Ringing in 2009 in Bamako

I watched the last sunset of 2008 over the Niger River in Bamako, drinking a pint with some new friends, and watching a little wooden fishing boat go by with the sun reflecting on the water.  That day, I'd wandered around some outskirts of Bamako with Ron and he took the picture below of me with the kids. After watching the sun go down, we went back to the hotel.

But let me back up a little: I've met a group of Londoners at my hotel in Bamako. We've all become travel pals: me and Joanna and then four other guys, Mark, Pete, Ron and Ashif. Not only did I jump on board for their organized trip into the north of Mali, destined to be hanging out with them for the next 2 weeks, but we spent New Years Eve together, too. We've had a great time joking and hanging out and I've named Mark, “Husband Number One” and Ron “Husband Number Two” to fend off unwanted male attention- and because I'd been asking the two of them about sharing a room on our trip in order to cut back on costs so all kinds of jokes have ensued about me and my two husbands.

Last night, after sunset, we had drinks at the hotel and at another famous bar close by (opened by Salif Keita, supposedly) before heading down to see some live music in the center of Bamako. Just as we were arriving, Habib Koite was finishing up (those of you who I saw Habib with last summer, I thought of you)! I couldn't believe it. I was a bit annoyed that we'd missed the rest of his performance. Apparently, we also missed Assekou Kouyate! Ack! In any case, the street party was verrrry interesting.

The music was fab, the crowd was enormous, the men and women were all decked out and dressed up but the crowd wasn't particularly joyful. Joanna and I couldn't stand still- we had to dance and this created quite a funny spectacle. All the Malians around us, men and women, were staring and watching like they had never seen a person dance before. It was so strange that here we were in Bamako and being gawked at by all the Malians around us... for dancing!

Everyone except for us was simply standing still, watching the concert, almost a bit “whatever”-like and somewhat stone-faced. I whispered to Joanna, “Isn't this incredibly ironic? Here we in MALI, in West Friggin' Africa, dancing to Afro Pop with the Malian people staring at us like we're nuts; I feel like we're in a crowd of a bunch of stiff white people!”

I so enjoyed watching the guys stare at Joanna in particular. She's probably in her 50s, blonde and cute and is still a wild party girl; she's a total kick in the pants. Not only was she dancing and twirling around her party hat, but also shouting, “whoo hoooo!” Watching everyone else watching her was a hoot and the image is burned into my memory for the rest of time. People were actually turning around in front of us to watch us. A few were smiling, seeming to enjoy watching but others weren't- they were just staaaaring.

I was keen on staying for more music but being with a bunch of Londoners, I was out-voted to go find more beer. As luck would have it, when Joanna and I went off looking for a place to wee, the rest of the group waiting for us made friends with a group of 4 Malian guys who told us that the best place to go was a little seedy club in the back streets of Bamako. We all headed there together.

The next 4-5 hours were AMAZING. This little club is supposedly the place that all the big up and coming musicians play. The vocalists were mind-blowing, just indescribable. Thanks to the group of our four new friends who were first to hit the dance floor, the crowd started dancing a little. Joanna and I were the only women on the dance floor and I practiced my fine art of diversion and strategically let most of the men dance with her. I held back a little, still trying to scope things out, still so much in my Morocco Mode where you wouldn't dare dance with a guy unless you wanted quite a bit more than just a dance. But it's different here, I gathered.

The guys didn't just want to dance with me and Joanna, but they wanted to grab our hands and move our arms in the air for us and find some way of touching us. It was all harmless and quite surreal and even sort of sweet. Every time I'd try to go sit down for awhile, another guy would pull me back on the floor, take my arms and start waving them in the air for me or try to get me to engage somehow.

There was one guy in particular with the most amazing eyes- a very, very striking Malian guy who would gaze intensely and dance seductively and was clearly really getting a kick out of it. He was a bit too intense for me so I kept putting Joanna between us; she was really letting her hair down.

I had wanted to dress up for New Years Eve and the only nice thing I had that was clean was the djellabia that Hassan gave me so I wore that. But I was sweating like a pig in it because it's not made for the hot climate here (about 80 degrees during the day, 70s at night). For that reason, also, I didn't go super nuts on the dance floor and enjoyed some of the world's best people watching!

I loved watching the groups of old men, sitting in dark corners in the back of the bar, smoking cigarettes and slowly nodding their heads. I loved watching the Malian women walk by in their gorgeous outfits. There was one Malian guy on the dance floor who danced like Michael Jackson. Another group of them all danced reggae to every song. Another handful, including Mr. Intensity, danced in a liquid, sexy style that you can be sure you'd never get a white guy to duplicate; it was so purely West African.

Did I mention that the music was un-friggin'-believable? I don't even know how to describe it. It was Afro Pop but it was in an intimate little club. The vocalists were just as good as any “famous” musicians I've heard from this region. All of the singing was in Bambara. Now and then, the singers would pull someone out of the audience to sing praises to them. They would stand there with the microphone and sing these amazing “melodies” in Bambara, essentially praising that person in front of the crowd. This would go on for about 15 minutes for each person being praised. One of the men who was being praised by the big, beautiful singer Saramba Kouyate, started looking a little choked up. It was quite beautiful to watch.

Finally at 4:30 AM, we took taxis back to the hotel and I was in bed around 5. I slept until 12:30 then went out exploring downtown Bamako on New Years Day. I'm still adjusting to this very different African experience. I'm slowly getting into my “French mode,” switching gears from Arabic but still come out with “shukran” instead of “merci” and various other common words.

Tomorrow, January 2nd, I leave for two weeks into the north of Mali, Dogon Country (insha 'Allah): one of those “must see before you die” places; after that, on Jan. 7, I begin the trip to Timbuktu to camp in the desert and see the famous Festival in the Desert (insha 'Allah) and from there, I will spend a few days floating down the river on a boat from Timbuktu to Mopti (insha' Allah). 

Seriously, I really think Morocco rubbed off on me with the whole "insha' Allah" concept; it almost feels like tempting fate to not utter the words after statements about the future. 

So, insha' Allah- God willing- this is my plan. 

After that, I'm thinking I'll come back to Bamako to maybe get some music lessons and to see more of the music like I witnessed on New Year's Eve. I could easily hang out here for a month and do that every night. The only problem is that it's incredibly expensive here- too hard to explain why but I'm often paying US prices for things, if not more. It's nuts. I don't think my budget will allow me to stay much longer than I had originally planned (6 weeks) but we'll see.

Anyway, I mostly likely won't be in touch for awhile. At least until the 14th. I'm not expecting to have net access until then.

Love and hugs to you all and

HAPPY NEW YEAR!