Le Café Du Fleuve

The Hotel Yamey has WiFi and I got the password and was able to connect to the router, but the outbound connection from the router didn't seem to work. So I connected to the next door's WiFi. That is a place called le Café du Fleuve. Since I was leaching off their WiFi, I decided the least I could do was eat there. So at about 7:30pm, I headed over.

It was nice. My French was working. I was having a good French day. Yay! The hostess, a French woman, pointed out a number of tables and let me choose. I picked a seat in the back and sat down. The menu looked really good. It was a bit more than I wanted to pay, but I decided to splurge since I had a bad day with two persistent jerks who called me racist simply because I didn't want to deal with them. I needed some self-pampering. And a classy French place with impeccable African decor was just the ticket.

I decided to do an entrée and a plat. For my entrée, I chose salade de chèvre chaud sur ses toasts for CFA 4900 (US$9.80). It was divine! Four small pieces of bread with slices of goat cheese popped into a broiler and then set on a bed of lettuce with tomato and a delicious dressing. I savored every bite. I'll make this for myself when I get back home. A lot.

My plat was a pavé de bouef "Café de Paris" for CFA 6700 (US$13.40). It was a tubular piece of meat cooked medium rare--perfection--sliced onto a plate of a puréed herb I couldn't place in olive oil--like pesto, but I didn't think the herb was basil--or if it was, it was a more subtle variety of basil than I'm used to. The garniture was French fries. It was yummy. Perhaps a tad saltier than I wanted, but the meat was perfect and the herb/olive oil was so good. The fries were good too and I used one white roll and one dark roll to sop up the herb and oil. It didn't seem like much food, but it filled me up.

At the end, I had a coffee and just sat and continued reading some paragraphs from La Route and The Road filling in the parts I still can't read. Between paragraphs, I just pondered my life and my trip. I was happy. I'm learning (a bit late, perhaps) how to assert myself. I have more confidence in my ability to do anything. I am starting to become a more complete person. And my blog is going well. I'm finding my voice when I write.

In the end, the bill with tip came to CFA 15000 (US$30). One of the best meals I've had in West Africa. Most of the clientele was white--it is an expensive place in a poor country, but there a a few tables with Africans--perhaps celebrating something or enjoying being able to eat after the sun went down and deciding to do it in style. I won't be in Bamako long enough to go there again, but for anyone who needs an escape from the hectic crush of annoying touts and persistent hustlers who seem to be even worse here than in Dakar, this is a wonderful restorative getaway for 2/3 of you would pay in the United States or half of what you pay in France for the same meal.

September 16, 10:00 Mali local time

DHL, Poste, And Persistent Merchants

My hotel is close to the DHL office.  I figured I should send my request for an absentee ballot by DHL for maximum probability of arrival.  I sat inside.  Nice air conditioned office.  There were 2 people working.  One freed up and a guy was there before me went up and did some transaction.  Then it was my turn.  I said I wanted to send one sheet of paper to an address in the United States.  He inspected the address for a while.  Then punched a number into his calculator and turned it around. 50000.  I asked if there was anything cheaper.  No.  CFA 50000 is (US$100) the minimum amount for a small package which is how my letter would go, apparently.  I said it was too expensive and headed out to find the post office.

I wanted to head up Mohammed V but wound up on the Avenue des Peuples.  This street is like a huge market.  It is slow going.  There are people and vehicles everywhere.  It's utter chaos.  I slowly wended my way up to where I figured I should turn left.  When I was almost ready to turn, a guy recognized me from the Maison des Jeunes.  He showed me a couple of necklaces and invited me to come to his store.  I told him I wasn't in the market for anything, necklace included and there would be no point in going to his store because I wasn't going to buy anything anyway. His tag-team partner joined him at some point--they work in teams like that--did in Dakar as well. I tried to explain to him that he was wasting his time, but that argument never seems to work.  Finally, I found the post office.  He said he would wait for me.  Great.  I went in and got some stamps and sent 3 post cards, the letter the American embassy in Conakry about the corrupt customs officials in Faramoya who stole €30 from me, and then I posted a letter express to King County Elections--not so much so I can vote for Obama who will get Washington's electoral votes without my help, but so I can vote for Christine Gregoire who is in a tight race with Dino Rossi.  I didn't have a complete return address and the pesky merchants tried to help me but they told me to put my US address.  I asked the post woman if I could put my US address and she said yes, but I think she misunderstood me because when I gave her the envelope she looked at it funny, shook her head, and finally uttered a resigned "C'est bon".

Now it was time to shake the persistent merchants.  I had made the mistake of wandering through the market where they prey on tourists, so I guess I deserved this.  Oh well.  The necklace guy tried to tell me that I have an obligation to help him because he needs to eat and feed his family.  I told him how commerce works--he should sell jewelry to people who want to buy jewelry and not to people who don't want to buy jewelry.  Simple in principle, right?  Basically, he was asking me to make a charitable donation--like he was the first merchant who asked for that.  Sheesh!  Then to top it off, he called me a racist.  I warned him not to play the racism card.  But he did.  So that was the second time today I was called a racist by someone who targets tourists at the Maison des Jeunes.  In Dakar, they are smart enough to play the race card much more subtly--they mention race to bring it to the forefront of your mind but aren't dumb enough to actually call anyone a racist.  I guess the Malians aren't smart enough to exploit fear of being considered a racist without a direct accusation.  It's the worst thing they can do for their future commercial prospects--shortsighted and dumb.  Of course, it doesn't work on me anyway.  I figured out a long time ago that they play the race card and inoculated myself to its influence.  I enjoy meeting the people of Africa when they aren't out to get me.  I've said it before and I'll say it again--unless they work behind the desk in a hotel, Anglophone locals in Francophone countries are bad news.  I have had many many wonderful experiences with people in Francophone countries who speak only French.  And most of my experiences with the people in Francophone countries who speak English have been bad.  And they have generally been worse in Bamako than Dakar.  I don't have a problem with black people--just Anglophone black people in Francophone countries.

I'll return to the Maison des Jeunes for my final 2 days in Bamako.  I'm not relishing it.  I'll have a secure private room, but I'm going to have to deal with these merchants who hang out there looking for marks.

September 15, 2008 13:59 Mali local time

I Haven't Yelled At Anyone Like That In Over Twenty Years

I woke up.  It was my last night I had paid for in my dorm room.  Whew!  It was going to be a relief to get out.  I went down and there was no one in the reception.  I would have waited, but I saw the annoying guy walking toward the reception.  So I headed up.  I brushed my teeth and went to the bathroom again--this time I brought soap for washing my hands and used the left hand to do the wiping and right hand to pour the water from the plastic teapot.

Then I went down again.  The reception guy was there.  I asked for a private room, but they won't have any until tomorrow.  Dammit!  Oh well.  So I paid for 2 nights to reserve a room.  Then I went up and packed and headed out to go to the Hotel Yamey which is right next door to the Appaloosa.  As I was leaving the grounds of the Maison des Jeunes--you guessed it--the annoying guy showed up.  He spouted a bunch of the same BS said he wants people like me "deported"--whatever that means.  I started heading toward to the Yamey which is about a 5 minute walk.  The guy followed me delivering his soliloquy of malarkey.  Crap like people in Mali are good people and don't use weapons to kill others like in Europe in places like Bosnia and I think he said Latvia (?).  I don't know why he thinks I am any more connected to these conflicts than he is to the conflicts in Côte d'Ivoire, Liberia, and Sierra Leone.  But like I said, he just spouts meaningless BS.  I accidentally knocked some stuff off a woman's table and bought the piece of bread I knocked over for a generous CFA500 (US$1).  The guy said he would pay for it and I refused.  I just wanted him gone.  I told him I just wanted to go to my destination alone.  I told him he made his point and that I understood what he was trying to say and that he didn't need to continue beating the same dead horse.  He said he just wanted to talk.

Then, at the Shell station between the Maison des Jeunes and Hotel Yamey, I lost it.  I just tore into him and then he into me.  I yelled at the top of my lungs.  I told him to stay the #$%& away from me.  That he was bothering me and never left me alone and every single time he sees me he sticks to me like glue.  He called me a racist.  I told him the only people who have done that were manipulative scammers who are after my money and if he thinks my problem with him was racism that he has a screw loose in his head.  I told him if he ever sees me again to stay away from me.  I can't remember a time when I yelled like that.  I have been so even tempered for so long.  It was quite entertaining to the people at the scene.  They were watching with curiosity.  Some of them must know this guy since he is always (and I mean always) around.

I'll return to the Maison des Jeunes again so I hope he does stay away.  I am so sick of the guy.  I'm not optimistic.  I'm sure he'll come again and try to talk to me.  He does this sort of passive aggressive thing where he tries to be pleasant while telling me how bad I am and it wouldn't surprise me.  We'll see.

Now I just have to wait for the plumber, his assistant, and the guy from the Yamey to finish fixing my toilet and I'll be relieved.  My errands today are to send my absentee ballot form at DHL, scope out the Burkina Faso embassy, and to mail some postcards.

The Yamey is actually pretty nice.  My room isn't big, but it has AC and a fan. Also a TV (French) and shower, toilet.  The sink is a little small for laundry, but I'll manage.  They have WiFi, but I can't seem to see it at the moment I write this. I'll either have to move my computer to the lobby or wait for it to come on.

September 15, 2008 10:45 Mali local time

A Lazy Day In Bamako

I woke up yesterday morning and slept in nice.  It was Sunday.  I decided to have another pastry at the Pâtisserie le Royaume des Gourmands.  But they were closed.  Dammit.  Then I headed down the street to see if I could find the Auberge Lafia.  I couldn't.  Then I headed by the Long Ma Chinese place--still closed, but it wasn't noon yet.  Then I found the internet cafe.  Whew!  At least one mission accomplished.  While I was the internet cafe, the annoying guy from the Maison des Jeunes came by.  Jesus, does this guy follow me everywhere?  He's ubiquitous.  I can't escape him.  And every time he appears, he wants to talk--and by talk, I mean spout continuous BS without needing any response from me.  He just talks and talks and talks and talks.  If all I do is say Uh-huh, he just talks and talks.  He doesn't converse--he delivers a long boring fatiguing soliloquy.

I headed back to the Maison des Jeunes and found the Swiss and French guys having a "coffee" in the local coffee stand.  I had one too.  Super sweet, but only CFA150 (US$0.30).  I headed back to my room and asked the French guy about the guy who appears everywhere.  As he was describing his run-ins with the guy, we passed the guy and he of course started to follow us.  He and I exchanged a few words.  He was angry and I was starting to get angry. He tried to call me a racist.  He kept pointing at his eyes then mine saying how differently he sees me nowthat the first night we talked and we were friends, but now I don't have time for him when all we wants to do is help me know and understand his home town where he has lived for 7 years, blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda.  It was stream of consciousness embittered malarkey. 

I made sure my stuff was still in my dorm bed.  All good.  Then I headed out to find something cold to drink--preferably something fermented.  It was past noon and I figured the Appaloosa might be open. Nope--not till 6 on Sundays.  Dammit.  I wandered around the streets and finally found myself close to the Long Ma, so I went to see if it was open.  Yes!  It was.  I went in.  I indulged in an egg roll, sweet and sour pork (if I'm going to eat at noon during Ramadan, might as well go all out and have pork, eh?), eggplant in spicy sauce, a serving of white rice, and 2 large Castel beers.  The whole indulgent bill came to just under CFA10000 (US$20).  It was so much that I couldn't even finish it.  I headed back to my bed and slept it off.

Later that night, my roommate and his friend came back.  His friend speaks English with a very very strong accent.  Gee I hope my French accent isn't as bad as his English accent.  But it would explain why some people don't seem to understand me.  They tried to team up to convince me to go to the American embassy so I could get the guy a visa to come to the United States. I had explained previously to the guy that only a family member can do that.  They couldn't understand why I can't, as a real American citizen, just waltz into the embassy, like I own it, and tell them to issue a visa to some guy I just met.  They don't understand the absurdity of the request.  And they expect to get by in America?  They seem to think that you show up in America and bask in the shower of money.  It ain't like that.  Life is not easy for first generation immigrants.  They are confined to certain jobs that don't pay much unless they happened to have received a good education in their home countries. A person without such an advantage shouldn't come to America hoping to get rich.  They should come to America for their children, who truly and genuinely will benefit from being born an raised in America rather than Guinea or Mali or anywhere else in Africa.

They talked for a while in their native language and every once in a while looked over at me with a look that either bitter or perhaps a sort of jealousy (why does this guy get to be born there and I had to be born here?).  Either way, it was discomforting.  Finally, time ticked by and my Chinese meal was still going through me like a poodle through a boa constrictor.

I had a few bouts of diarrhea.  I ran out of toilet paper and got to learn the local method.  They use these plastic containers that look like teapots. They and short and stout and have a handle and a spout.  I don't know how they use them, but I reached my right hand under my front, and put the spout where my tailbone is and poured water down from above my crack.  Then I used my hand to rub and scrub. It was positively gross, but when I was done, it seemed clean. I sniffed my hand and it didn't smell bad at all--a little bad, but hardly detectable.  I realized then that I should have done that with opposite hands.  Oh well, next time.  I forget my soap so I just rinsed my hand in the sink under a lot of water.  I sniffed again.  Not bad.

Finally, the night came and I drifted off to sleep.

September 15, 2008 10:11 Mali local time

Two Things I Wish I Had Packed

OK, I can actually buy these here, but for some reason I haven't yet. But the 2 things I find I want, but didn't anticipate needing:
1) a pair of pliers--preferably with insulated handles
2) a pocket calculator with +, -, *, and /. Small and maybe even solar. I'd keep it in my pocket with my (super useful) compass.

An Afternoon And Evening In Bamako

It started to rain when I was writing my last blog.  But I wrapped up my Lonely Planet and a few other things and headed to the attached bar.  The Swiss couple and the French bank worker were there. They weren't drinking beer, but soft drinks.  I ordered a beer anyway.  Soon I was chatting with some of the other people at the Maison des Jeunes.  I don't quite get what all these people are doing here.  I don't think they actually stay at the hostel, but I could be wrong.  The people there are musicians and practice in a small building on the grounds of the hostel where they give a a couple or a few concerts per week, I guess.  They played 2 days ago and are supposed to play tomorrow.  They invited me and the Swiss woman to see their studio.  They taught me a bit of this interesting instrument like a wooden xylophone--just like the one in the museum in Sierra Leone.  I was interested in how the sound is made so I looked underneath.  There are spherical hollow gourd like things that resonate the sound and give it a sort of an interesting hollow sound.  Through most of the instrument, they have a hole pointed at the wooden slats, but the ones on the end don't have gourds under them, so they don't sound quite as good--rather they sound a bit dull.  But most of the music goes on in the middle of the xylophone.  They had a bunch of drums as well.

I learned of a potential internet cafe so I went to go check it out after all that.  It was just getting dark and when I arrived, it was just closing.  They won't reopen until Monday.  I'm going to have quite a massive blog dump when I finally get a computer with a decent connection.  It sucks having these crappy connections. I would have thought that the capital of Mali would have better access.  But I guess not.

So I came home and ate at the restaurant.  The crazy local guy who talks way too much came and started talking to me.  I just continued eating and saying "uh huh" to everything he said.  Then he went over and started talking to another guy who was eating.  Then that guy left, so the annoying guy came over and started talking with me again.  He said he wanted to come to America.  Specifically, he said he wants to come to Seattle.  I asked him why.  He didn't have any reasons.  I pressed him with completely open ended questions to give him no hints about anything in Seattle.  He finally confessed that his brother is in the drug trade.  I explained that the drug trade destroys lives--is a scourge to humanity--is the cause of destroyed lives, destroyed dreams, destroyed hope, crime, murder, and long prison sentences.  I told him that the people who work in the drug trade are the cause of this.  He tried to defend it.  Then I said I was going to back to my room.  He wanted me to buy him a beer.  I told him I was turning in for the night.  He tried to invite me to see his family's house.  I told him maybe later.  Why would I go anywhere with this guy?  He is annoying, talks too much, has no job, and uses drugs.

I can't wait to get out of this youth hostel.  I don't know what to make of the people here.  Perhaps I'll just leave on Sunday and forget about the last $4 night.  I don't know if my stuff is secure here.  There are too many shady characters.  My dorm mate from Guinea seems unhappy that I am unwilling to help him get to America (with INS help and financially--like I can just spring for an airline ticket for a complete stranger) and was eyeing my laptop a little too much.  He has no luggage at all.  There are people at the gate of the hostel who commented that I didn't have my laptop bag when I left.  I don't like people taking too much of an interest in my possessions.  They might think I won't miss it as much as they want the money they perceive it could bring on the fenced goods market.  I hate to cast unfounded aspersions on the guy, but I have to listen to my instincts.  I can't afford to make a mistake and suffer a big loss.  It's better to pay a little more for some security, especially since it will bring a modicum of privacy and comfort as well.  And it's only for a few days until I get the last of my visas.

Africa is a great place to travel (for those with a certain set of characteristics) but it the pleasantness of the people you meet is in inverse proportion to the level of tourism in the area.  The best people are found in places like Gabú, Labé, and Kankan.  The worst in Dakar and Bamako.  It's not that they are big cities.  Conakry was great--only one bad guy--the one who tried to pass himself off as an off-duty immigration police officer with two different names the two times he approached me for enough money for 3 liters of gas.  And my problem with Bissau was mostly linguistic--not the people who were very nice and accommodating.

A lot of Mali is heavily touristed--some areas having little industry other than tourism.  Indeed nobody would go to Timbuktu if it weren't for the fact that it is a symbol of remoteness.  Almost everyone who does go there does so for that symbolic value.  There is no other reason unless you are a scholar of African or Islamic history.  So I suspect that I'll be hustled and annoyed a bit there.  Mopti is apparently the worst.  I'm not sure why.  it's a transport hub and not a major tourist sight.  But all tourists go through Mopti.  Then once I'm back in Burkina Faso, things should settle down a bit.  I have to figure out how to put Niamey in my trip.  I'm not sure I can make it to Nigeria and Cameroon.  It's already almost the middle of September.  I won't even get out to Burkina Faso until early October.  Then Niger, Togo, Benin, Ghana, and Côte d'Ivoire will take me to the middle of November.  I should start looking at an airline ticket to get back.  Apparently American Airlines has a direct Accra, Ghana to JFK flight.  That would be sweet.  I could take my time from there if I arrive early.  Maybe rent a car and drive it.

September 13, 2008 22:00 Mali local time

Musée National Du Mali

I woke up at about 7am. A guy from my dorm room was on his way out. His name is Fromo and he studied theology in the United States. He is on his way to Egypt through Niger and Sudan to visit an ill relative since he is a spiritual healer. I wish all the luck in his endeavor to help his relative. So he headed out and I took a shower and got ready to head out.

My first destination is the Ikatel which has the fastest internet connections in Bamako which I need since the internet connections I've used so far have been painfully slow and the computers too old to run my webmail client. I passed the Pâtisserie le Royaume des Gourmands and popped in. I got a café expresso (CFA 800/US$1.60) and pain au raisin (CFA 600/US$1.20). I basked in the deliciousness of the coffee and sweet grape bread. After a while as the only customer there in this Ramadan period, I headed north. I crossed the railroad tracks and headed east. I passed another pâtisserie and the Azur supermarket which is not huge but just like a French grocery store (except a bit more expensive). The Ikatel was not where the icon is on the Lonely Planet map. So I gave up and stopped in le Relax, the other pâtisserie and had a café expresso and a chausson des pommes. Their coffee wasn't quite as good as the first one. That part of Bamako has some expensive hotels, therefore more people targetting tourists trying the get them to buy stuff. A bit annoying, but they aren't that persistent. I stopped into the Azur and picked up an envelope for sending my letter to the American embassy in Guinea about the shakedown in Faramoya by the corrupt customs police and 2 candy bars. The guy wanted small change which sort of pissed me off because I need small change for small entrepreneurs. I expect big enterprises to be able to handle CFA5000 bills which are only worth US$10.
I headed down the road to find the Musée National du Mali. After a bit of a walk in the hot sun, I found it right where it should be. A ticket was CFA 2500 (US$5) and again, they wouldn't take small change, either. Dammit! My supply of small money is drying up. Apparently one can get a guide for CFA 3000 but that's US$6 I'd rather not spend. I entered the exhibit hall. Wow! This is one nice museum. It had 3 wings--archaeological finds, ritual items of the cults and fraternal organizations, and textiles. They are all fascinating. They items are labeled and there are posting going into some detail of the context of the items. Sadly, many of the archaeological artifacts were dug up by people with no appreciation for archaeological digging, so the context was lost. Many of the artifacts were repatriated by French customs who seized them from travelers trying to smuggle them into France. Lucky for me, my comprehension of written French is pretty good so I was able to read and understand 95% of the descriptions. That made me feel smart.

Through 2/3 of the exhibits, I was trading places with a pretty woman in a long black summer dress, maybe a little younger than me. I have often said that the only thing better than looking at art in an art museum is looking at girls looking at art in an art museum. Seems it applies to historical and archaeological collections as well. ;-)

A restaurant called the Africa Grill has a small café at the museum with museum pricing (a little more than usual). I got a small water to start for CFA 600 (US$1.20). It was so refreshing. I was really starting to get thirsty when I got the textiles. There was a table with a North American foursome--a pretty woman in her 30's with sexy glasses and 3 older men. I stole a few looks but for the most part just read my Lonely Planet rearranging my itinerary. Mali is turning out to be a little more interesting than I thought it would be and I'm afraid I'll have to spend a little more time here than I had planned on. I want to go to Djenné and see the mud mosque and that'll add a few days. Going to Gao will also potentially add a few days, though it may save me time, depending on the boat traffic on the Niger River. I think I might have to cut out Cameroon and Nigeria. We'll see.

After I drank my water, I didn't want to leave, partly because the atmosphere of the museum is so nice and partly because the woman with the sexy glasses was still there. So I ordered a beer (CFA 1200/US$2.40). Then I got some post cards and another beer. I wrote one out to someone I met in France and addressed a couple to my nieces--I still need to write them, though.

After that I checkout out the miniature reproductions of Malian architecture on the museum grounds. Very nice. It was a very nice way to spend some time.

I headed back. A guy who speaks English started following me and eventually started asking for money. Mark's Ironclad Rule of Anglophone Locals in Francophone Countries: unless they work behind the desk in a hotel, they are out to get your money. I arrived at the youth hostel and started to type up my day. A guy in my dorm room from Guinea asked me if I could help him get to America. I get this request once every couple of weeks. People think that since I'm American that I can grease the skids at the American embassy, but there's nothing I can do. They probably don't believe me. I tell them about the green card lottery and family reunification which allows legal relatives to bring over immigrants. But as a person with no relationship to somebody else, there's nothing I can do. I'm always surprised whenever someone I just met at random asks me to do this for them.

Not long after I returned, it started raining. It rained in the late afternoon yesterday as well. Maybe Bamako is beset by late afternoon rains. There is even thunder and lightning. Cool. We never get it in Seattle. I grew up with electrical storms in the Midwest, so I miss them.
Later, I'd like to go get some CFA 500 beers at the attached bar, but I hope that clinger with the raspy voice and goofy hair isn't there. He never shuts up and annoys the living hell out of me. The Swiss couple will leave tomorrow as well so I hope I see them one more time so I can give them my blog address.

September 13, 16:54 Mali local time