully, if nothing else, school will empower them to observe and reflect on phenomena outside of the compound walls and feel capable of expressing their own preferences and opinions. It's hard to imagine that those rural kids reach high school and then travel off to university in Bamako, which seems like another planet.

*Research team with respondents in randomly selected village - Ntjibougou (Sikasso Region)

Dear Cornell - Admit Nicole*

This blog entry is an appeal to the Cornell Admissions Committee to accept Ms. Nicole Green:

First - a confession- my blog dedication and general Nicole-euphoria has been motivated in part by the fact that she unlocked Drissa and my i-phones (something that no one else in Bamako can do.)

Nicole is my bright and perky neighbor. She is an American exchange student here to do a semester at a Malian high school. A week ago, she celebrated her 16th birthday here in Bamako. Although, she is just learning French and Bambara - Nicole already speaks Chinese and Spanish. She plays many instruments. She has taken enough courses that she could graduate from high school early. Next year, She is hoping to study abroad in China for her "senior" year in high school.

This is my 5th trip to Mali and I still get overwhelmed. The language, the culture, sometimes I have days where it is all just too much. I want to curl up in my room with the AC watching English language movies eating kraft macaroni and cheese. I remember how crazy my first trip was. The poverty/the heat/the smells sort of slap you in the face and then you gradual adjust and start focusing on the kids smiles, the sweet tart taste of mangoes, the booming rhythms and silly lyrics of coupe decale....

Thinking of my slow, evolution, I am amazed by my new neighbor - Nicole. She is engaging Mali with a maturity and poise that I could never imagine at 16. She prefers hanging out with her host family than trying to learn french in the classroom. She has jumped in "free-fall" style. She is embracing everything and everyone. Everytime I tell another expat that she is here, they are blown away. Responses ranging from: "At 16?!" to "Why?" "Wow I was at another place at 16." But at 16 Nicole already seems to get it - to understand what Mali might offer. To be action-adventure enough to try a semester, the first time away from her family - in a foreign country, in a foreign language! But - she is still a 16 year-old - she likes vanilla milkshakes and plain peanut butter sandwiches.

Nicole hopes to major in Engineering with maybe a side of law. She visited google and loved it. After knowing Nicole for just a month, she seems like a perfect google employee. She is creative, she knows what she wants, she eschews formality for practicality and directness. When unlocking my phone, she worked for hours and hours, past vista blockages, and power shortages, trying different programs. She couldn't leave until she did it her way.

I wanted to honor her in my blog - cause I can't imagine many other 16 year-olds doing what she is doing. But, I hope she is not the last. I'd like to meet more quint-lingual, computer programmer- musicians.

Seriously Cornell, Nicole would be a great addition to the community. You will be lucky if she decides to join us in Ithaca.

*Nicole on her 16th birthday with host-sister Daly

Happy Eid

Yesterday was the end of Ramadan. After a month of fasting and abstaining from activites most young people would consider fun: dancing, fraternizing with members of the opposite sex - Mali exploded yesterday in a colorful, polluted mosasic of cars and people and food. Most Malians have special outfits made for Eid - for many Malians this is there only chance this year to get a new outfit. Hair salons have been packed wall to wall with women - literally 24 hours a day as clients seeks to create a spectacular "coiffure" for Eid. Malians like to get dressed up - and its common to see $100+ basin for weddings, baptisms, and funerals - however, yesterday - it was like the entire country was at a wedding.

During the morning - things were quiet. The non-residential parts of Bamako - markets and hotel districts were ghost towns. In the afternoon, the energy started building and never subsided. Traffic was crazy - the air was murky, tense, and excited. Drissa explained that many people drove cars that had been sitting in garages for months. As a result - streets were 4 lanes deep with cars, motos, and buses. Women in colorful outfits rode on the back of motos - carrying food to inlawS and breastfeeding babies. Bands of children in freshly made complets, faux suits with bowties, and chinese versions of "hip hop" gear paraded the streets in bands - going house to house - trick or treating for small change.

We visited Drissa's family. Each visitation includes each person giving blessings to everyone else and then getting them back. I shadowed Drissa and hung out with my niece and nephews as my Bambara repetoire was not up on the proper holiday greetings. We purchased a motorcycle from our friend Paul and Marie - who recently left for Europe - and presented it to Drissa's dad. He was thrilled. Unlike most motos in Bamako - Paul and Maries - came with two helmets, which makes me feel a bit more comfortable about my inlaws riding around in the chaos. Drissa's cousin Abou modeled a helmet that Marie had decorated in the form of a muppet fur bear head. Drissa's older, usually stoic Uncle put on the other helmet and was the first to jump on the moto. This post's photo captures the wonderful juxtaposition of the starchy white holiday boubous and the moto gear.

The celebrating continues until Wednesday as Tuesday is Mali's national independence day. I am sitting in my room - away from the chaos- trying to get some writing done. However, its overwhelming to think of the swirling masses of people, transport, and food just beyond my window.

Roadtrip*

Most of the time, I forget that I live anywhere exotic. Men driving motos while holding two sheep or older Peule women with tattooed mouths don’t even get a second glance from me. It’s like living in DC or Chicago or NYC or anywhere that becomes so day-to-day (I won’t go quite as far as mundane), but you forget that it is anywhere special or all the mystique and intrigue that the Smithsonian, Central Park, or Wrigley field might provide for tourists. A friend once joked with me that you have to be high or drunk in Bamako to remember how wild it was to be living in Bamako.

Lucky for me, this quotidian haze disappears once I leave Bamako limits. Drissa and I decided to drive to Segou then San for a little R and R – and so Drissa could visit an old friend in a far off village. We had celebrated a friend’s birthday Thursday then went out to the “Peace Corps Swear-In After Party” at No Stress. Imagine 50 or so young Americans bumping and grinding to US top 50 hits before being sent off to remote parts of Mali. Entrance was free, so a group of us Peace Corps posers embraced the mood and danced until 2 am or so.

Drissa slept for an hour, ate his pre-fast meal then slept till 9. After final repairs were made to our car, we changed more money, etc –and headed off to Segou around 3. We got there just at fast breaking time. Drissa drank some tea, while I secured a room at our favorite hotel – the Djoliba. It’s hard to explain what makes the Djoliba amazing – there is no pool, no lavish lobby, but every time you stay there – you feel great -like a perfect vacation. The rooms are clean and modern and bright with Ikea furnishings and down comforters. We ate a delicious fish dinner, drank some wine and watched French game shows on TV. We woke up and had a leisurely breakfast with real coffee before heading off to San (Drissa took the day off from fasting).

There is not much to do or see in San, but the drive there was awesome. I kept thinking “I live in West Africa” something I had completely forgotten. We cruised in the Mercedes wearing matching aviators blasting the Roots Live in Stokholm, then Nick Drake, then Little Kim – it was so fun to see and experience Mali on our terms, with our soundtrack - not hot and jammed in a bus or in a 4X4 showing other people the “sights.” Just controlling the music, being able to offer rides to people walking along the way and taking in a green-rainy-season Savanna: gaggles of women selling technicolor vegetables, little kids herding large bulls – ducking down to feel the breeze of the car as it drove past, massive baobabs reaching out into the open plane, Disney-world huts next to cell phone towers and newly installed electric lights. Various landmarks reminded Drissa of stories from his childhood; what a world away from that we were. But then again, it’s amazing to think that 10 years ago I was moving into my freshman dorm with views of Lake Michigan- blasting Gill Scott Heron and collecting garbage from neighbors to create our “found art collage.” I could never have imagined driving along the road to San – feeling so at ease, but so alive – thinking “this is my Mali, this is our Mali.”

*Dual aviator action cruising in the 85 mercedes...

Thomas Schelling in Bamako

As soon as Drissa arrived at the airport we stopped by his parents house right before morning prayer to greet everyone before heading back to our house. My father-in-law must have told the kids that he was coming because everyone was up and buzzing about. As Drissa emerged from the car everyone was chanting "ton-ton Drissa." We said our hellos then headed to Magnambougou to say hi to my host family. Then my brother-in-law insisted on breaking his fast and praying at our house before heading home, so we sat with him and Solo for a while to plan out the next day. The missions included the following: changing money, buying a new motor for our taxi, starting to sell various electronics drissa brought from the US, and starting to scout locations for our newest business venture - a bridal shop in Bamako. Drissa and I were finally able to escape family-time for five hours or so before the crowds arrived back at our house at about 10 AM.

After a team huddle we all dispersed in various directions - first heading to look for a motor. I wasn't quite ready to let Drissa out of my sight - so I decided to head downtown with them. (I think I might hold the title of toubab logging the greatest cumulative hours in West African garages). Then the rain started to pour - and pour and pour and pour. Rain means business stops and people sleep. Drissa braved the rain and managed to arrange to get a motor the next day. We headed back across the river to our neighborhood. Roads were flooding as sewage systems got clogged with mud. We saw crazy moto-drivers trying to navigate through 3 feet of water. People got were panicking and abandoning their cars in the middle of flood zones. Luckily, I was with 3 public transport people: solo, drissa, and our taxi driver Cheble. Solo was driving and as the water approached our windows - Drissa walked him through the flash flood - keep your car in low gears, keep the accelerator steady. Water poured into our car onto the floor maps. We slowly drove around abandoned taxis and people pulling their motos to the median. Any sudden change of speed or stopping the car would pull water into the motor and break it. I was completely impressed by the calm of my husband, solo, and cheble. It was only after the water receded from the floor mats and I saw drissa laughing explaining that Solo was a Kalanden numan (a good student) that I realized how crazy what we just did was and how nervous they had all been.

Meanwhile, neighborhoods away in Niamacoro, our nephews decided that they wanted to visit Drissa and I at our house. So the 5 year old and 8 year old started walking to our house. The rain started pouring down and my in-laws noticed that the two boys had disappeared. Boi had told another nephew: "It's late - we've waited all morning. Ton ton Drissa hasn't come yet. We are going to his house." Drissa and I arrived at the house to learn that the kids had been gone for a couple of hours in the rain. Noone knew where the kids had gone. Everyone in the house - except the younger cousins - was out searching for the kids. Drissa and I exchanged glances - it was one of those amazing moments where you gain strength and calm from your partner in the most pressing of times. He said that often lost kids are deposited at a local radio station in Magnambogou. He called my host brother to get the station's number and seconds later he was talking to the DJ who explained that they would announce that the kids were lost. Each announcement cost $2. Drissa called his brother Yacouba and told him to go to the radio station to investigate. As Drissa made these calls, the political scientist in me was amazed that a private radio station - and not a police station - was the "focal point" for lost kids.

I started out on foot - trying to think of places where a five and 8 year old might go or hide during the rainstorm. I walked along the road and Drissa got our car and tried calling other relatives to figure out where they had already been. After an hour or so of searching, I got a call from Drissa who had talked to Yacouba who said that the radio station had located the kids. Drissa picked me up and dropped me off a couple of blocks from his house, where I jogged back to tell everyone back at the house that they were found. His dad was relieved, but his mom was still out looking - without a cellphone. I decided to stay put at the house where I could call both Drissa and Yacouba for updates.

About 30 minutes later, Drissa arrived with our nephews. He had bought them meat and they were eating it as they arrived rather sheepishly. Drissa sat down and explained the whole story. A man had seen the kids near the large highway that separates my neighborhood from Drissa's parents. He asked them where they lived - realized they were lost and promptly brought them to Radio Guintan. Radio Guintan said they had nowhere to put the kids so the secretary took the guy's information down and had him bring them back to his house. By the time Drissa had called the station, the kids had already come by the secretary's office. However, she failed to tell the DJs in the booth (who drissa had spoken to). Yacouba arrived and asked the secretary if anyone had brought any kids by. She said yes, but then she asked for $20 to tell Yacouba the location of the kids. Yacou was furious, but composed enought to negotiate down the "finders fee." If I was there I would have been far less composed - I have been practicing my bamana insults for the one day i get to meet her: Fin be be sugula?(ohh, everything in this world is for sale?) I be i yere yere fere? (Does that mean that you sell yourself/you are a prostitute). Eventually she disclosed the phone number and address of the man who was hosting the kids. Drissa met Yacou at his house. The man was extremely nice and refused money, but finally Drissa convinced him to take $10. On the car ride home, Drissa overheard the boys saying that the younger one was willing to stay at this guy's house, but that Boi was already planning his escape cause he missed his grandparents.

Back at the house, Drissa called a family meeting with all the grandkids. He revealed the toy cars my grandma had sent from the states and explained that there would be no more escaping -especially after dark. After 14 days of good behavior, the children would be rewarded with the cars. He enlisted all of his younger brothers to report back on the children's behavior. Hopefully the toys will serve as a sufficient incentive to keep the kids at home.

The Good Aunt

On Saturday I took 3 of roughly 7 niece/nephews to my house. The oldest one, Abdoulaye, who is called Boi (like 3 other people in the house - don't ask me why Malians insist on calling people the same names) had been asking me when he was coming home with me. Boi is a funny kid. He is a smart kid. I first met him on my first trip to Mali -when he was about 1. By the time I came back to Mali in 2003, he was already living with my in-laws. Drissa left Mali in 2004. About a year after Drissa was in the US, 4 year old Boi picked up a cell phone and handed it to my father-in-law. He told my father-in-law to call Drissa and tell Drissa to tell me to buy him a bicycle. About 30 seconds later, Drissa called his Dad who was laughing and passed along the important message. To this day, I still can't get my head around his young/acccurate conception of time and space and people. Ironically, work brought me to Mali in 2005 and I brought a bicycle with me in my suitcase. In greeting me, after 2 years out of the country, Boi simply said "Where's my bicycle?"

Boi's new request is to come back with us to the US. It's not so much a request as an order. "Yama, when you go back to the US (Ameriki), we are going back together." When I went to the US this summer, I had to carefully explain that while yes I was stopping by the US, the bulk of my time would be spent in Accra at a conference. Now, everytime I come to visit my in-laws he insists that he is coming back to my house with me. I guess coming to visit me in Magnambougou is a step closer to coming to the US.

Boi is strategic. Whenever I make food, he gobbles it up shooting me a sideways glance as if to say - yeah whatever you throw at me, I can handle - I am ready for the US. It's not that he is particularly fond of me; he likes me well enough, but doesn't climb all over me or ask me for things. He has a secret agenda that I will never fully understand. When he speaks to me - he does it clearly and directly, without begging or trying to be cute. He has a kind of stoic determination that I have never seen in an 8 year old.

On Saturday, I took Boi, and two of his younger sibilings (Mohammed and Saouda - actaully called by their real names) with me to my house. I think the highlight was the car ride in which they were yelling and pointing and giddy. Saouda, who is typically silent, was babbling away in the back.

After running outside and on the roof and through the house with Rex, I coaxed everyone to the table to do some drawing/coloring (I had purchased some color pencils for the special occassion). It was clearly their first time holding colored pencils and I had to arrange their fingers and draw some pictures to try to get them started. I think the exercise was overwhelming for Saouda - who was mocked by her older brothers - "She can't draw anything." In a fit of frustration, she drew some loud bold loops onto the paper - to which I tried to tell her looked awesome. The boys, perhaps cause they are older, caught on quickly. Mohammed who is quiet and introspective - did some cool rothkoesque swatches of color on paper and then tried to draw some chairs and houses. Boi drew all kinds of stuff - dogs, trees, my purse. He was super excited when I wrote out his name and had him copy it underneath. I was shocked and saddened that at 8 - he can't write his name yet. However, he copied my writing quite well and thought- hmmm in a week together I bet I could teach him a lot of stuff.

I had pre-loaded some disney videos on youtube. When I brought out the computer, quiet Mohammed got super animated, and started attacking the keyboard with his fingers and trying to move the mouse with the finger pad. I had to fight him off and explain that we were just watching a video (not playing a computer game). From color pencils to typing in 30 seconds. They got the youtube concept instantaneously. After the Mickey Mouse cartoon ended, they saw the suggested videos pop up and were really excited to pick what they would watch next. Then they asked for dog videos. We looked at big dogs, White german sheperds, and ugly dogs. Then they started chanting for crocodiles. Intially hesitant about what kind of violence might be associated with films under the heading "crocodile," I decided that Malian kids - well familiar with the cycles of life - could handle videos of crocodiles bringing down water buffalos. These films were a hit. They screamed and cheered for the crocodiles - then for the escaping water buffalos.

During the video segment, Saouda had been chanting that she wanted to go home. I enlisted her to help me make pasta and sauce (Look at me already replicated gender roles). She obliged as long as I held her and she got to taste test everything. We made pasta with vegetable sauce. I set it down a large container and the kids sprang into action ready to attack it. I tried to cool it off, but they dove in - probably burning their hands as they devoured it. Saouda declared that she was sleeping at my house.

After mealtime, I was tired. I packed up the kids and their drawings and sent them back home. The luxury of being an Aunt. I am going to recharge my own batteries and invite the next shift of kids over once Drissa gets back.