Coulibaly Puppet Theater (Fête des enfants - part 2)

As I learn, to organize an End of the Year Party (or "Fête des enfants", how it is called in Mali) there are a few "got to know" rules.

Firs: an average Malian family has 4 children but having 6-8 children is very normal, especially because of the local law allows polygamy, so 1 man can have up to 4 wives.

Second: no alcohol. Well, finally the foreigners did negotiate for some beer. Also, as I understood, some locals do drink alcohol but they would never do it in front of the other Malian colleagues.

Third: loads of food. Being one of the poorest countries in Africa, food is very important therefore the success of a good party is based on the quantity of the meal. And the local cuisine is most appreciated so don't try to come up with an out of the ordinary menu. 

Yaya Coulibaly

Taking in account all the above mentioned I quickly realized that the only one point on the agenda where the fantasy can be exhausted is the ENTERTAINING. And knowing that at least 50% of the participants are children between 1-13 years, inviting the National Ballet to perform the Swan-lake wouldn't be a good idea. 

One proposal was accepted: the Coulibaly Puppet Theater. At first, I was a bit disappointed but after looking it up on the internet, my curiosity got the better of me and gave it a chance. And I must admit, it was fantastic.

The giant puppets

Yaya Coulibaly, the father of this puppet theater comes from an ancient family of puppeteers with roots in the Bambara Empire  of Ségou in Mali. Not only that he learned the magic world of puppets from his forefathers but also he studied at the Bamako National Institute of the Arts at the Institut International de la Marionnette en Fance.

He has a collection of hundreds of wooden puppets of all sizes, small, large, men, women, boatmen and riders, children, camels, hyenas, cows, toucans, antelopes, etc... many of which have come down to him through his family. And every puppet has its own name and story. Some of the puppet's mouth and fingers can be separately manipulated. It was an amazing performance for children and for grown ups.

See you at the next years "Fête des enfants".

The Giant Puppets

The Hyena?! 

The Camels and the Tuaregs

Waiting for the show to begin

On of the puppet performers

"Fête des enfants" (part 1)

The Father Christmas (a she actually:-)

About a month ago I was asked to help out at the "Fêtes des enfants", what could be translated as  "Children's feast". As I don't have children and I don't necessarily consider myself as a 'child-friendly' person, would have said no but as it was for my husband's work I accepted the invitation.

So what exactly is the "Fête des enfants"?  Was still not sure to be the right person to help out until I found out that actually it is the
Christmas Party/End of the Year Party (the name depending on the country where we were living before) that is organized ones a year for the employees and their families.

As I'm new in Mali and in Africa all together, I was more listening than giving ideas during meetings. I also learned that the name of this feast is not just the name this time, but it is actually focused only on the children. In other countries, this "End of the Year Party" would have been organized in two parts. The first part in the afternoon would have been for the children, with animation, Father Christmas, the gifts, etc... and the second part in the evening would have been for the "grown up" ones. I used to help out my husband making funny quizzes and we had great music for dancing, but all this was not necessarily this time. 


So when the group told me that they have the perfect job for me, I was right away looking for the door to escape while I was picturing myself dressed up as a clown entertaining the children. I must have looked really horrified because they immediately explained my job-description and had a good lough with my face. 
I was going to be the "official" photographer! Hearing this, all my doubts about attending this "fête" disappeared. Can you imagine?! Taking photos of beautifully dressed African women, men and children without having to negotiate for a permission?! It sounded like heaven to me!

 

Endless patience, secret of surviving...

Today I realized that, without even noticing, one month flown by and except working very hard to create an environment called "home" I even abandoned my blog. 

Badia checking out our bananas

Finally, I can say that the house starts to feel like "home" even if there are still workers wandering around every day. There are days when I have the impression that while they repairing something broken, consecutively something else brakes down. One step forward, two steps back...

Having endless patience is the secret for survival. I have tried  all kind of methods with the workers during the past month, from being very friendly to being extremely difficult and nothing made a difference. They just keep smiling and they always keep the same (slow) speed as before. And I have to keep double checking all what they do and quite often have to ask them to redo it all. Now I also know that if I ask them to come in the morning, they might arrive in the morning but the following day and if they say that they have work for 2 days, means that they will be there (not necessarily working) for at least one week. 

Tea making accessories 

Tea is very important for the Malian people. Everywhere on the streets you can see that same funny metal construction for the coal, the same small teapots and small glasses. Knowing about this tradition, my first decision was to offer those accessories to the 4 permanent guards in front of our house, together with the local tea and sugar. So now, not only that they offer me tea from time to time but they also take over the task of hospitality and they make tea for all the workers active in our house. Quite often there is a one big happy gathering in our carport with 10-15 people (workers, guards, driver, gardener, etc.) drinking tea.

There is one other interesting element in the Malian culture. People eat with their (right) hands. And not only people on the street or the workers but also people at the offices, like in the kitchen at my husbands office. And they are really good at it because when I tried to do the same, the food was all over the place (my blouse especially) but not in my mouth. But I will keep practicing...

Pirogues

Last Sunday, friends invited us to their "paillotte". Don't worry, I had to ask myself, what that was exactly. :-) They are the "equivalent" of what we would call summer houses, little cabins with straw roofs, except that they are very basic with pounded earth floors and no electricity. Expats rent them for the weekends to get away from the polluted, hectic and hot city. 

The paillotte

This paillotte was next to the Niger River at a breathtaking place, 1 hour drive, outside of Bamako. 

Fisherman greeting us

We had a very nice afternoon, with picnic, watching hundreds of pirogues passing by and me, looking at my friends bathing. They did convince me about the nonexistence of crocodiles and hippopotamus, but the dark brown color of the water wasn't inspiring me, so I turned down a swim in the Niger River... just to see my first crocodile swimming in that same river this morning... Quite a shock seeing them NOT in a cage, like we are used to in Europe! ;-)) 

Never a dull moment in Africa! 

Ah, the French world...

Cover of My Fair Lady

Mostly having lived in an anglo-saxon environment for the past 18 years, for me, adjusting to the 'Francophone' world is not so simple.


Quite often a quotation from my favorite musicals "My Fair Lady" pops up in my mind; 


"The French don't care what they do actually
As long as they pronounce it properly"


And there are so many contradictories... Taking for example the French language. The letter endings in French are at least a half a page long, sometimes longer than the actual message it self:


"Veuillez agréer, Madame, l’expression de mes salutations distinguées."


The English version would be "Kind regards".


But on the other end, french people love to use abbreviations.  And those abbreviations are used in every day life as well as in newspapers, or the news and political discussion. 


So talking to french people can be quite frustrating because  they bomb you with abbreviations, rarely making an effort 'decoding' them for you (or in most cases because they don't speak any other language, they don't even realize the difficulty for non French people to understand those 'codes').


Conversations like these can get stressful: "Let's meet at CCF and there I will explain you how to go to CMF but first I must pass by a GAB." Hellooooo????


Translation:
CCF = Centre Culturel Français
CMF = Centre Medical Français
GAB = guichet automatique de banque (ATM, cash dispenser)


The other day I went to a "Bamako Accueil" meeting, the French version of the "International Women's Club" which by the way I'm still trying to discover here in Bamako. I met a few nice people at this meeting but somehow I still felt an outsider. We are so different in many ways. For example, French people (even if they are between friends) can talk for a half an hour just to make you understand that they don't like your new haircut. If you ask me, it's such a waist of time. Just say what you want to say and go on with your life. 


But the best remark of the meeting was when a French lady asked me if I'm Russian. Me?!?! With my olive oil skin and dark hair I was taken for Italian, Spanish, Turkish, Lebanese, Albanian ... but never before for RUSSIAN!!!  And when I asked why she thought that I was Russian, she told me, because of my accent (which is Hungarian, by the way). According to her, as I was not African black, I must be Russian. 
When I said to an other French woman that I'm hungarian, she said: "Great, than you can give us some EXOTIC cooking recipes."


And when someone asked me if I spoke English and I said that I did, among 7 other languages, she just looked at me like she just met an extraterrestrial. 


And one more frustrating episode: 
Canalsat/Canal+, is (to my knowledge and I'm still hoping that I'm wrong) the only one satellite provider in Mali and even buying the most expensive package with about 100 channels, except Euronews and CNN in English, there is not one single program in an other language than FRENCH. Not even BBC World!!! Heeeeeeelp!

Airport experience... never again!

After having had a hilarious first experience at Bamako airport this evening, the temptation was too high, I decided for my laptop, in stead of going to bed.

A few weeks before, I already described the "Arrival" at Bamako Airport but I think that the "Departure" beets it all! I will never forgive myself for not taking my camera with me this evening and I think that I will buy a tape recorder because like the conversations from this evening are priceless.

After arriving in Mali 21 days ago (and my first time ever in black Africa), my husband had to leave for a mission and me (very naively) proposed to accompany him to the airport. With my western standards my idea was to go with him and the driver to the airport, let him check in and have a coffee together before his departure. Wrong idea!

The airport is about 15 km from the city center and the ride is quite fascinating for someone like me, who is new in Mali (or Africa all together). A big chaos was greeting us outside of the airport even before arriving to the parking area. The driver pools in as close as possible to the entrance, we agree that first he parks the car and after that he will come to find us inside.

The moment we got out of the car, like flies, a few dozens of sellers attached us, trying to sell us a hugh range of products like toilet paper, telephone cards or bidding mats (some of them even very sophisticated, with a compass integrated). Eager to get inside the airport, we bravely fight our way trough the mess but at the door we bumped into an impressive police man blocking the entrance, saying; Not so fast, show your tickets firs! So, my husband shows his ticket and tells the police man that I'm accompanying him till the passport control.

'Pas de ticket, pas d'entré", no ticket, no entry he tells us. With our stupid western mentality it took us a few seconds to realize that what he was telling was that without a ticket or a visitors badge, nobody can go inside the airport. While we were discussing with the police man, the driver arrives (of course with a visitors badge on his neck), he takes over the discussion in bambara and after a short conversation he tells us in a low voice "continuer". So despite the police man's protests behind us, we both walk inside to find ourselves in a different kind of chaos, with about 300 passengers waiting all over the place, without clear queuing up system, in a space that even a person not suffering of claustrophobia could easily get an attack.

My husband already did check in online, he had his seat and he only needed to give his luggage but there was nobody who could tell where to go. Meanwhile the police man arrives with the driver behind him and he orders me IMMEDIATELY out of the airport. Being impressed by the tight security, I say goodbye to my husband and while I follow the police man to the exit, the driver proposes to find out about the luggage.

Once outside, the horde of seller/business men attacked me again, but this time (being a white woman alone) with a slightly different business proposition. Among other things like a camel ride in the desert, some wanted to sell me camels, others were proposing camels as a payment for me. Even if the whole conversation was quite friendly and funny, after a few minutes I gave up and to the same police man's incredulity I dared to step 1 meter inside the airport again. As an answer to his protest, I told him that it was his duty to get rid of the bunch of sellers as well and as long as they are there I'm going to wait over here. Realizing that he is going to loose the battle with me, he just gave up 1 meter of his precious territory.

Back in the car, on our way to the centre, I told the driver that I was impressed by the serious security inside the airport. He looked at me, deciding if he would enlighten me or not and probably thought that it was his duty to help me out of my naivety.

The REAL STORY was that while talking in bambara the police man asked him 5000 CFA fancs (7.5€)  for letting me inside but the driver didn't want to give him more than 1000 CFA fancs.

And suddenly it struck me the reason why the police man knew and shook hands with so many passengers. ANYBODY who wanted to go inside the airport, just slipped a 'tip' in his hands while 'saying hello'. Welcome to Africa!

"To holiday or not to holiday..."

Probably because we are new in Mali, we are flabbergasted about the local traditions. We knew that it was the end of the Ramadan yesterday and today is a holiday, what we didn't know was  that in Mali determining the end of the Ramadan is not that simple. The Grand Mufti must actually SEE the Moon before deciding about the end. 

There is something that I should tell you; right now it's the rainy season in Mali and a clear sky is very rear. So, if because of the clouds, the Grand Mufti will not see the Moon, there will be no holiday tomorrow. And the Grand Mufti's decision will be followed by an administrative decision about an eventual second day of holiday, depending on ... (the Moon, I guess). So, forget about planning a long weekend...

Yesterday (cloudy day) at 9.30 pm nobody yet could tell if today (Thursday) will be a holiday or not. At 11 pm was still only "probably not". So this morning we wake up, my husband is getting ready for work, usual routine, till the moment that we see that our driver didn't show up. We ask the guard (there is one 24 hours) who tells us that at 3.30 am this morning the decision for ending the Ramadan was taken and today is a holiday. We wish him "Happy Ramadan" and ask if it will be 1 or 2 days of holiday. "We don't know that yet, - he says - it will only be decided today". 

So hear we are, Thursday evening 11 pm, not knowing if tomorrow will be a working day or not. I wonder if the administration is out on a balcony with binoculars, hunting for the Moon before taking the decision?! Nobody can tell if, for example, tomorrow an embassy with 50 employees will have a normal working day or a holiday like today!!! How exciting... 
...
And the confirmation came at 1.30 am: Friday IS a holiday! :-))

I'm "Toubabou"

x

Today I realized that al the kids on the streets are shouting the same word day after day, when they see me coming. And they do see me coming because they know that I always keep a big bag of candy in the car.

"Toubabou, toubabou, toubabou..."

Guava tree

And of course it is followed by the usual "Bonjour" and often adding "ça va?" what means something like ''how is it going?"

And when I asked my driver Momo, what 'toubabou' actually means he gave me a big smile (one of those sunshine smiles that only african people can produce) and informed me that ... "I AM TOUBABOU". At first I thought that it is a name, given to me personally until Momo cleared my confusion. "Toubab" means white person. So, when I arrived home, of course I looked it up on the internet (yes, today the internet was working) and guess what: They are calling me "doctor"! Ha ha ha, nobody called me that one before (except in Italy where everybody is "dottore":-)))

"The West African term for foreigner (read: rich white person), 

toubab is thought to be derived from the Arabic word for doctor."

He also explained me that the black people are called "falafi" and at the market I have to ask for "des prix de falafi" prices for the locals in stead of the prices for the "rich white people"...

Grasshopper?!

Every day I learn something about the local flora and fauna as well. Today, for the first time I saw a guava tree. Originally the guava is coming from Mexico and Central America. The jam made of guava flowers that we bought a few days ago is delicious but the fruit was not yet ripe for eating. Soon...

I also had the honor meeting one of the most colorful creatures on earth. It looks like a grasshopper and jumps like one but it is not my definitive answer. It was in the local news that Mali stocked 72 535! liter of pesticides in case of a grasshopper invasion. I have seen one of those on the National Geographic Channel and I must say it was spectacular but I wouldn't necessarily like to experience it first hand.

Carpets made out of plastic strings

And while those thoughts were playing in my had I saw something else amazing. Handmade carpets, made out of plastic strings hanging on the side of the street for publicity. I just love all those african motives but looking at them this time, the memory of the grasshopper  pupped up in my mind. Don't you also find the colors and the motives have very much the resemblance to my colorful friend from above?! ...

It was our last day before deciding if we wanted to stay in the house designated for us or move to a different one. At first I hated the house... and the garden... and the location... and the neighborhood and...

With my Western standards I was 100% sure that we were swindled but after having visited about 19 different houses for rent, I changed my mind; now I LIKE MY HOUSE :-)) All the "toubabou", white people that I told about my discontentment who lived in Africa for a while now, asked me the same question; "You have never lived in black Africa before, have you?!" Still having difficulties believing it but apparently our house is one of the best once in Bamako.

So folks, if you are coming on a visit, you better bring your own toilet seat cover, if you want to have one to sit on. And while you are shopping for that specific item, you could grab a few shower heats as well. And I tell you now: after having taken your bath or shower at our place don't expect not to have the whole water flowing like the Niger River out of the bathroom into the corridor...

For the past 10 days there was a 'piscinier',  a pool-man coming every day to clean up a very neglected swimming pool and eventually also the gardener cut through the (at least 3 years old) jungle in our garden so finally today after 13 days we found our swimming pool. :-))
(And yes, I did photoshopped it a little to make it look better, in reality it is less ... 'blue?'.)

First steps in black Africa

CFA franc

I used to be the credit card person, who payed everything with plastic but  in Bamako I'm doing my best adjusting to a very cash society.


I only found one shop were I can use my credit card, all other places are "cash only". So, if you want to buy a television or a fridge in Mali you better bring a big bag of money with you. 


The first days we were constantly running out of cash so we went to a bank with our credit cards to get some more money  than what we could take at an ATM. 

Image via Wikipedia

Counties using CFA franc

How could I explain this experience... Everything is very chaotic in Bamako and a bank is not an exception. Forget about privacy because while you are recounting your money there are at least 3-4 other clients counting it with you (just to make sure that you don't miscalculate). 

And even the color of the cord that is used to hold the banknotes together is matching the African colorfulness. 

CFA franc is the local money, a currency that is used in 14 different African countries and I find them beautiful (at least when I can get my hands on a clean banknote). The biggest banknote is 10.000 CFA what is about 15 €.

Ladies at work

Mali is a Muslim country, people don't always like to be photographed and some foreigners’ already asked me how do I take those photos of people. I developed a technique that most of the time works perfectly. 

First, not to make people unsure, I hide my camera under a long scarf. I give a big smile to my target and say hello. The reaction is most of the time the same, they give me back an even bigger smile and the ice is broken... 

And I never had a negative answer on asking the parents if I could take a photo of their children. Knowing that in Mali 48% of the population is under 15 years old, the chances are on my side.

I have never seen so many babies in my life. Have the impression that each and every women between 15 to 50 has a baby on her back and what is even more amazing; those babies the whole day are dangling  on the backs of their mother or grandmother or aunty, they seem totally comfortable and happy and I never see any of them cry. 


We had good news today. Till today, because of several kidnappings of Westerners in some parts of Mali, there was a restriction on traveling. The north-east of Mali is still off limit but the green (safe) zone is quite promising. 


I can't wait to go outside of Bamako and to see the rest of the country. One of the first trips probably will be to Ségou, 240 km from Bamako and a 15 hours train trip from Bamako to Kayes is also on my bucket list...

Longing for Albania...

A few days ago after looking at a tropical rain storm from my window in Bamako, I turn on the television and start to listen to Euronews in English and suddenly there was a very comforting, homey feeling pouring over me. It took me a few seconds to realize that it was because of the language that I was hearing. I was listening to an interview in Albanian about Kosovo.

The past 20 years or so, I lived in a few countries and when people asked me where my actual home was, I was always telling "Where my furniture and my cats are" but now I realize that there are places like Albania, where the feeling "home" became so strong that leaving it behind after 4 years was like being detached from the roots.

So, what makes some places so special? Is it the geographical location, the climate, the quality of the services... ? In Albania, it is definitely the people. Being in Bamako for 1 week now, what I miss the most from Tirana is the people and the friends that I left behind.

Image via Wikipedia

I find that quoting Ismail Kadare, an Albanian writer, is very suitable for my longing...

"I long to stroll through the streets of Tiranë in the evening,
Where I used to get into mischief,
And through the streets where I never got into mischief.
Those old wooden doorways know me,
They will still hold a grudge against me
And will snub their noses at me,
But I won't mind
Because I am filled with longing.
I long to stroll through the lanes full of dry leaves,
Dry leaves, autumn leaves,
For which comparisons can so easily be found.

I was filled with longing for Albania,
For that great, wide and deep sky,
For the azure course of the Adriatic waves,
For clouds at sunset ablaze like castles,
For the Albanian Alps with their white hair and green beards,
For the nylon nights fluttering in the breeze,
For the mists, like red Indians, on the prowl at dawn,
For the locomotives and the horses
That huff and puff, dripping in sweat,
For the cypresses, the herds and graves
I was filled with longing.
I was filled with longing
For the Albanians.

I was filled with longing and swiftly journey there,
Flying over the mists, as over desires.
How far and how beloved you are, my country.
The airport will tremble with the droning,
The mists will hang in suspense over the chasms.
Surely those who invented the jet engine
Must have been far from their country once."

And to make my point even stronger, I'm adding my farewell letter to Albania as well :-))

"Farwell to a country, that made me cry twice!

Mesi Bridge, Shkodra

Looking back to my first reaction about moving to Albania (“Me? – In Albania?! – Never!”) is almost a miracle, that it turned out to be the best time of my life.

Sadly, the only one reputation that Albania has outside of Albania is a lousy reputation, so when I first heard that I would have to live in Tirana for at least four years I almost had a “heart attack”. The shock was really bad especially when I was expecting to go to Argentina instead. J

Now, the only one thing that I would like is … staying a while longer in this surprisingly authentic and unique country. Albania brings up very strong feelings in outsiders I noticed, or they fall in love with it or they will hate every single day that they spend in it. And most of the foreigners that had really the chance to sense Albania will cry twice; first when they arrive and the second time when they have to leave it behind. I’m one of the second group.

What do I like about Albania? I could cast up many things like; fantastic weather, rich and gripping history, surprisingly good kitchen and the nature is breathtaking but personally I think that the Albanians themselves make this country so notable. Albanian people in Albania are genuine, extremely friendly, curious, honest and warm people but also remarkably proud to be Albanian.

In most of the ex-communist countries in Europe (I, myself, am from one of those countries) people are having kind of mixed feelings about ‘outsiders’ and yet the Albanians after the harshest 50 years of communist dictatorship still kept their unique friendliness, trust and curiosity towards foreigners.

Thank you Albania for your hospitality!"

For more photos of Albania go to Flickr.

Prejudice is not a good friend

A Belgian friend who lived in Congo for a long time told me once that not one of her housekeepers in Congo could work with an iron unless it was broken. I thought it was very funny and 1 month ago when I bought a new (quite expensive) iron in Tirana I was still thinking about her remark and wondering if I wouldn’t better buy a cheaper one.  Today I have the answer for that.  Yes, I should have!

To describe my frustration this morning I will have to start from 3 days ago…

After finally cleaning out some cupboards (what should have been the predecessor’s responsibility, by the way, grrrrrrrr) and by blocking them against the wall to make sure that they do not totally fall apart, I started to empty the suitcases.  I prepared a whole pile of clothing to be ironed and on Wednesday I asked our housekeeper to iron before arranging them in the cupboards. When we were back in the evening, only 3 shirts were ironed (out of the 50is pieces) but I know that he had other tasks as well, so I said to myself that I had to be more patient.

Thursday morning I mentioned to Badia (the housekeeper) again about the ironing, he said “oui Madame, will do it today” but again when in the evening late I entered the room there were maybe 5 more shirts ironed and the whole pile was still lying on the floor.

Friday morning, before leaving, I told Badia again about the ironing and even told him that it must be finished today. In the evening, when we arrived home, there were so many things to arrange and organize that I forgot to check the ironing. I let Badia go home, told him not to come Saturday and Sunday and went on with organizing.

Saturday I realized that the ironing didn’t progress at all and I became aware of the fact that I will have to be firmer with Badian in the future.

This morning (Sunday) I gathered all the washed clothes, which were hanging drying and was going to iron them. In some parts of Africa or you use a tumble dryer for drying washed clothes or after drying them on a drying rack you will have to iron them one by one because of the risk of getting infected with the “bilharzias” parasite. There is a specific fly which lays eggs on drying clothes and those eggs become parasites that can infiltrate the body trough the skin. As I do not want to find out firsthand about the outcome of this 'meeting'(until my tumble dryer arrive in 2 months with the rest of our removal), I will have to iron each and every piece. 

I plugged in the iron but it was not working. I try everything to make it work but it wouldn’t budge. I got very angry at first but than I remembered my friend’s remark and I could only giggle after that.

About 2 hours later while I was writing these lines the electricity went off. My first reaction was “What else can happen today?!” but than a fast growing suspicion nestled in my had. Was there electricity when I tried the iron this morning? To test it again, first we had to find out how to turn on the generator. With the help of the guard (one is always sitting in our garage, when he is not making rounds to check the garden and the house) finally turned the generator on…. bur nothing was happening.  I was getting more and more annoyed but after making just one phone call and realizing that the maintenance was on its way I cooled down a bit. Finally after only 30 minutes the generator was running again, so I fetched the iron one more time and to my husband’s hilarity… it worked! Prejudice is not a good friend after all!

…..

 Something else did stop working today and there was no way to make it work again. The gas stove just stopped in the middle of cooking my first dinner …  One more day without a hot meal…

In the evening, after al those emotions and having worked the whole day, I have decided to take a nice bath and read a book on my Kindle. And even if I told my husband that he is not permitted to enter the room with bad news anymore today, I felt good and got the feeling that small things like a hot bath can make a world of difference between feeling grumpy or feeling content even without electricity or without gas or without … a hot meal. 

First dilemmas and resolutions...

Standing in my kitchen, with a box of very expensive mini tomatoes imported from France in my hands and having one of those ‘Africa dilemmas’… What is safer for the stomach: to wash the tomatoes or not to wash the tomatoes?!  And if I wash the tomatoes, should I add bleach or permanganate to the water. Ultimately the tomatoes were washed in tap water with permanganate.  Will take time before the routine will kick in…

Today, to have an idea about the real estate market and about the quality of the houses in Bamako, I accompanied my husband on a house hunt mission. We have seen 5 big villas with swimming pools (now you must think, wow) when I told him that I would wait for him in the car at the next villa.

At this point, I’m adding some photos because without these it would be impossible to explain my disappointment. 

The finishing in the bathrooms especially were awful
(see the enlarged second and third photo)

These brand new villas in Bamako are considered as the "high-end" but the quality and the finish is extremely disappointing.
....

We also went on a gym hunt today and after visiting the gym facilities in 2 different five star hotels, (and not being able to stop giggling in the car afterwards) I was ready to buy a treadmill myself.

Finally the 3^rd gym was more or less acceptable, (with among some obscure exercise machines) its 2 better quality Chinese treadmills did convince us. Unfortunately to become a member on the spot was not possible because we needed to provide a medical attest and 2 pass photos each. A few hours later we already had the pass photos, now we only have to find a doctor to declare us healthy.

Speaking of passport photos… A good friend of mine, who is emigration officer in a Western European country, once told me that the “photoshoped” photo in my passport was totally illegal. I wonder what would she say if she would see my newly developed photo? Not many people would recognise me on it and it was not even “photoshoped”. :-) (Conclusion; developing future photos will definitely not happen locally.)

Momo, our driver

I learned one lesson today; if I want to be the happy person during our 3 years stay in Mali, I will have to focus on the good things and I will have to forget about my western standards. 

I must admit that the local people do make me feel welcome because they are extremely friendly and helpful in any circumstances and taking part in this colourful chaos dos gives me a positive energy. Seeing al those beautifully dressed women walking on the streets, often with a baby on their backs and balancing a big package on their heads, makes me feel a huge respect and admiration. And just a smile from my side almost always will initiate a bigger smile in return… 

Kids asking for food on the streets of Bamako

Obamamania on the streets of Bamako