eviction

I was just starting the last week of my assignment in Mali when I received an awful message on the WhatsApp group of my flatshare in Dakar.  There are four flatmates: a Senegalese lady who rents the entire flat from the owner, and three of us who have individual contracts with her - the sub-tenants.  So we each pay her rent on a monthly basis for our rooms and use of shared facilities, and she pays rent to the owner.

Or at least she should do.  It turns out that she hasn't been paying it for some months, perhaps as long as six months, and so the owner turned up on Monday last week with some strong men, forced entry, and removed all of the contents of the flat.  From curtains and furniture to food and clothes - all of which was dumped in the street outside.

Thankfully a friend of mine in Dakar was on hand to take a taxi to my building - above her photograph through the from window of the taxi - to try to gather what she could of my possessions, to be stored in her flat.  I owe her a lot...

It turns out that during my absence the situation in the flat had been worsening, with days with no electricity, or no wifi, because she wasn't paying any of the bills.  So my two fellow sub-tenants had each given notice, and neither had paid their final month's rent (so as to recover their one-month deposits), leaving the prime tenant with no funds to pay the rent - although how relevant this is I don't really know, given that she hasn't been paying it for some months.  During this time she has been unemployed, and there have been problems with her ex-boyfriend who is apparently a former drug addict who stole money from her, and she was mugged in January, losing her identity papers and her phone.  Or at least, that is the story she told me but I cannot say I'm 100% sure that she was telling the truth.

Now I am back in Dakar, sleeping on the settee in my friend's one-bedroom flat.  Going through the stuff she recovered, throwing out the things that got broken and trying to separate the rest between things I really want to keep and things I can get rid of now that I do not have a home here.  & having to accept that there is no realistic hope of recovering the rent I'd paid until the end of the month nor of the one-month's rent I'd paid as deposit.

Deposits, which are often the equivalent of two months' rent, are rarely returned here, and so I'm not keen to seek another flatshare for what would only be a relatively short time.  I had in any case planned to leave Senegal in July, to move on to some other part of the world - Covid and wars allowing - so I am now trying to look forward rather than backward and to prepare for an earlier departure rather than mourn what I have lost.

making the most of the little freedom I have

The security restrictions have not lightened, so I am still home- and office-bound, apart from a few short walks around the neighbourhood with my flatmate, enabling me to grab the above photo of an Abyssinian Roller (there's a pair that fly around but won't settle anywhere close other than on the top of lamp posts, but finally I was able to zoom in on this one) and the one below of a tranquil river view.

... which I must say does not capture Bamako at all well, as 98% of the city is anything but tranquil!  Although I can't go out, I can of course look through the car window as we travel between home and office (plus a couple of trips into town to meet suppliers, as part of the project I'm working on), and it is fascinating to watch the city in action.

It is an interesting mix of urban and rural, as people take advantage of any patch of unused land to grow fruit or vegetables, and livestock is everywhere: goats being dragged along or huddled in groups waiting to be bought, cows wandering around looking for food - seemingly totally unafraid of the traffic, which has to give way when one decides to wander across the street - donkeys hauling carts along, and the odd horse tethered to a post too.  I still haven't got used to the sight of the animals on the roads or walking along next to a shop, or an industrial plant.

Sadly I have got used to how dirty the place is.  It is dusty, of course, as the dust (fine sand) particles blow in from the desert, but it is also full of broken down vehicles and other equipment, and with rubbish, especially empty plastic bags and bottles, strewn everywhere.

I don't want to give a bad impression of this country I love so much, but really, the capital city is not its strongest point, aesthetically.

Bogo Ja festival

My visit to the Arch of Kamadjan was only part of my day out from Bamako.  I chose that particular day because it was the weekend of the Bogo Ja Festival in Siby - Bogo meaning mud, and Ja I think meaning sun - celebrating the painting by many of the local women of their houses, granaries, wells, etc in various colours obtained from the local soil.  So the village was looking very colourful - mostly in abstract patterns as above, but some real artistic talent was on show on some houses!

As well as all of the colourful houses to look at, there were activities taking place in the centre of the town - women with painted faces and limbs dancing to some drumming, live local music with calabash, djembes, koras and singing, and a troop of puppeteers in from the capital to display their amazing ability not just to make the regular-sized puppets dance, but also with giant-sized puppets.  These latter they wore out into the streets of the town, notwithstanding that it was market day and so the main road was jam-packed already with buses, vans, taxis, motorbikes, horse-drawn carts and any other form of transport that people could find.  Their drummers bravely set out in front of them, and the people and vehicles moved aside as best they could, everyone with big smiles on their faces.

On my first day in the office, in my security briefing, I had told the Security Manager that I wanted to go to Siby, and he had said "I think that could be arranged".  However, I managed to upset them a week before the Siby festival by asking permission to go out to a concert one evening; I was following the rules I'd been given by asking permission, but rather than saying "no", they decided to give VERY grudging permission (so grudging that I didn't actually go to the concert) and report back to the project manager in the UK that I didn't want to follow the rules!  I feared that if I raised the Siby outing at this stage, they would at best say no, at worst report back to the UK again.  So I interpreted their initial response to mean that I could arrange to go to Siby (without their further involvement...), and I did so, taking care to use a 'safe' taxi driver (one they had recommended) and to be back home well before dark.  Thankfully I didn't break my leg ascending the arch or get kidnapped by rebels, and nor did we have an accident on the road (all too common here - we saw the aftermath of four such accidents that day).  But clearly given their attitude towards security - particularly for white visitors who are at higher risk of kidnap - this will be my only outing during my time working here.

a day out to visit the Arch of Kamadjan

 

My time in Mali is passing quickly, even though I am pretty much restricted to the Bamako office and my accommodation (now sharing an apartment with a colleague so as to save costs).  However I have managed to get one day out, when I visited the small town of Siby, some 45km south-west of Bamako.

It is well-known amongst travellers for the Kamadjan Arch which is near the village, and I started my day with a walk through the fields to the viewpoint from where I took the picture above.  Then we started an ascent, via the 'consultation cave' (where the elders come to ask advice from resident spirits who will speak to them in the early hours of the morning) - here a picture looking out from the cave - and from there up to a point underneath the arch.

It seemed as though that was the endpoint of the walk, but then the guide mentioned that it was possible to get on to the top of the arch although not everyone would make it up.  Something between a walk and a climb.  I asked if he thought I'd make it and he said maybe not ... but I said we should start the ascent, on the understanding that I could turn back at any point where it got too difficult.

There were some tricky bits - "put your left foot here", he said, "and your right foot on this rock here..." - but my legs weren't long enough to reach - so I did get lifted, pushed, and pulled a few times!  My taxi driver had come with us, having never visited the arch before, but on one of the steeper parts where you had to hold on with both hands he gave up, said he was getting vertigo and would wait for us to come back down.  But I made it all the way up (and back down)!  It was worth it in part for the sense of accomplishment, and in part for the great views.

Seeing a little, but not much, of Bamako

So, thrust back into the world of work, I have not had time to post an update here.  For security reasons they put us in a relatively good (ie expensive) hotel, and when costing an NGO $150 a night plus food, in addition to my consultancy fee, I really feel that I have to work hard; indeed the whole team has been bringing files back to the hotel to work on in the evening and at weekends.  Once we fight our way through the traffic, that is.  This is a typical street scene at this dusty time of year taken through the car window.

 With time out - for me - to get in a few laps of the rather large hotel swimming pool on Saturdays and Sundays!  Nice to get to fill up on the buffet breakfasts too - always my favourite meal of the day when staying at a decent hotel, although the sanctions on Mali are affecting the hotel: first the raisins ran out, then the dried apricots, then the cheese....

Security restrictions by my employer here are tight, but I was able to take a quick walk around the block by the hotel, and snap a picture of one of the two pillars representing Nascent Democracy.  Apparently the tortoise at the base, representing patience and wisdom, is supporting the arms and hands of the Malian people, which hold an egg in the process of hatching - being the birth of modern democracy, under the watchful eye and vigilence of the Imperial Eagle.  I have no idea when these were erected, but clearly some time before the coup d'etat in 2020...  They seem rather ironic at the moment, especially as there is a large poster of the transitional (coup) leader who has said he cannot organise elections before 2027!

I've also been learning a few basic facts about the country, such as the fact that its name comes from the Bambara word for hippopotamus - and the name of the capital comes from the Bambara words for crocodile (bamba) and river.  For this reason there are statues around the place of both hippos and crocodiles, including the stone crocodile above, located within the monument to the first president Modibo Keita (being refurbished, hence the lack of water in the pool).

Now they've moved us out of the hotel so as to save some money, into apartments used by secondees here in an upmarket part of town.  Upmarket meaning that we are surrounded by some pretty impressive large houses, but it is still infested with mosquitoes, and security restrictions mean that I am only allowed to set foot outside the apartment block if I can persuade the Togolese lady I'm sharing with to go out for a walk with me, as the office don't want the risk of our going out unaccompanied.

back to work?

As I was packing up my stuff in late November ready for my trip to Kenya and Saudi Arabia, I received a rather surprising message from a former colleague - someone quite senior at the NGO I used to work for.  Was I still living in West Africa?  Was I working, or did I have time available?  & would I be interested in a consultancy project in Mali for three months starting in the New Year??

Having been thrust rather unexpectedly into an earlier retirement than planned (or rather, having never previously thought about when I might retire, and suddenly finding myself faced with a fait accompli!), with Covid and the politics generally discouraging me from an early return to the UK and Covid also complicating any attempts to set off on a slow backpacking trip around the world, I had settled rather too easily into life in Dakar, albeit at a level of budget that meant it was not always comfortable.  So this did not really feel like an opportunity I could turn down - the chance to earn some money, whilst not really missing out on any alternative during that time period.  With the added attraction, in a way, that it was my love of Mali that led to my being told about the job in Dakar back in 2006, and whilst the capital Bamako (where the project takes place) is not part of my reason for loving the country so much, nevertheless it seemed fitting to end my work in the region in Mali.

So we negotiated contract terms and I signed up to fly to Bamako on 10 January, for a three-month contract.  I got a visa sorted out, packed my suitcase, and on 9 January I went along to the Covid testing place to get my PCR test done, all ready to go.

Only it wasn't to be that simple.  The email and Whatsapp message came through late in the afternoon, to tell me that the analysis of my test result was 'inconclusive' and they would have to do it again.  then around an hour later, news filtered out that ECOWAS (the Economic Organisation of West African States) were so unhappy about the Malian coup leaders putting off the promised election that they had slapped sanctions on Mali with immediate effect - including closure of all land and air borders.  So even if the re-analysis of my Covid test gave the result I was expecting, there would be no flight from Dakar to Bamako the next day, nor indeed for the foreseeable future!

Cue frantic running around in our NGO offices to try to find a way of getting my colleague and I to Bamako, with the eventual solution being a very long route via Istanbul a couple of days later.  However at around midday, my updated result came through from the lab, and I found that I was Covid-positive.  A big surprise, as I am triple-vaccinated and was not experiencing any symptoms of infection ... or at least, I hadn't thought I was, but once I knew my positive status I re-evaluated those sneezes from earlier in January and related runny nose 'due to the dust'.  My flatmate was also sneezing in response to the dust cloud, but got tested following my result and of course found that she was also positive.

Two tests later and I finally got the negative result I needed, and a ticket for a long flight to Istanbul, 15 hours there in transit, and another long flight back to Bamako, and on 1 February I set off for the airport - and whilst the car broke down en route, I still made my flight and arrived safe but tired in Mali.  As the project pays me a daily rate I was disappointed to have missed three weeks of pay, but it seems that the work has been progressing slowly and they will probably still want three months of my time, possibly even four months.

& by the most surreal coincidence, on the morning of 1 February I received a message from someone who used to work at my NGO many years ago, now at a different NGO in a different part of the world and seeing that they need some advice and input from someone with my experience; he asked if I would be sufficiently interested in the possibility of a consultancy project there that he could give my contact details to the board of directors.  So it really is not feeling as though the world of work is yet ready to give me up to retirement!

general musing on life

Having been largely grounded in Dakar since my job ended last year, I've had time to reflect generally on life.  Perhaps not always a good thing to do, but in my case I feel I have lived a full and rewarding life, for which I am extremely grateful.

I worry sometimes that I am wasting some of it by sitting around in Dakar (like most people I know of my age, I have become more aware of time passing quickly, and of the fact that it will run out!), but on the other hand it is a pleasant place to be and is not costing me much money (less than I earn in rent on my flat back in London).  Plus I know that I am a support for two friends there going through difficult times - and sometimes little things happen that make me smile.

Like last week, I decided to walk down to an ocean-side bar/cafe, and then home via the supermarket.  On the way there, a horse and cart - a reasonably common sight in Dakar - went past me, and the man operating it turned towards me and beckoned to the cart, offering me a lift.  I initially declined, but he offered again and so I climbed on, and travelled the rest of the way to the cafe on the back of his cart, being smiled/laughed at by the occupants of the passing cars.  He dropped me at my destination, having not asked for either money or my phone number; in return, I did not ask to take a photo.  Then on the way home from the supermarket, a large, black 4x4 purred to a halt beside me, and the driver asked if I'd like a lift to somewhere further along the road - again, he asked for nothing in return.

Then the next day, I went out to my usual Friday afternoon hangout, having not been for the previous few weeks, and for some reason I was plied with drink by friends present there - and two glasses of baobab juice and two of Cote de Rhone later, I had to state very firmly that I did not need someone to give me change for the bus home!!  I also went away with an invitation to visit the house and meet the family from one person there - this from a place where people meet but mostly discuss impersonal stuff like religion and politics, so an invitation to peronalise things is quite meaningful.