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...