Mali Mali 12 – Au revoir Mali

Saturday 17 January 2009
Final day
11.32a.m.
Bamako
The delightful Hotel Relais Djoliba

Well, things turn out funny, huh.  The past two days(ish) in Bamako have been very odd indeed.  What we saw at the beginning of the trip to be a pleasant group of travellers, each getting on well with each other, has somehow grown to become a fractious, splintered group of cliques and egos.  I don’t know how or why.  Maybe jealousy or regret – I’ve managed to keep cordial with everyone, but there are obvious tensions there – can’t explain it.

It was an odd kind of relief to be back in Bamako.  Relief bred from familiarity I suppose – we returned to pitch tents and relax before the festival-goers returned – we’d expected them to beat us back actually, but they made if, filthy and exhausted, with tales of a wonderful time singing, dancing and not much sleeping (or good food to speak of) and photos to make us turn green with envy.  Janet and I were thrilled to see them return and Tony commented on how it was good to see a smile on my face again – obviously the past week has revealed my solitary side.

But apart from Janet and myself, no one else seemed particularly interested in reacquainting themselves with the revellers – we found ourselves almost split in two as we made our way out for a final meal, organised by GP himself. The meal was lovely, albeit rather tardy in arrival – Ruth seemed to wait a few weeks for her tagine – and I took the chance to browse the photos of the festival while digesting.  Some of us decided to head off for a drink and one last dose of Bamako nightlife, returning to Parc du Prix with GP (and Ibrahim who graciously drove us) to hear a fantastic band accompanied by some extraordinary dancers.  Our favourite (not) ‘comedian’ was there – turns out her was actually a griot, a paid minstrel I guess, who made his living as a negotiator and serenader – in between songs, he took the microphone and sang the praises of various rich and wealthy families who had decided to spend the evening in the bar – always greeted with tumultuous laughter from the families involved, but apathetic dismissal from everyone else.  Various members of the family would rise and approach him to offer him money – an apparent grab for cash in our eyes really, but an integral part of Malian social interaction.

Back to bed – last night in the tent as I had pre-booked a room for the final night – where Ruth gad graciously lent me her full-size sleeping mat for one last night (we had swapped for the festival as mine was easier to carry) – not sure she found it such a brilliant idea.  Note for Lou – upgrade the sleeping mat.

Yesterday (the next day) was my last chance to explore Bamako, and first stop was the Musee Nationale,  which we had found closed when we tried to go on Christmas Day.  Robert, Rupert, Petra and I made the journey, although Rupert seemed more enamoured with the espresso that followed the visit.  It was, to me, an interesting exhibition – to be honest, far better presented and laid out that I had anticipated – including archaeological items from all over Mali, as well as a section dedicated to masks and totems, and another for textiles and fabrics.  We also checked out a contemporary African art exhibition before walking back to the Maisons de Artisans and fetish stalls.  For some reason I wasn’t particularly interested in the dried monkey heads, petrified chameleons or other bizarre objects, obviously still commonly used for magical rituals or Malian feng shui.

We enjoyed pizza for lunch – fairly bland, but slightly more delicious than a frozen McCains, and fresh at least – before I struck out alone for Hippodrome.  On the north side of town, Hippodrome (no prizes for guessing why it is so named) is the neighbourhood most of the expats who call Mali, or Bamako, their home, and fairly affluent compared to some of the other suburban centres.  The aim was to find a store called ‘Mia Mali’, strongly recommended as a place worth a visit by both Bradt and Lying Planet (as L&T so warmly call it) if crafts and ornaments are what you’re after.  Not a thing to grab my interest though – especially disappointing after an hour and a half exploratory trek around Hippodrome (and further out to the Bandara Plateau) to try and find it.  Eventually I came across what turned out to be the Senegalese Embassy – obviously the ambassador was having a slow day as her seemed almost eager to help me locate this shop.

Having found it and not bought anything – the closest thing to my liking was a bracelet for 25 000 CFA – no thanks! – I taxied back to the Maisons du Artisans to spend my CFA, useless back home.  I was sure Louise would appreciate me returning with something for the house other than bogadan patterns, so I negotiated some statuettes and a small elephant for Lou’s collection – originally the hawker was asking me 65 000 CFA for all three (that’s about £100 – forget it!) but the look of disappointment on his face when he agreed to 20 000 CFA suggested that maybe it was a good price – I believe the are all ebony and of pretty good quality anyway.

The 10 000 CFA I spent on a bracelet that I love, however, I think is money well spent.  We will see if Lou thinks that same… a lovely silver and pewter band that is far more subtle than the hideous nickel-plated monster I found in Sevare.

I’d been bumming around Bamako for a good six or seven hours by the time I returned to the hotel and checked into my room.  To be honest, I would probably have rather a tent – easier to get in and out of – but to sprawl out on a bed and enjoy a scalding shower was definitely refreshing! We (most of us) decided to eat at the hotel tonight, and somehow the fractious divide widened – I chose to spend a bit more time with the ‘rebels’, having not seen them for a week or so, but the rest of the group that stayed with the truck seemed to make little effort to engage.  Oh well.

Food was late and good-byes began.  People left at various times during the day – Janet and Andrea had left the night before at stupid-o-clock in the morning – and eventually the group of people departing for Casablanca at 3.00a.m. set off.  I had really enjoyed Kate and Ruth’s company in particular, so was disappointed to not spend a little more time with them.  No doubt we will catch up in the future.

The final day has been set aside by moi to reflect, relax, repack and engage in some severe character assassination with those who remain.  Tony and Lisa, bless them, have a few more days to get us out of their system before trekking south to continue their journeys with Madge.  Some have not enjoyed their leadership, with valid reasoning, but I must confess to having a soft spot for both of them – a tough gig to have to try and satisfy all the passengers, re-route the trip and do so with patience and a laugh.

Overall, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the trip. My eyes have been opened to the West African skies and the allure of this part of the world has, if anything, increased over the past three weeks. The journey has led me to some intriguing people, some of whom I’ve travelled with, and others passed by, but most of all I’ve felt that maybe I have some perspective now on how people live and how they deal with life – means of life is a relative thing and, as I discussed with GP last night when quizzing him on his lifestyle, the main concern of Malians seems to be happy and to help the people around them be happy. Ideas of poverty, hunger, poor hygiene or disease are not, at least in my rose-tinted view of the past few weeks, weighing heavily on the Malian psyche. They are present, concerning and real, but dealt with as best Malians can.

I couldn’t possibly regret not going to the festival.  I’ve made my bed and will lie in it.  Once the choice was made, the rest of the trip played itself out – in hindsight perhaps the wrong choice but c’est la vie. Next time.