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
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