Arrival

08Oct09

I though I would be able to at least buy one bottle of water at Bamako’s Senou airport before being thrust into the semi-treated Malian countryside, but the one room that served as a bank, visa center, customs station, baggage claim, taxi stand, security checkpoint (presumably for people trying to smuggle clean water into the country), and waiting room obviously didn’t have space for a shop. At first, I was worried that my contact wasn’t there, but I soon realized that he wasn’t one of the pushy hotel employees who were trying to offer me a luggage cart. I finally found my name on one of the signs fluttering in the pungent breeze (the smell was a combination of greenery, flowers, and earth) and together we loaded my two bags into the back of the Land Rover.

The four lane (and now that I had time to look around, it’s worth noting that it was paved) road from the airport was unsurprisingly empty at four in the morning but as we wound our way up the plateau packs of wild dogs would occasionally trot across our path. The entrance to Kati (a village of about 10,000) is through the 3rd largest military base in Mali, as announced in bold lettering on the giant gate just past the hospital. As the asphalt highway came to an end, it was unceremoniously replaced by the deep ruts and ridges of the red-colored local streets. After a few winding minutes, we pulled into the garage and I was installed in my new home.

All I noticed that night was that there was already a mosquito net set up, and 15 minutes later after I had managed to undo the ties holding the flaps back, I slipped into a 12 hour slumber. I woke up refreshed, but hardly ready to hit the town. I ate my first meal, the first of many rice-based dishes at the table just inside the door to one half of the compound. Life here is based very much around extended family (I have been asked multiple times now what my Malian name is, a designation that I haven’t yet received, but one that can come highly charged with mysterious connotations and make you the brunt of many an inside joke) so it seems as though everyone living around the courtyard here is related in some way. There is one person who also looks out of place, however, but in every sense except for skin color Debbie Fredo (my de facto host) is part of the clan.

After eating, I was introduced to the most popular local pastime: sitting. Much as in Casablanca, people tend to spend a lot of time sitting outside either in courtyards or in front of their houses, sometimes talking, sometimes listening to the radio, but oftentimes just sitting.

It’s getting late now, and though I did go to the school for much of today, I will write about it tomorrow, maybe with the aid of some pictures…

The courtyard and one of the motorbikes that are the main system of transportation

The view from right outside our compound. The fancy car is not a usual resident.

Though there seem to be very few mosquitos, my bed was already equipped with a net...

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