Le Taxi-man

As a native English speaker, I find it interesting to hear which of our English words are adopted to become a part of other languages (besides "Coke" and "fries," that is). At work, I’ve found that “planning familiale” is used just as often as the French version "planification familial." In everyday interactions, “sorry” is used interchangeably with “desolé” and “excusez-moi.” “Camera-man” is used for photographers or videographers, and along that same line there is “le taxi-man.”

I am presently living in the Badalabougou neighborhood, and commute at least 30 minutes to the Care Mali offices which are located in the Korofina Nord quarter. The long commute is merely a function of "embouteillage," or "traffic," and provides me with at least a full hour of time with mon ami, le taxi-man.

Many days I’ll spend looking out of the window of the taxi moto-watching, to see what the mini-motorcycles are carrying from day to day. Women with child wrapped onto their backs on a moto is commonplace; every morning I see at least one moto with a young man holding a live goat or numerous chickens; couples are able to squish two or three children between them on the single moto seat. One afternoon I saw a guy with a 10 foot tall stack of new lawn chairs balanced on the back of his moto. When I gave him the thumbs up as he turned my way to switch lanes, he thought nothing of it to take his hand off of the handle bars and wave. There's a lot to see riding along with le taxi-man.

Video of morning ride with le taxi-man through the backroads:

Sorry, vids aren't sent out via email. You'll have to visit lizinmali.blogspot.com to check em out.

Other days, like today, I’ll start up a conversation with le taxi-man. The opener is easy: “i ka kene?” which means “how are you” in Bambara, the local language that is used more often than French. After he replies “touro si teh,” which means "no problem(s)," it gets complicated.

In Bambara you don’t only ask how the individual is doing, you ask how the entire family is doing, person by person.

“I somogo?” And how is your family? “Touro si teh.”

“I ba ka kene wah?” Your mother? “Touro si teh”

“I fa ka kene wah?” Your father? “Touro si teh.”

“I koromoso ka kene?” Your older sister? “I koroke ka kene?” Older brother?

“I dogomuso ka kene?” Younger sister? “I denw ka kene?” And your children?

“Touro si teh.”

Le taxi-man usually speaks small small English, or petit petit French, and is always amused when Tubab can speak doni doni Bambara.

The farewells are less demanding than the greetings: “kan bay” for “goodbye,” and “Allah akah bee diayla” for “have a good day.”

The direct translation for “Allah akah bee diayla” is actually “may God give you a good day.” In response, le taxi-man will surely say, “Insha’Allah," pronounced "Inshallah” which is Arabic for “God willing.” The Muslim-dominated Bambara culture adopts not only English and French words and phrases, but Arabic as well; yet I can't imagine any of the Bambara exchanges being adopted into English, French, or Arabic.

I've learned the complete and extended version of the Bambara salutations from le taxi-man on my daily rides. While there have technically been many teachers and many taxi rides, "le taxi-man" has been the universal driving force (literally) of my Bambara immersion.

And because of the informal Bambara language lessons given to me by le taxi-man, I usually forfeit over the extra 500 fCFA, or $1, that I talked him out of at the beginning of the ride. Touro si teh.