Living traditions

What never ceases to surprise me about Mali is that traditions are still alive here. I don’t know if I expected things to resemble Europe or the United States, but I certainly didn’t expect so much that is specific to the continent and the region.

People have their own way of dressing (the women wear these wonderfully colored dresses), of doing their hair (all woment have braided hair and all men are almost shaved), of greeting (how did you sleep? how are your children?), and the list goes on. The food is served differently (there is bowl of grain with meat and sauce in the middle and people eat out of it with their (right!) hand). There is a different conception of time.

Then there is a mix of indigenous and Islamic traditions. The radios play here Islamic chants as well as music played on the bala, ngoni, djembe -- instruments that you don't get if you go far away from here. And there is an entire class of jelis, who are everything from oral historians to MCs and from preachers to personal counselors. They are very well educated and play instruments that only their class can play. And people look up to them more than we look up to anyone (human) in the West.

Sure, there is modernity here too. There is Internet, air conditioning and there are SUVs (not to mention cellphones). And there is rap, jeans and filesharing. But what seems to be prevailing are the interests, activities, hierarchies, that belong to this place. If you go on a cab ride, they might play some rap because they know you're American, but their normal inclination is to play some of the local music. Last time I went to an Internet Cafe, the guy sitting next to me was listening to two jelis on a boat having a (sung) conversation.

And then there is a layer of tradition you don't even see. Our balafon teacher here, Neba Solo, was explaining: "the balafon is a very very very important instrument." I though to myself: it must be because of of the fact that it can produce a variety of clear, precise sounds that stand out in performances. His explanation had nothing to do with this: "it is because it is made from objects that have all finished their life and begin to live again. For instance, the trees it is made from have died sometimes as long as 10 years ago." I find the idea that this thought might still be valuable to him or anyone playing or hearing the instrument... amazing.

Which all makes me think about what Europeans or Romanians or Americans all have to show for themselves. How much of what was specific, unique, and kind of immaterial is still living - in our houses, ipods and thoughts? We were walking around the market and the Muslim prayer began. 80% of men were already on their prayer mats, facing the mosque, and immediately began bowing when the voice was heard from the speaker. This was so unlike anything else I had experienced in the places I usually live. A colleague said: "I felt so godless that moment."

Internet Cafe

This is the second computer I have installed Firefox on in order to be able to browse normally (no hangs and the ability to have more windows open). The computers are slow Pentium IIs, like the ones we would use about 4 years ago. The keyboard requires some very decisive keystrokes to be worked. The computers all show warnings saying that their Windows is counterfeited (a product key is written with permanent marker on a closet). Some LEDs are hanging out of the computers. And there is a loud high-pitched humm that I feel is starting to pierce my head.
But it's a cool, 'chill', place. One of the staff members is playing some cool Malian music (now there’s a reggae song but before this there was a cool video of two jelis singing to each other on a boat). A fan gently cools the room. And people are enjoying themselves: I see chats, drawings in word and people looking at photos. It's a nice atmosphere despite the modest outfitting. Which, I think, is true for all of Mali.

Grace a Chine

It seems like all motorbikes here in Mali are of the same kind: Super K. I don’t even know who makes them, but they’re everywhere. I ask one of our local friends why they’re so prevalent. He answers: Grace a Chine! Apparently they’re cheap, sturdy and very very fuel-efficient. It’s wonderful that such a solution exists so that there is usually at least one in most families. Bamako is very large (because so many buildings don’t have more than one floor), and together with the little green buses, these motorbikes carry more than 80% of the souls traveling around.

Another China thought though: there’s a mountain of tiles imported from there in our hotel courtyard. The hotel will use to renovate parts of the building. It seems like a good thing that they were able to get these Chinese tiles cheaper. But I’d really love to see the day when there will be African tiles, radios, bikes etc. around too. If not all over the world, then at least here in Africa.

Le sac

We were just coming out of a store where the girls had bought some dresses when I came across this guy that had an amazing bag. I asked him where I could buy something like that; he answered that it’s his business and he will sell me his. At first I backed off: it was his bag and I was going to go and choose from among others. But he insisted so much and pleaded that he needed the money, that I began to consider it. He empties what he had inside, telling me: “I give this to you because, you know, my friend, we are all the children of the world […]”. This sounded like some kind of phrase that I, a Westerner, was supposed to like, and I thought it to be just some kind of. He hands me the bag and we begin talking about the price. I decide to pay the unreasonably high price ($20=3+ times the Malian price), saying to myself that the guy needs the money (even this price came after a slight reduction because, well, there is no purchase here without bargaining). I told him repeatedly that I think I shouldn’t be taking his bag away, but he insists that it’s alright. I bring the bag home and decide to wash it, for it had really treaded the Bamako market and had gotten a little smelly as well..

Now, in retrospect, I realize a few extra things and think of some of buying this bag differently. First, the reggae line “We are all the children of the world” actually carried some meaning. It could have meant that he was as happy if I was wearing the bag he had made as if he would wear it. Or it could have meant that my buying that from him is a way for him to continue to be a child of the world (because he really needed the money, something which he actually told me). Either way, it was an idea that had mattered to him in the transaction, while for me it was had been quite irrelevant. I guess it’s really hard to make sense of what the “we’re all the children of the world” has to do with exchanging goods when one is used to buying everything from the supermarket.

Second, washing the bag was such a cheap reflex. I mean, if I really cared about the guy or loved the bag as it was, I wouldn’t have washed it. Being sympathetic doesn’t mean just giving money to the poor. It means being willing to live like them and push your expectations (sanitary or other) beyond your standard tolerance level. So what if it was smelly and dirty? Was I gonna get sick from that?

And finally, the whole episode just speaks about the position you are in as a richer foreigner when you come to such a country. We have so many people coming at us to sell stuff just because we have the money that they so desperately need. People come to the hotel from further away just to sell us things (last time this Touareg guy came we weren’t even here). And this nice guy was willing to sell his own bag. I feel so bad for accepting it, and then for washing off of it everything that had made it a real Malian bag.