Adventure in a sauna wind tunnel

Whew. This weekend was not restful in the best of ways.

To tell the story properly, I need to go back six weeks. Picture Vermont in mid-December. I've just gotten stuck at the Burlington airport and am making small talk with the shuttle driver to the Doubletree Hotel, where I've decided to stay because lord knows my dear friends do not need to drive me to the airport at 4 a.m. on a Monday morning.

The driver, Issa (last name withheld to protect the innocent), and I strike up a conversation in French when I find out he's from Senegal. And, when he finds out I'm headed to Mali, he tells me that his dad actually lives in Kayes, a town in western Mali, and that he will be going home in six short weeks. So, of course, we trade contact information.

Fast forward six weeks. Issa and I have been in touch by e-mail and finally chat by phone. He's in Kayes and I'm trying to get transportation out there to take him up on his invitation to meet his family. The first option falls through (crazy me, I wanted to drive to a town called Kita on Friday afternoon, drive on not-very-good roads to Kayes on Saturday and then home on Sunday). Instead, I'm able to hire a driver, Mamadou (again, last name withheld to protect the innocent, though perhaps I should just Google real quick to find out if there are so many people with his last name that it won't even matter. No, it matters. But it seems he's also playing soccer in France!), who'll take me out to Kayes on Saturday and back on Sunday.

In the meantime, I also learn that Kayes is the second-hottest place in Africa after Djibouti, although it is still currently the cold season, and that everyone I talk to about this idea for a "weekend trip" thinks I'm barking mad. I am. No matter.

As Saturday dawns and Mamadou and I get on the road in a little, old white sedan, it's beautiful out and I've got Juluka singing in my heart.

Actually, I'm in Mali, so I should have Oumou Sangare singing in my heart. There. It just needs to be something upbeat.

The ride to Kayes was pretty uneventful, but long. We stopped a little over half-way for some freshly roasted mutton and Fantas. We also saw the cars of the Budapest-Bamako rally, pictured below, making their way to the capital city. I don't want to judge, but they weren't going very fast. In fact, I saw some guys stop to play with kids near a sheep-trading town! Hmph. Hee hee.

By the time we got to the hotel, we were both bushed. The air conditioner in Mamadou's car doesn't really work. So you've got two choices: windows down and hot Harmattan winds washing over you or windows closed and weak air conditioner chugging along. The only thing I could compare it to is a sauna wind tunnel -- I'm sure some folks would pay good money for that. I drank tons of water in addition to my drink at noon, but, despite my worries, never had to go to the bathroom. All the H2O was coming out my pores.

Anyway, when we arrived I took a quick shower to try to perk up and gave Issa a call to find out how we were going to meet up. He and his little brother came over to pick me up and we went over to his house.

I cannot say how incredibly welcoming his whole family was to me. We greeted everyone. We took pictures -- Issa hired a guy to come take a family picture with me...the fellow left for a few hours and then came back with developed images. The official pictures are just me with all the men. And Issa and I were the only ones smiling. I guess that's what living in the U.S. will do. We smile. The only pictures of mine that turned out well were the ones that were taken with Issa's sisters, plus one amazing one that one of his brothers snagged when he was doing some independent snapping.

Then we took a drive around town to check out the sites: the Senegal river, which was full of people washing their clothes, cars and motorcyles; the train station; the casino; the stadium built for the 2002 African Cup. Like an idiot, I'd forgotten my camera at Issa's house. Of course.

But, then the best part! Dinner! We had apples and oranges, couscous with some kind of meat-spinach sauce (I honestly have no idea at all what was in the sauce, except that it was good.) and salad. The salad dressing was so good that I meant to ask his sister what she'd done, but I forgot.

After dinner, we watched the news on the the TV in the family compound and shared some tea. I'd been wondering about the tea here, because I'd seen it around a lot, but hadn't had any yet. The tea at Issa's house was made with very strong mint and lots and lots of sugar. So, of course, I *loved* it. I don't care how hot out it gets, I'll take some!

Some of Issa's friends and neighbors came over, but I have to admit I was bushed. Absolutely bushed. So when the invitation to go out dancing came up -- I'm embarrassed to admit it -- I declined and headed back to the hotel. This is terribly unlike me and I cannot believe I didn't go out. In my defense, all I can say is that I was really, really tired and really, really well-fed. All I wanted was to sleep. Plus, I'd managed to pick up a headache from the bright sunlight and dehydration. So while I wish this blog was about how I stayed out until 3 a.m. going to all kinds of awesome Kayes dance clubs, which in my younger days it would have been, the truth is that I went to bed before 10 p.m. and slept until 7 a.m. Nice. Issa came over for breakfast at the hotel, we said our goodbyes, and Mamadou and I were back on the road again.

Except, this time, we had a little stop planned! The French had a trading center and fort on the Senegal river not too far from modern-day Kayes, which holds a little bit of West African history. Fort du Medine was the last point of French control in the 1850s as they worked their way inland from Dakar.  When Hadj Oumar of the Toucouleurs was trying to take over neighboring African kingdoms, he beseiged the French at Medine for a long, long time. The fort nearly fell, but the reserves got there just in time, and so Oumar decided to turn his attentions to other folks with thinner walls and fewer guns.

In addition to the commandant's house, we saw the prison where French and African prisoners were held -- the Africans were sold as slaves down the Senegal river, destined for Mauritania or Goree Island and the New World. We saw the first mosque, which was built by a Mauritanian, and the first French school in Mali. The historic trading area was completely ruined, but the later trading building is still standing, along with the ruins of the railroad that used to run from Medine to Kayes and Dakar. It was taken apart during WWII.

I didn't know any of this, but we hired a guide to take us around the place and tell us what everything was. According to Wikipedia, he seems to have done a pretty accurate job!

After the touristing, we were back on the road -- that's a picture of Mamadou and me on the right.

(Ok, on the road back we picked up a guy with two women and two kids, one who looked very sick. Apparently, he'd already had his son treated twice for malaria, but he was still sick. He'd tried acupuncture, which he said he'd learned from a Chinese doctor. The kid was still sick. So they were taking him to a traditional doctor, in case it was a genie who was making him sick. Aside -- when I was in Kenya, I remember interviewing a woman whose kid was in an NIH-funding malaria study. Because she was enrolled in the study, her kid got free health care for five years. When her kid got sick, she *immediately* started walking the 6 miles to the health clinic. And thank god she did. Doctors said that the kid's parasite count was so high that if she hadn't started moving immediately, he probably wouldn't have made it. It (obviously) made a big impression on me just how much a) relatively small health care costs make people delay seeking medical attention as long as they can and b) transportation costs keep people from seeking medical attention immediately and c) no one wants someone's kid to die when the prevention was cheap. I was happy the U.S. paid for that kid's treatment. Unfortunately, I don't think NIH is currently doing any genie-related studies.)

The ride home was pretty uneventful except for the length and the fact that I ate sheep's intestines. The sheep's intestines were pretty good -- kind of like bacon except for a little tougher. The bad news was that the awesome sheep intestines were roasted, wrapped around a bunch of innards that also ended up on our plate. I accidently had a mouthful of liver. I think. Blech. I washed it down as best I could with my tamarind drink, but I will not order that again, unless I can get the intestines-only meal. The Kayes bananas are awesome, though. Firm and tart and delicious. And Issa's father gave me a ton of peanuts -- half cooked and half uncooked (which really give you a sense of why they're called PEAnuts. Uncooked, they kinda taste like peas!).

Anyway, kids, I'm beat. It was a really fun, really dumb weekend -- about 18 hours of driving in two days. I met wonderful people who fed me good food and put up with me. And now I'm going to eat some leftover pizza and hope that at work tomorrow no one notices the odd strip of sunburn on my inner left arm from having the window open three inches.

Bamako Marathon: Probably more fun to watch than to run

Oh my goodness, I am so obnoxious. I did my best to cheer on the top-finishing Malian in the 2011 Bamako International Marathon, who was in 5th place as he neared the finish line. I cheered in English. Loudly. Weirdly. About 30 seconds later, clearly not inspired by my hooting and hollering, he was passed by someone with more gas in the tank. Oops. Sorry, buddy. He finished 6th.

After a lazy start to my day (Lebanese meze and a Coke + chocolate crepe and a latte, the breakfast of champions), I'd finally made it over to Stade Modibo Keita to watch the marathon. By the time the race started around 3:30 p.m., the sun was lower in the sky, but it was still a pretty hot, sunny day for a 10K, much less a marathon. I found a nice shady spot in the stadium to watch the festivities. Rapper Lassy King Massassy (I think; I can't find confirmation.) and some kids' field day-style activities kept the crowd entertained. A couple of parachutists gave us a thrill -- one guy just missed landing on a group of kids waiting their turn for the obstacle course. Forget the obstacles on the ground, kids. Look out for the grown man falling from the sky!

Now, it's not yet the hot season. I don't want to give the wrong impression. But I was pretty darn warm, dehydrated and dusty just walking over to the stadium after my long brunch. I can't imagine what it was like for the athletes. There were some live shots of the leaders shown on the big screen in the stadium over the course of two hours, and pretty much the whole time that they were shown running they were also sucking down water. Staying hydrated was a race all its own.

A runner from Niger won the marathon, but there were plenty of nationalities represented in the top 10. A runner from Tanzania won the women's 10K. Apparently anyone can sign up to run, but I think next year I'll be just as content to find my shady place in the stands.

Tonight I skipped the movie at the French Cultural Center (21 grammes) to watch the Bears-Packers game. Boy, was that a mistake (or at least it was the last time I checked the score). I don't know why I expect better from the Bears. Nothing from my youth has taught me any differently.

It's ok, though, because yesterday I got my fill of culture. I finally got to both the National Museum and the Museum of Bamako. My favorite exhibit had a series of black-and-white photos showing Bamako's growth over the last 100 years. Placards detailed how each neighborhood was founded and then expanded. And expand Bamako has -- I think it's gone from about 100,000 people to 1.4 million in just the 50 years since independence. Incroyable.

I finished off the night with my first visit to the local movie theater, Cinema Babemba, which was showing "Les Feux de Mansare," in addition to a couple of Hollywood action films. It's a Senegalese movie and totally worth the watch if you want to leave the theater with a sense of melancholy about the state of the world, but have the ability to better understand, just slightly, French. Note: If you're ever a former gun-runner/diamond smuggler who returns to your home village to marry your childhood sweetheart, but find out she's in love with your best friend, dude, just let her go. It's not meant to be.

Better late than never

The last two weeks have been pretty incredible. I have been bad in promising to create a blog called, "Margaret Gets the Worm," but not following through. And then I created the blog, but still didn't fill it with anything. So here goes -- an attempt to squeeze two weeks into one easily-digestible blog post:

*deep breath*

My day in Paris was wonderful. I enjoyed it significantly more than as a 16-year-old, if that's possible, most likely because I was on foot. If I wanted to stop and look at something, I could. If I wanted to keep it moving, I did. If I wanted to walk into the Shangri-La Paris and ask to use their toilet, I walked into the Shangri-La Paris and asked to use their toilet. AND I used their Bvlgari hand lotion. Boo-yah.

As good as the sights and the movies (when it comes out on DVD, watch "Les Emotifs Anonyme" -- totally awesome if you're a sucker for oddball romances), my favorite part was the food. Everything just tasted so real. Real toast. Real coffee. Real duck. I was in heaven.

The only hiccup was -- and this will not surprise anyone who knows me -- the part where I left Paris and accidently packed my wallet and passport in my checked luggage. I didn't realize what I'd done until they'd already been swept away on a conveyer belt. Fortunately -- and this will surprise anyone who knows me -- I'd arrived at the airport nearly three hours ahead of time, so I was able to work with the fine folks at Air France, at multiple counters, to get back my luggage, retrieve my valuables, and recheck my suitcase. And get through security and passport control with time to spare for a bathroom break before my flight.

Bamako has been wonderful so far. The first weekend I took it slow -- brunch at a place called Broadway, opened by a Malian who spent time in the U.S. and fell in love with either IHOP or Denny's (my hosts weren't sure which one). I had dinner with some new friends of friends who I hope to make my friends, where I discovered that I'm not allergic to capitaine, Mali's ever-present fish, even though I think it's related to perch. And it's tasty. The week was spent getting to know folks at work and going to trivia night at the American Club, both places in which I am currently totally useless. But hopefully it'll get better.

Friday, I got to a club to see Baba Salah, who's considered the best guitarist in Mali since Ali Farka Toure died. The music and club were frequented mostly by people from around Gao (the north), so it was interesting to see how while the music is pretty upbeat and fast, the "cool" style of dancing is pretty slow. You kind of move on every other beat. It's gonna take me a long time to get the hang of it.

Saturday, the embassy organized a trip to Siby, a nearby town. The trip through town was fine, but the really spectacular bits were some of the archaeological sites and the amazing Kamadjan natural stone arch. I have loved crossing over the Niger river, but I expected the awesomeness of the river. I was not prepared for the gorgeous hills and stone plateaus so close to Bamako. Somehow I assumed you had to go to Dogon country for dramatic vistas. But, no, they're definitely right here nearby. Even better? You can also get *awesome* fresh donuts at the local market AND shea butter soap at a nearby women's project. Get your hands dirty and then get 'em clean.

That night I went to dinner with another friend of a friend and then to a show at Theatre Blonba (http://www.blonbaculture.com/). The play was pretty incredible. It explored the relationship between Mali's first president, Modibo Keita, and the foot soldier who helped with the coup that removed him from power. It was all in French, which I often found hard to follow. Fortunately, half of it was in Bambara with French subtitles projected on the backdrop (I found the whole presentation really innovative, for what it's worth.). I could read those bits pretty easily and follow along. The reading of the francais is still significantly easier than the verbal francais. Ah well.

Monday, which we had off for Martin Luther King Day, I went to the National Park, which is GORGEOUS, though unfortunately the national museum was closed. Instead I walked around town, visited the cathedral, bought some newspapers and ate some plantains. Then I caught a soccer game -- Real Bamako vs. CSD. I sat with the Real fans on the condition that I root for their team. I don't want to take back my word, but most of my Malian coworkers are lobbying hard for me to switch loyalties and root for Stade de Bamako. They say it's a fluke that Real is my team and think I should reconsider. I don't know. The drums were pretty awesome at the Real game. And I think I can get my very own jersey.

Thursday and Friday were also off, but this time for Malian holidays (it's been a very short week.). I spent Friday afternoon getting an awesome Vietnamese lunch with a friend and then checking out a few craft and home decor stores. There's one place -- Mali Chic (http://www.malichic.net/) -- that has this awesome design combination of African style made modern. I pretty much wanted everything in the store. I decided I need to pace myself, but I'll definitely be back.

Then I finished off the night with an AMAZING concert at the French Cultural Center -- Ballake Sissoko and Vincent Segal, playing kora and cello respectively. It was a great night with a really appreciative audience that responded to the awesomeness that the musicians were bringing. The highlight was when blind French musician Jean-Philippe Rykiel, who plays an electronic keyboard-mouth-organ-thing, blew everyone away with the addition of his sound to the other two. I'm not a music writer. I can't adequately describe how great it was. But let's just say the crowd brought them out again and again and probably would have kept insisting had the theater folks not brought the lights up.

In any case, there's lots that I've left out of the first two weeks. I think I'm starting to make friends. I've made new friends. I'm getting to know my way around my new city. I've accidently said, "I'm dead," instead of "I'm done," when finishing my lunch. But I'm trying to stay busy for two reasons. First, I wanna get out and see the city, experience things firsthand and enjoy myself. But, second, I really miss you guys. Things here are a blast, but I wish I could share them with you. It would make it all that much more fun.

My car comes in 3-4 months, and after that I am your personal tour guide. Don't be a stranger!