A bad thing in a good place

I am a big fan of Modibo Keita Stadium. I went there for the marathon. I've gone there for basketball games. I've hiked past it on high. I've strolled by on the weekend with no plan at all, just to ask the guard if there's anything interesting scheduled in the next few days. I want to be a part of the life of my city.

Monday, there was a terrible tragedy at the stadium. After a religious ceremony to celebrate the birth and baptism of the prophet Mohamed, there was a stampede at the stadium exit and 36 people -- most of them women -- died. They were crushed underfoot by their friends and neighbors. I'm saddened and bewildered, as are many people here. To put it in perspective, that's more deaths than the Virginia Tech shooting, and in one of the country's most celebrated sports stadiums on an important national religious holiday.

No one can say for certain what caused the mad rush. Some reports say people were pressing forward to touch or get a glimpse of the imam who hosted the event. Other folks say the imam had already left, and it was a random panic as 25,000+ people pressed to leave through narrow exits at the same time. I don't know.

Oddly, at about the exact same time, I happened to be at another soccer field across town for another imam's celebration of the exact same holiday. As I left with the other guests, a bunch of young men formed a human chain to escort us to our cars. At the time, I remember thinking it was rather heavy handed, but now I appreciate their care.

Today, I was on my way to a non-related meeting downtown when we ran into a huge crowd spilling out from the mosque. A special prayer service had been held for the people killed on Monday. I was moved. As we headed into the building for our meeting, a huge commotion went up in the street. You could hear the rush of people, hooting and hollering. We went back down to see what was happening.

I saw 200-400 men sprinting down a busy market street en masse, as if a spontaneous road race riot had broken out. I asked a coworker what had happened. The same imam was leaving the mosque, and hundreds of people were running down the street after him, to get a glimpse or a touch.

They said, "Take a hike!" So I said, "I'm taking a hike!"

Today was a good day. We had the day off for Mawloud, the holiday that celebrates the prophet Mohamed's birth. I got up bright and early for an 8 a.m. hike with a motley crew: three French folks, an American guy, a Malian guy and a lovely woman from Benin who may or may not be a nun. If my French were better, I could tell you for certain.

I was prepared for a long hike straight up one of the very steep hills that cradles Bamako. Fortunately, we carpooled most of the way up. The walk itself was pretty much on the plateau part of the hill -- if you're really nerdy, you can look at the blog post about the marathon to see the hill where we were hiking. I also got to see the Point G hospital and medical university, as well as this gorgeous music conservatory that was built there recently. The conservatory is in the process of building a performance space that's gonna be really special when it's done. I can't wait to go and support them.

I came home and decided it was hot enough for my first proper swim in the pool. You may look at this picture and think -- what a terrible sunburn! But never fear, it's only dust. Red dust. Pretty much any time I come home, I bring home red dirt on my skin and clothes. It brings out my eyes.

Anyway, I stood on the edge of the pool for a good long while, debating whether to get in, until I realized that me and my bikini were attracting attention from the construction site overlooking part of my yard -- so I moved three feet to the left, where the house shielded me, and stood at the edge of the pool a few minutes more. A lady cannot be rushed. And I can't be either.

In addition to the exciting hobby of standing next to pools, I've also picked up on porch-sitting in a serious way. I've become quite the enthusiast. I could sit on my porch for an hour in the morning and two hours in the afternoon and still not get enough. There's something about the green in the garden and the dryness in the air...or the blue of the sky? It's fun to watch my bananas grow? I don't know what it is. But I know that I like it, and if I do it often enough, my butt will make a permanent impression on my patio chair, making my porch-sitting habit even more enjoyable.

Last, I'd say that if you get a chance to watch the Guineen film Le Ballon d'Or, watch it. I saw it tonight for the first time at the French Cultural Center, and am really glad I went. Good stuff. I may or may not have teared up, though to be honest, that happens to me during most every sports-related movie.

Dirty little hands

There are a ton of kids who beg on street corners in Bamako. Some attend Koranic schools, where part of their training is to beg for alms to learn humility. Others work for Koranic masters in name only, maribouts who take all the money and don't give the them any religious training or support. And some of the kids are just homeless and trying to eat.

It's hard, but better than South Africa in certain ways; yes, there are 8-year-olds who are homeless, but at least they're not also addicted to sniffing glue.

Anyway, there are a couple kids who've set up shop on a street corner near my house. A friend who lives nearby sees them all the time, and gives them fruit or jokes around with them when she doesn't have any food with her. The other day, we were sitting in the car at the light, waiting for it to change, when the following exchange happened:

Eight-year-old kid through the open car window: Give me a gift, please.

My friend (teasing): Oh, I'm so sorry. I don't have a gift for you today. Do you have a gift for me?

The kid gets all bashful and disappears for a second. Next thing we know, he reappears, his little hand reaching through the window to give her a coin.

And that was when my heart broke that day.

On that sad note, pictures from my garden:

Registering is fun

So there's a slight possibility that I will join a women's basketball team. Two weeks ago, I was sent to a game via a coworker with family connections and talked to the coaches for one of the Bamako sports clubs. They encouraged me to come to practice, but warned me that I'd need contacts and two passport photos for my league registration. I still don't have the contacts (I ran out in the U.S. and didn't get around to replacing them before I left.), but boo-yah!

Passport photos: check. Yes, I took off my glasses for the photo.

I'm torn about whether I will really join. First, these guys are good. It's not certain that I'd walk in and wow everyone -- and that may be what they're expecting because I'm American. Second, they practice every single day and have games every week. Sometimes they travel. I know I'm not up for that kind of intensity, and I doubt I should join the team if I'm not going to make the same commitment. Even if I was only on the practice squad, you can't just show up when you want to -- it would be obnoxious to my teammates and coaches. So we shall see. I'm lucky to have the opportunity.

Last week, I also got to drop by the polls during a local special election. I love election days and I love the democratic process. There's always something special in the air. Well, on Sunday I had a hard time finding the polling station! I figured I'd drive around and ask people where the nearest voting bureau was, but no one seemed to know that there was an election taking place, much less where one could go to vote.

When I got there, it was worth the trouble. I have *never* seen so many young people at a polling place. Granted, Bamako is a city of young people. But I'm used to rolling up to vote with the old folks. Anyone in their 30s or 40s is a spring chicken at the ballot box. At this high school, (I must say, the photo isn't representative; the polling place was on the grounds of this enormous high school campus. In addition to all the buildings and classrooms being used for the election, there were a bunch of temporary grass buildings set up on the lawn. That, of course, is where I felt least intrusive, where I went immediately and where I took this picture.)...anyway, at this polling place, I felt like I was one of the OLDER PEOPLE! So that was refreshing.

These two cutie-patooties were representative of the average voter. Their names are in a notebook at work, but they told me they play soccer on the developmental team for Djoliba, one of the other big sports clubs here. They were not impressed by my teasing about Real or Stade -- they feel strongly that I should root for Djoliba and want me to come to a game. We shall see. I can always go without changing my allegiance.

And lastly, just because the Magical Internet lets me share, I was introduced to this artist by one of the chauffeurs last week. Fun stuff. Ok, I wasn't introduced to Black So Man personally. But I was introduced to his music. For now, that will have to be enough.