<--Alou getting sassyAlou's tour got postponed which is bad for him but good for me: it means I get to continue with calabash lessons right up until I leave on the 16th.
I'm spending my last week here packing in as much music as possible, not just hitting the calabash a lot (literally) but including jam sessions with friends and going out to see live music. I finally got to see Toumani Diabate at a little club here in Bamako; he's a bit hard to catch there since he's on tour a lot and doesn't start playing until 1 or 2 in the morning.
I'm also going to try and meet up with my friends here a couple times before I go- all the people I've met along the way and including a new friend I made last week: a really sweet guy, Yacouba, from Burkina Faso who went to art school in Ghana, speaks brilliant English and makes amazing art. After struggling through French, it's fabulous to finally get to have some “deep” conversations about art and music now. He's made me promise to come back to Mali and said that when I do, we'll take a trip to Burkina as well.
Before leaving, I wanted to do something nice for Alou so I got us tickets to go see Seun Kuti (Fela Kuti's son) perform here in Bamako. The adventure began before we got to the club when he picked me up on his moped, or as they're called here a “moto.”
Moto rides are already somewhat terrifying here in Bamako in the daytime but nighttime is a whole other deal. Alou is a really good if not fast driver but it's everybody else I was worried about. With minibuses, cars, bikes and motos all swerving in and out of each other and with the distinct lack of any traffic rules, it gets pretty nuts. And then there's the dust that is flying in your face as you're speeding along. At night, when it's harder to see, the ride is even more like something out of an amusement park. After a few minutes, both because of the grit covering my eyeballs and my trepidation, I just decided to close my eyes, say a little prayer and hold on.
After that ride, when we finally got to the club (after running out of gas as well), I was so relieved to have arrived in one piece that when Alou lit up a cigarette I asked for one too. I told him in French (which is improving to the point where I can have conversations), “You know, Alou, with a toubab on your moto, you have to drive a lot slower,” to which he answered, “That WAS slower. Usually I would have been here in 10 minutes.” It had taken us 20.
The concert was absolutely amazing. Kuti played his heart out and Alou and I danced like there was no tomorrow; especially him. It was great to see him hooting and having such a brilliant time, being a little spazz. I was trying to figure out how say “spazz” in French but I settled for “fato,” which in Bambara is “crazy.” After that concert, we went for even more live music at another joint after bumping into some toubabs that we both have known in our past; a crazy small world it is. That was the last moto ride I will take in Mali, I have sworn. As my sister and mother like to say, “Your guardian angels are already working overtime.” ha
I'm spending my last week here packing in as much music as possible, not just hitting the calabash a lot (literally) but including jam sessions with friends and going out to see live music. I finally got to see Toumani Diabate at a little club here in Bamako; he's a bit hard to catch there since he's on tour a lot and doesn't start playing until 1 or 2 in the morning.
I'm also going to try and meet up with my friends here a couple times before I go- all the people I've met along the way and including a new friend I made last week: a really sweet guy, Yacouba, from Burkina Faso who went to art school in Ghana, speaks brilliant English and makes amazing art. After struggling through French, it's fabulous to finally get to have some “deep” conversations about art and music now. He's made me promise to come back to Mali and said that when I do, we'll take a trip to Burkina as well.
Before leaving, I wanted to do something nice for Alou so I got us tickets to go see Seun Kuti (Fela Kuti's son) perform here in Bamako. The adventure began before we got to the club when he picked me up on his moped, or as they're called here a “moto.”
Moto rides are already somewhat terrifying here in Bamako in the daytime but nighttime is a whole other deal. Alou is a really good if not fast driver but it's everybody else I was worried about. With minibuses, cars, bikes and motos all swerving in and out of each other and with the distinct lack of any traffic rules, it gets pretty nuts. And then there's the dust that is flying in your face as you're speeding along. At night, when it's harder to see, the ride is even more like something out of an amusement park. After a few minutes, both because of the grit covering my eyeballs and my trepidation, I just decided to close my eyes, say a little prayer and hold on.
After that ride, when we finally got to the club (after running out of gas as well), I was so relieved to have arrived in one piece that when Alou lit up a cigarette I asked for one too. I told him in French (which is improving to the point where I can have conversations), “You know, Alou, with a toubab on your moto, you have to drive a lot slower,” to which he answered, “That WAS slower. Usually I would have been here in 10 minutes.” It had taken us 20.
The concert was absolutely amazing. Kuti played his heart out and Alou and I danced like there was no tomorrow; especially him. It was great to see him hooting and having such a brilliant time, being a little spazz. I was trying to figure out how say “spazz” in French but I settled for “fato,” which in Bambara is “crazy.” After that concert, we went for even more live music at another joint after bumping into some toubabs that we both have known in our past; a crazy small world it is. That was the last moto ride I will take in Mali, I have sworn. As my sister and mother like to say, “Your guardian angels are already working overtime.” ha
And although he drove slower to the second club (after getting a bit of a lecture from my “auntie” Andrea here), I was still yelling in his ear for much of the way, “Je ne veux pas regarder! Je ne veux pas regarder” (I don't want to look! I can't watch!).
I'm going to miss Mali. And strangely, although I don't usually like big cities, I'll miss Bamako, too.
I'm going to miss Mali. And strangely, although I don't usually like big cities, I'll miss Bamako, too.
