My friend Cailey organized a trip to Siby, Mali, this past Sunday. The picturesque spot, located 30 km outside of Bamako, is known for its green hiking trails, rock-climbing friendly cliffs, and rainwater waterfalls. The trip would be just what I needed after two months of office work, sitting in front of a computer all day on (what Malians call) my "grosse-fesse"/"fat ass."
View of a waterfall from afar, in Siby
A large white van/mini bus picked up all six of us American folk at the “Pasteur Clinique” in the heart of Bamako. There were three work pairs, each pair only knew Cailey so we spent the ride to Siby getting to know each other. Each of us went around answering the hot question, “how did you end up in Mali?” and the even more exciting follow-up, “what will you do next?”
There were Cailey and Martha. Cailey left a desk job in the states working on a Climate Change Initiative for the Bill Clinton Foundation to volunteer with Project Muso, a community health strengthening program in one of Bamako’s “ghettos,” Yirimadjo. After devoting a year of her life to this slum-like community, she’s moving to sunny San Francisco in a month to try to find work with the immigrant population in So-Cal. Martha recently graduated college and landed in Bamako two days ago. She will be taking over Cailey’s spot with Project Muso in a week, and after her year of dedication to the same “ghetto” community is hoping to be accepted into the Peace Corps.
Cailey, the champ of the day for organizing our trip
Bremen and Martha
Then there were Mike and Erin. Mike is a young guy who decided to ditch his short-lived Wall Street stint in NYC to use his business savvy with a microfinancing program in Bamako. He loves Excel worksheets and talking about his accomplishments with them, and post-Mali is looking to work with the non-profit “One Acre Fund,” which helps East African farmers grow their own way out of hunger. Erin is an ex-Peace Corps volunteer who was previously working with Somalian refugees being reestablished in Nashville, TN, because of its close proximity to Tyson Chicken (who exploits vulnerable populations for cheap labor). She recently got the job of program manager with Mike’s same microfinancing group, and after only two months of delegation, meetings, and sitting at her laptop, misses her hands-on experiences in the Peace Corps and is wondering why she doesn’t just go home to the U.S., live on a farm, and teach.
Wall Street Mike and future farmer Erin
Finally, there’s Bremen and me. Bremen is a journalist who was hired by BusinessWeek in NYC right out of college. With the decrease in journalism fueled by the transition to more internet-based writing, Bremen (being one of the younger folk) got cut. He picked up a new and exciting profession that fit well with his running lifestyle -- organizing marathons across the United States -- and after revisiting journalism in Russia for two years, applied on a whim for a job with “Voices for a Malaria Free Future” through Johns Hopkins University in Mali. He’ll be keeping his job with JHU when this project ends in May, and will probably be happy to return to the states and their unlimited supply of peanut M&M's. And as for me, I just came to Mali to try to become a fourth wife in this polygamous/polygynous country. Thankfully divorce is quite common here, so after Mali I’m making plans to travel to polyandrous Tibet. Polyandry, ladies, is the practice of taking multiple husbands...another reason to “Free Tibet.”
Bremen on a solo mission
En route to Siby, we had gotten through discussing all the unique paths we’d taken to get to Mali and where they would lead us afterwards. By the time we had walked up to the gorgeous red cliffs of Siby, we had moved on to favorite hang out spots in Bamako. From tubab dance clubs to wine nights on Malian roofs, it was interesting hearing about the very different lives of other ex-patriots in our same nook of West Africa. We each had the same desire to make Malian friends and fully immerse in their culture, while also wanting to meet every American in our locale to go through the run-down of what we'd been practicing: asking how the person is here in Mali and how that same person is going to leave this crazy country.
We had finished climbing on top of a giant natural arch when our group decided it was too hot to continue trekking, and that we should head to the waterfall for a swim. At this point, we get back into our white mini bus and off-road it to what is supposed to be a rain-water waterfall in Sub-Saharan Africa. We had sweat out a ton on our hike and had inevitably gotten hungry, so the “favorite spot” conversation had drifted to “favorite food spot.” After listing the best restaurants to get Mali's famous peanut sauce, everyone agreed that Broadway Street Cafe was the best place for some American flavor in Bamako.
Views of the under-arch
We started to get closer to the waterfall, continuing on a bumpy road through the brush, scraping the bottom of our van at every large rock or dirt pile. I was starting to feel a bit woozy from off-roading in a top heavy vehicle with suspect suspension mixed with my tubab dehydration. The food conversation was continuing, these people could not get over Broadway Street Cafe. They were now exchanging details on what each liked best about the Cafe’s burger. From that burger, other burgers were brought up in discussion, and meat preparation, and more meat admiration, and my wooziness turned right into full out vegetarian nausea. Thank God I had packed a plastic bag of first aid supplies for the trip: Tums (the cure-all), Ibuprofen, and Immodium. You never know what Mali’s gonna do to your body throughout the course of a day.
Cows blocking our road in protest of the Broadway St. Café burgers
Twenty minutes later, in enough time for the meat discussion to die down and my body to soak up the pain blocker combo of Tums and Ibuprofen, we walked up to the gorgeous waterfall.
Thought Bremen's abs could give you a "to-scale"
The place was packed with Europeans, Americans, and even a few Malians who usually do not know how to swim. It was oddly quiet, and most people were just lying around on the surrounding rocks in the shade. It felt like an opium den where everyone’s too high to interact or react to the surroundings, but our crew was on a different high -- finally able to hit the water after a day on the bumpy road, in the heat, journeying through the cliffs and each other’s "petites histoires."
TOO relaxed?
No comments:
Post a Comment