Open Journal Montreal

by Michael Albert.

This seems to be all I can really take in so far, entering a new and strange land:

a mud mosque here, two young men pushing an old peugot there, a small food stand, a large run-down billboard, dirt, rain, mud…

the strangely familiar sound of Islamic advertising over passing loudspeakers, children playing in the night, that completely recognizable smell of a polluted city in a developing country…

motorcycles everywhere, honking everywhere, smoke everywhere, a woman breastfeeding, babies on backs, children staring…

After a month and a half in Europe I finally arrived in Charles de Gaulle Airport on the 19th of July and quickly located the Pointe-Afrique booth (very eloquently marked, not by a beautiful lit-up Air France-like sign, but with several simple computer print-outs on normal white paper plastered all over the small booth).

My 6 hour flight was relatively uneventful, although there was a strange atmosphere on board. African women in their colourful clothing all around me, a Dutch man who spoke not a word of French at my side, French stewardesses wearing Icelandic Airways Uniforms with Air Axis Pins; and all of this in what appeared to be an old Spanish plane. In other words: Pointe-Afrique. Totally random and a little sketchy.

My arrival in Bamako was full of heat and rain. It was 1am, raining and yet still 25 degrees celcius, indeed the following morning at 7am when I emerged from my mosquito-net covered bed it was already over 30 degrees (this is considered the “COLD season”).

My home is fantastic, with an actual toilet and shower (well… a high faucet in the middle of the room – but more than a bucket!). I have an air conditionned office a little distance away. It’s too far to walk and there is only a relatively unpredictable and not so easily manageable public transportation system, so on Monday morning I have a meeting to buy a motorbike. Crazy.

All is well, although already I’m finding myself a little alone, without anyone to really chat with. The past few days I have spent in my office reading up on Mali Essential Medicines policies. My large house I have all to myself… cooking for one after picking up some ridiculously cheap vegetables at a local market, and some amazingly sketchy fly ridden meat which tastes ok, as long as you cook the hell out of it. I have ventured to an ex-pat bar down the street and have had myself a pint, but ended up speaking with no one. On the upside I’ve read about half of Anna Karenina in the few evenings that I’ve been here.

All that said, I have already begun learning some Bambara as my neighbors (including the cutest little kid I’ve seen in a long time) are not very proficient in French. The people here are amazing, with “Ca vas?” and “Bonjour!” or “i ka kene wa?” and “i ni ce” at every passing. Meeting some locals should prove not too difficult. It may be a difficult five months, but it will definitly be a growing five.

More soon,
Mike.

Stay tuned to read about Mike’s next adventure, taking to the streets of Bamako in his new motorized vehicle.

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[ originally posted on Sunday, August 7th, 2005 at 6:09 pm and is filed under Everything, Letters, On Places and Identities, Writing. ]