At the beginning of this week (and at
various other times) I was complaining a lot about things here, so I
made a mental list of some of the things I love about Mali/Bamako.
The Morning Call to Prayer:
You might think that getting woken up at 4 in the morning would be on
my list of things to complain about, but I think it is a beautiful
sound and when I hear it I am reminded that I am somewhere I like to
be.
Paté: Malian
food is consistently a subject for complaining, but patés help make
up for it. To clarify, I am not talking about liver paste, I am
talking about delicious fried dough pockets filled with savory
goodness. We have recently found a new paté lady who makes hers with
large chunks of hard-boiled egg. We see her every day and this makes
me happy. I also enjoy that when asking for paté (or any food) in
Bambara you say: “six paté children.” No one can tell me why,
but language is like that.
My name: One
of the best parts of my day is still when I reach the place in
Niamakoro where kids stop yelling “Toubababou!” and start yelling
“Baya.” My Malian name is basically the reverse of my American
one, Baya is a very uncommon first name and Traoré is an extremely
common last name. The upside to Baya is that when people call random
names at me on the street they never come up with the right one. The
upside to Traoré is that it connects me to thousands of people, not
only my fellow Traorés but also Diarras and Konés my.....
Joking Cousins: I
have already explained this to many of you, but it remains a super
awesome thing. When Soundiata Keita founded the empire of Mali, he
laid down a series of laws called the Charte de Kouroukan Foukan .
These laws included a system of “cousinage” intended to mitigate
tensions amongst ethnic groups and families. The result of this is
that now, whenever I meet a Diarra or a Koné, upon learning their
name I must immediately begin insulting them. Common choices include:
you eat beans, you are my donkey, or you are my slave (I generally
try to to avoid this ones on the grounds of massive historical
baggage). Apparently “Traoré” sounds like the Bambara phrase for
“comes when called” leading Diarras to explain that I am their
slave who comes when they call, or simply to ask “Who called you?”.
I still have not learned the appropriate response to this, but I
enjoy shouting “you eat so many beans” to Diarras I meet along
the way.
Crossing the River: My
favorite place in Bamako may be the middle of a bridge. To get from
our neighborhood to downtown, or to come home again we get to cross
the Niger river. I love the view off the bridge where you can see the
biggest, most modern buildings in downtown Bamako and the fisherman
in the same kind of pirogues (like canoes steered with poles) people
have been using since before the French set foot in Mali. I hold out
hope that one day I will see a hippo (Mali means hippo in Bambara)
which would make the view even cooler.
People:
I am almost always complaining about someone, but the people I meet
are still the reason I love it here. People are, on the whole,
overwhelmingly kind and generous. The kids at school, though often
super frustrating, make my day when they draw me a creative picture,
remember to greet me when they come in the door, or finally grasp how
to construct an negative sentence in English. Our friends help us
navigate everyday life, make us tea, and laugh with us (and sometimes
at us). Tanti and Nene feed us, Fadima fills me in on the gossip, and
Asu is still the cutest thing in the world. Somehow it is possible to
be both constantly aware of all the ways we will never fit in and
simultaneously feel like we belong.
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