RCAH in Mali

[rcahmali2014]

It's been over a week since we have left our second home in Mali. I've been talking to my new Malian friends everyday via Facebook. I miss Mali and all of the wonderful people so much already. Here are a few snapshots of our trip.  Photos are from Moussa and I. - Nikki Turek

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Sunrantrè

They love goat meat, so much that if you eat goat and go to bed with its scent on your breath, they will follow the smell and dart straight down your open mouth, along your gullet and into your stomach to gobble up all the goat meat still left.  Now, this unexpected addition to its contents rarely has a pleasant effect on the stomach, which registers its protests in the form of quite a bit of pain, alongside general turbulence - if you're lucky you can vomit it all up, otherwise you simply have to resign yourself to feeling thoroughly ill for the next few days. This was not anything I had associated with geckos before a few days ago, when I asked Moussa about the small specimen clinging to the wall near the table at which I'd been reading.  He casually laid out the story from above, mentioned their Bamanankan name of sunrantrè, and, ending, remarked in a tired sort of way that, usually, the response to finding them in the house is to kill them.  My general impression was that geckos in Mali are roughly equivalent to mice elsewhere (and maybe also to mice in Mali -- I've yet to see any in my time here, but that's not a great basis on which to assume Mali has no mice) and that the general approach is to treat them as the sort of not-really-harmful but still thoroughly persistent pest that should, whenever possible, be deterred with maximum force. Of course, I wondered whether Moussa might not regret having shared that information about Malian geckos with the rest of us when Hannah found one in her room.  Not that either of them got greatly overexcited, but on hearing that the lizard in her room was indeed the same kind Moussa had described as having a certain tendency to wander down peoples' throats, Hannah made clear a certain indignation about having to spend an evening in the same room with it.  My point that we'd eaten no goat was brushed aside, as we *had* eaten mutton.  I felt reasonably confident that the lizard would be able to distinguish between mutton and goat, but it seemed unlikely my asserting that point of view would carry much weight.  At this point, Moussa broke into the conversation to recant his earlier claim, promising Hannah that even if the gecko (which, after a short chase conducted by Hannah and myself had disappeared, possibly into an open suitcase) had to spend the whole night in her room, there would be no chance of it trying to invade her personal space in any way, and emphasizing that, really, those little lizards were just pests.  Hannah did not seem thoroughly comforted but in any case went to bed, promising to alert us if the gecko showed its head. I can only speak for myself, but the night was thoroughly restful. -Drew Smith

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The thing (botanically speaking) that thrilled me the most about Kati and its immediate environs, once I'd had time to settle into it a bit, was the proliferation of mango and acacia trees -- especially the mangoes.  The heavy majority -- by far -- of trees in public spaces, private compounds, and in the countryside between Kati and Bamako is mangoes.  Sturdy, stooping and festooned with long, graceful leaves that when young seem to shine earthy purple and mature to an iridescent green, the mangoes are followed by acacia-types of a variety of species, of which two currently are in bloom -- one species wih bright yellow tufts of flowers like candle-sticks, and one -- the flamboyant, as it is called - speckled with large, singly-growing flowers painted a shocking scarlet. The thing (botanically speaking) that surprised me the most about Kati and its immediate environs, practically the moment I arrived, was the stands of eucalyptus scattered throughout.  Even if I had been expecting to find them, eucalyptus trees stand out among a crowd, their slender white trunks hung with tassels of willowy leaves.  These were first planted in Mali, I was later told, to combat the desertification which has been occurring as the Sahara creeps slowly outward.  Whatever their original purpose, though, they seem to have spread -- although given my limited experience, it's more than possible the dry season around Kati is itself a pretty desert-like period. As it is now, a month into the rainy season, the hills and fields around Kati are covered in green, with the only exceptions those patches on the hills where small cliffs of bare stone break through the earth, and the areas in town that have been worn thin by road or foot traffic, or those areas local cattle, donkeys, goats and sheep have grazed to the ground. For the sake of thoroughness, it seems appropriate for me to run through what else of the local plant life I have either stumbled upon or been introduced to.  Coconut palms are quite common, some barely a couple of leaves sticking out of the ground, others nearly a hundred feet tall.  Bananas grow thickly in the farmers' fields and in other areas of dense growth, sitting short and squat near canals and streams.  Tamarisk trees with their tightly-packed blueish-green needles seem to be a popular ornamental and are planted thickly by walls and houses.  There is also the zaban, a shrubby plant with yellowy oval fruits ranging from about the size of a lemon to nearly that of a grapefruit, whose sour contents (oddly reminiscent of the Warheads candy I would occasionally share with friends in elementary school) are stirred up with sugar to make a sweet, tangy drink.  Not everything is safe, however - the the first week, I stepped off the road to examine the seed pod of a large plant in the milkweed family, which had attractive, large purple and white flowers and nearly circular, light blue-gray leaves, when Moussa shouted out a warning to me -- this plant, called by the name fogoun-fogoun, is best known in Mali for the fact that its sap, if it makes its way into someone's eyes, can blind that person for life.  All of which served as a decent reminder of the relative importance of remaining cautious when examining the unknown.  More importantly, though, is to make sure that (from a safe distance, of course) the unknown becomes the known.

- Drew Smith

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During our lunch break, we ventured to the Kati market to see the Malian fabrics, sold in strips called pagnes. A part of Malian culture is that many people here wear beautiful colorful clothing. The plan is for us to join them by the end of the week for Chris and Steve’s anniversary party!

-Karl

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Colors in Mali are very striking. Especially during the rainy season. There is a beautiful contrast between vibrant green trees and bright red earth.

Andrew J.

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We just finished our “weekend” learning about bogolan from some famous Malien artists Kandiora & Dembele. Bogolan is a textile practice that involves dying handwoven cotton cloth in tea leaves, and then painting on it with clay. After drying and washing it out, a stain remains in a dark black or brown. We practiced on individual scarves and then in teams on some large tapestries. This was good practice working with ENSUP students and Chiwara teachers in preparation for our story project here in Kati.

Andrew J.

[rcahmali2014]

Our group arrived safely in Bamako late Monday night after almost a full day of travel. We were greeted with the dusty, windy air that often comes before the rain in Mali; a few power cuts as we waited more than an hour for our luggage in the airport's large, crowded, lively single baggage claim room; and then the rain and lightning, which lit the sky purple and cooled the earth and made for an entertaining run (with luggage) to our mini bus. We're told that the downpour upon our arrival is a good sign. Since Monday, we've dived into the intersections of Malian art, culture, politics, and the Bambara language. Last week included trips to the Musée de Bamako and the US Embassy, and work with our Malian partners on storytelling and dialogue through art. Next week we have a lot in store, so I'll let the others continue these updates. Kan ben (see you later) - Hannah