Shopping in Bamako

Just back from Mali work trip which I totally loved. It's rainy season there too, although they seem to be one of the only countries in the region that haven't been devastated by flooding. My image before going was of a dry,red, dusty place. Pretty much on a par with Burkina. What I did not expect, was that the capital, Bamako, is split across a huge river, the Niger, that travels all the way to Timbuktu.



I was staying in a hotel on one side, with my office on the other. Every morning I'd cross the river, past a huge, ornate building nestled on one side of the river bank which is going to be the new Parliament building if it ever gets finished. It's being funded by Gaddaffi whose mother is Malian apparently, so he pumps large sums of funding into the country each year.


Bamako has a relaxed, small-town feel. The sort of place you can feel at home in very quickly and where it's easy to just spend time bantering with people. To be honest I didn't see much of it though as work was a bit intense.


I arrived just after Independece day so there were Malian flags everywhere

I did manage to make it to the market on my last day though. One of my colleagues had given me the name of a shop that sells bazin the very colourful, shiny material that makes boubous which is really popular in Senegal but imported from Mali so much cheaper there (about £35 for the minimum 4metres you need, compared to about £70 in Dakar). I took a taxi there but he didn't really speak French and do I don't think he really understood me. Well, actually I know he didn't understand me as I definitely didn't end up where I wanted to be! Still, he did take me to a shop in the market with gorgeous wax material (the traditional West African patterned print). Wax is not so fashionable in Dakar so it's hard to get a good selection. I felt like a kid in a sweetie shop. There were no windows, just colourful material hanging in cuts of 6 yards; row upon row of material, covering every inch of the walls. So much choice. I only intended to buy one or two but an hour and a half later I left with a stack of 8 pagnes, probably weighing about 5kg, and a very light purse.

I then had to negotiate my way along the narrow market streets, sharing the way with battered taxis squeezing between the vendors' stalls. The ground had turned a deep, muddy red with the cars churning up the sandy floor. Squelching through the mud and trying to avoid the big, red puddles was not ideal in sandals. When will I learn? Still, I eventually made it to the bazin shop. Totally not what I was expecting. A really big room with a huge counter and only a few piles of coloured bazin in a glass cabinet behind the counter. A different world from the previous place. Along the counter, was a huge roll of white bazin which seemed to be the only thing selling. I asked why there were so few colours to choose from and was told that everyone buys the white material and then takes it to their own dyer (a bit like going to the tailor) where they have it dyed (and subsequently bashed with a big wooden mallet to make it shine) to the colour of choice. I opted for a classic dark blue and am very excited about having my first bazin boubou made for Tabaski (the second Eid - 2 months after end of Ramadan). Armed with bazin for me and half my office, and my huge stack of wax I eventually made it back to the hotel and by some miracle squeezed it all into my case. Good work.


I loved this statue which I passed every day on the way to work.

Oh the shame...

I have just got back from possibly the most cringeable evening I've had in the last 10 years. I don't know why I ever thought a dance class would be a good idea. I've never had any rhythm so why things would be any different with traditional African dance, I don't know.

There is a British intern in our regional office and she wanted to go and seemed like a fun idea. Oh god it was so painful though. I literally felt like my awkward 15 year old self again. We turned up at this big cultural centre and found ourselves in this open-air courtyard. There were a few people milling about and we asked if a dance class was happening and where we could change. By the time we'd faffed about finding toilets and getting changed, when we got back to the courtyard there were now about 20 people there.

20 extremely cool Senegalese people.

The men in baggy trousers, with dreadlocks and trendy t-shirst were setting up their drums in the centre and the women were just wandering about in leggings with mini skirts and revealing little tops. My friend and I on the other hand, were in tracksuits and t-shirts (mine was a particular classic one from work with some anti school violence message plastered across it). I can't begin to tell you how uncool we looked. It was so cringeable. We were the typical stereotype foreigners. We looked like such gimps and I haven't felt that out of place for years! I thought I was over all those feelings of being the geeky new girl wearing the wrong outfit, but clearly they can come back to haunt you!


We sat around for a while, waiting for the drumming to start. My friend tried to strike up a conversation with one of the guys (I, on the other hand became intensely interested in the small patch of concrete by my feet, hoping it would swallow me up). The conversation went something like:
'Hi, so is this the beginners' class?'
'Er, no, this is for the experts.'
'Oh, maybe we've made a mistake...'
'Oh know don't worry, you can just follow the steps. It's easy, if you can dance. You have danced before right?'


Knowing my dancing skills, I totally switched off at this point to avoid making myself feel even worse! Augustin, the teacher then came over and told us that one of the girls would take us through the steps while waiting for the rest of the group to arrive. So, there you have it. We had to get up and attempt this dance in the middle of the courtyard. IN FRONT OF EVERYONE. Cringe, cringe, cringe.


Although to be fair, after about 10 mins of jumping about, I pulled myself together, realised that it didn't really matter if I was crap and that I am not a 15 year old teenager that needs to be bothered about looking ridiculous. Then I actually started to enjoy it! It was hard work though - a mixture of moves that included ones suspiciously resembling star jumps and squats. It was like a full-on aerobics class. My thighs were screaming in agony by the end. I am never going to be able to walk down stairs tomorrow...


After we got the hang of the routine, the others practised a dance. Totally incredible. The way they could move and literally throw their bodies around was mesmerizing. And they moved so fast. The speed of the drum beat just kept increasing and the speed of their moves with it. We were asked to join in for the bit we had learnt. Well, it was so fast I could hardly recognise it as the same dance. An hour of practise and our little bit was over in minutes!

'So you've got over your complex!', the teacher said to me with a smile at the end. 'See you again on Thursday'.

So, provided I can walk by Thursday, looks like I'll be going back for more after all.

This time minus the tracksuit.

Wedding no. 2

With Nabou and Khadim; 2 of my neighbours

Saturday was a pretty busy really. I was at the baptism all day and then at home had just enough time to get changed to go to a wedding! One of the girls in my quartier got married a few months ago and had a traditional ceremony at the mosque followed by the legal bit at the town hall. Saturday was a follow up to this - the party element. Rather than do everything at once (cost playing a big role in this), people often have the party a bit later than the official ceremony.

This was almost like deja-vu. My neighbour Yvette again made the wedding cake, and we had a similar comedy mission of treipsing through the dark streets in a long line, each of us precariously balancing a cake in our hands. This time however, I was actually invited to the celebration. There is a local centre attached to a primary school and mosque that has an open-air area for hire. Everyone was sat on neatly lined plastic garden chairs. At the front were tables decorated in lots of fake flowers and netting, with the cake on one table and an increasingly large pile of presents on the other. The bride, Aisha, in another classic meringue number sat at the front and after a few speeches, proceeded to have her photo taken with every guest. While that was going on, we each had a plate of mini cakes and patisseries, followed by a plate of meat kebabs and other savoury snacks, then wedding cake and sugared almonds. Always so much good food here.

The cake made it in one piece...

The husband wasn't there as he was at work. I still don't fully understand the fake husband concept. Apparently, the husband doesn't want to be seen as centre of attention or to be seen to be making a huge fuss and lots of expense. Given that the ceremony with western style wedding dress and cake, is a relatively recent concept, it's not considered strange here that the husband doesn't come to this part; it really is the women's day. I think it's quite a Senegalese way of doing things, as my Cameroonian and Ivoirien neigbours are as puzzled by it as me.

After the mammoth photo session, Aisha threw the bouquet, and then it was pretty much over. None of the dancing that I had hoped for - unusual given the complete love of dancing here. Everything was finished by 11pm. Not quite what I was expecting, but it was very kind of Aisha to invite me and fun to be there with all my neighbours. The outfits were incredible though. Satin in the most luminous pinks and greens imaginable, covered in matching jewels. Photos just don't do it justice. Everyone looked SO glam.

Khadim and Ousmane who live opposite me looking v serious for once!

Baptism

A new colleague, Isseu, has started at Plan. She is lovely and even more excitingly lives opposite me! Small world. She invited me to a family baptism on Saturday. I wore my newly tailored outfit which is now my favourite wardrobe item after the cagoule. I went over to her house about 9.30 so we'd have enough time to get into town where the family live for the baptism at 10am. Here, the Imam comes to the house, says the baby's name into its right ear, recites some prayers and then tells the guests that the baby is called X (in this case, Mohammed) and declares the baby a Muslim. It's all over and done with in 10 minutes.
Apparently.
I didn't actually get to see any of this as Isseu's cousin to so long getting ready, we were an hour late and missed the whole thing! Oh well, made it in time for all the food which I think is the main attraction anyway.

The baby's dad is a doctor at the military hospital so they live in a kind of military barracks (but without any sense of it being part of the army). Arriving at the house, I passed the sheep that had already been slaughtered. Someone was washing away the blood into the drain, while someone else was getting to work skinning the sheep. There is something really special about the killing of the sheep. They are killed quickly and humanely, held by someone as their throat is slit. It's all over pretty quickly and is surprisingly unmessy (apart from during Tabaski, the religious festival where everyone is obliged to slaughter a sheep. In big families, this means killing several to have enough food for the extended family and it turns into a bit of a bloodbath). Pretty much the whole animal is used though and the meat is always delicious because it's so fresh. It used to make me feel queasy but now it's become so frequent as there is always some kind of celebration going on in my quartier, that I find it all fascinating.

The house was packed when we arrived - there must have been at least 75 guests -everyone in their best outfits with all the men in boubous and women with brightly coloured outfits with matching foulars (a type of headdress where people tie a piece of matching material around their head which looks amazing). Isseu had this gorgeous outfit on made from bazin, which is a typical material found here and in Mali. It's made of cotton and dyed in a vibrant colour. It's then beaten with a wooden mallet to make it shine - the best quality material reflects the light so well it almost glows when you catch it in the right light. I would love to have something made but it is really expensive. At least £50 for the material and then another £30 for the tailoring. Apparently people can pay in instalments. Contributing little by little each month until they finally have enought to take it home.

The day started with a bowl of Lakh. This is a bit like Thiakry, but the grains of millet are bigger, and the milk/yoghurt stuff is warm. We had it with honey, raisins and spices too. Like a big bowl of sugary porridge really. Yum. I did think I might pass out at one point though as, already sweating profusely in the heat, hot porridge almost tipped me over the edge!

After several hours of chatting to guests; listening to someone chanting prayers from the Qu'ran in the background; trying to avoid the man with the camera and enormous accompanying flashlight which made you feel like you'd stuck your head in an oven whenever it was pointed in your face; and playing with various kids (including adorable 2 year old triplets!); we finally ate lunch. Tcheboudienne (the usual rice and meat dish) which is one of my favourites. It was amazing going out to the backyard to see the whole cooking operation going on. There was a small fire erected, heating this huge couldron containing 35kg of rice! That is a LOT of rice. There was a whole team of women working on the meal, pounding the garlic and chili with a giant pestle and morter, barbecuing and boiling various bits of meat, and cutting a mountain of cucumbers to make the garnish. I have got to learn how to make this meal.

It was a really lovely day. I was made to feel so welcome and even had to make a speech on the family video. (I'm sure they will wonder who the random foreigner was when they look back at it but anyway...) It's essential here that the baptism happens a week after the baby is born. The mother had had a Caesarean and had only got out of hospital the day before. I can't imagine having a baby, leaving hospital and the next day hosting an enormous party. She looked exhausted. And in pain. Hopefully she was able to relax after everyone left.

Rainy season has finally arrived

I was on skype to a colleague the other night at work and could hear something outside getting louder and louder. It took me a while to realise what it was. Rain! First time it has rained in the 7 months I've been here. And it really rained. And the power went out - not a problem in the office as we have a generator, but trying to negotiate the flood-like puddles to hail a taxi in the pitch black and pouring rain was another issue. Note to self: remember that heavy rain and flip flops are not a good combo.

There are these open drains near my flat, that have been brimming with quite hideous stagnant water and rubbish. There have been people clearing them out for the past week, which is a relief because with all that rain it would have just flooded everywhere...

It makes me think of the poorer parts of Dakar though. There aren't really slums here, but the poorer neighbourhoods are built in an area that is basically an old riverbed. There was a period of about 20 years known as the great dry period, and because there was so little rain in that area people started to build houses there. The problem now is that as the rain increases, these areas become totally flooded. The area is really densely populated and there are challenges with sanitation and rubbish disposal at the best of times. I visited some children's clubs with work in January and there were still parts of the area that were flooded from the rainy season (3 months after end of the rains). It can get so bad in parts that the schools have to close for several months. The water that is left is so dirty and stagnant too; breeding ground for mosquitoes and other diseases, and yet there are kids playing all around. The government basically needs to invest in some kind of big canal drainage system to mitigate the flooding, but either lacks the means or the will to do anything.

Last night it rained again and was still pouring this morning. I have never seen the streets so empty. There was literally no one around, and practically no cars either. It is always such a hive of activity here; it was so weird to see it so empty. Clearly being caught in the rain is not popular here. I on the other had was quite happy splashing about in my cagoule. Have been waiting for an excuse to dig that out!

Back again

It felt totally normal coming back to Dakar after my UK trip, which is a good thing. Everything here just feels like normal life. Arriving at my flat there was no electricity which was a slight pain, but what's more annoying is that when the power goes off it somehow makes the water stop working too. Have been caught out enough times though so am now prepared with candles and bottles of water (and bleach as every few days this weird smell like something has died in the drains, emanates from every plug hole. It's quite grim).

This week has been good though. On Thursday my friend took me to a tailor. One of my colleagues bought me a lovely pagne (the colourful, patterned material) and I still hadn't got round to having anything made. Knowing how much my colleagues love it when I wear anything in African material, thought I would get a whole outfit made. There is some gorgeous material so have decided I need to get some more stuff made, especially as none of my trousers seem to fit me any more (i blame the rice). It was fun, although less fun when the tailor made some comedy remarks about the size of my hips, then my friend tried to make me feel better by telling me I was the shape of a Coca Cola bottle...

I spent Friday night with my neighbours across the street who I have got to know quite well. It's a big family: 2 sons and 7 daughters and 6 of them still live there. 2 of the daughters have young sons and Coumba, the girl I'm most friendly with got married last year. Her husband lives between Coumba's family's house and his family's house which is round the corner. That is something I notice so much here. There really doesn't seem to be the concept of immediate family privacy. You get married and move in with your in-laws and all live together until someday when you can afford to build a house. Even then though, your privacy is not guaranteed. Family members, distant cousins etc can come and stay for unspecified lengths of time and you always need to be prepared for unexpected visitors. Maybe it's different outside of Dakar, but given that it's so expensive to build a house or rent somewhere, here people have little choice but to stay with their parents.

Anyway, I spend a lot of time at their house, drinking Senegalese tea and trying various new foods. My latest favourite discovery is Thiakry - small grains of millet mixed with a kind of yoghurt and lots of sugar. Delicious. Then our usual routine is to go for a walk around midnight to get some air. It is stifling here at the moment, especially when it hasn't rained for a few days. So, there is a public open area in between two lanes of road near my house, with lots of benches. We tend to go and sit there and watch the world go by. There are always so many people out and about late at night - of all ages. I'm continually amazed by how safe Dakar feels. I would never sit on a park bench at 2am in London. There is such a sense of community though as most people who live in the quartier have grown up there so know pretty much everyone. I'm sure there is a link with the sense of safety and the lack of alcohol too. I never have that threatening feeling when you see a group of really pissed people leaving pubs at night and getting into fights. It just doesn't seem to happen here or at least not where I live. Speaking of safety though, there was an armed robbery last week in a pharmacy and someone was killed. This is obviously horrendous, but people were so outraged that the following today every pharmacy in Dakar closed for the day as a mark of respect and solidarity. Every pharmacy in the country's capital city. That only emphasised to me how rare that type of violent crime is here.

On a different note, you get the real sense too that children are brought up by the extended family rather than just their parents. If I think of my neighbours for example, the 2 boys aged 7 and 4 are around the whole family all the time and everyone cares for them and disciplines them. It's very common for children to live with other relatives, normally where they can get a better education. Last month I was doing an evaluation with some primary school children in the project. One of the girls, Yassine, was explaining to me that she lives with her grandma in the village while her parents live in Dakar, 4 hours away. She said the schools are terrible in the area she lives in so she spends the terms at her grandma's house so she can do better at school.
I asked another little boy to draw a picture while we were waiting for others to join the group. He drew a picture of a car and a house. When I asked him what about it, he explained the house was where his mum lived and the car was what he wished for so he could drive to see his mum, who again lived several hours away.

And at one of my friend's houses, her niece lives with them. Her dad is in the army in the US and her mum lives in another part of Dakar, not far away. When I asked why she didn't live with her mum, the matter of fact answer was that there is a busy road by her mum's house and the children play in the street and it's not safe. So the little girl lives with her aunt. So commonplace, yet so different from what I'm used to.

Lunch at the lodge

I managed to meet up with a friend who has been working out here for a few weeks. She has a car so we had the freedom to explore. I can’t get over how beautiful it is here. Coming from the dusty Sahel, everything here is so green and it’s not even rainy season.

We had a recommendation from another friend of a good day out. “Drive along the main road out of Harare for about half an hour and then you come to a big hill. You pay 2 dollars and then you can climb it”. We weren’t totally convinced by our friend’s directions, but sure enough, after a beautiful drive out of the city, we found the hill.

It was a strange rock formation covered in some kind of moss in pink and yellow. There were painted arrows on the ground so you couldn’t get lost. On the way up we saw ancient rock paintings of elephants, buffalo and other animals. Supposedly between 3,000 and 14,000 years old (not the most accurate of dating!). At the top, we had fun relaxing alongside huge balancing rocks. It was so incredibly peaceful. You could see for miles across the mountains and felt like we had the whole place to ourselves. It really is so beautiful here.

We then drove to a lodge. It felt very luxurious having a 4 course gourmet meal on the lawn looking onto long, golden grass around a watering hole with zebras and springbok wandering freely. I was SO excited to see zebras and we were able to walk around the park after dinner to get even closer (although not close enough!)