As most of you blog followers know, nothing happens on time in Mali. This is something I am pretty sure I will NEVER get used to! This fact was only re-enforced upon me time and time again this past week, starting with hearing about a Malian telling another volunteer to “Put his watch down and don’t worry about it!” Sunday, myself, and two other volunteers were planning to head to another volunteer’s village to paint a world map mural. She had arranged special transportation for us from Bougouni to her site. We piled into the nicest car I’ve ever seen in Mali, and head south to her village. She doesn’t live near the main road so as we turn off onto a rough red dirt road, we are very thankful to not be on Mali public transport! The further we go, the quieter our conversation gets, and the harder we hang on to the sides, and each other! The past week’s rain sure did lots of damage to the road. Malian’s are horrible drivers, nothing happens fast in this country, except for driving! Malians drive with lead foots, and then when we come upon a bump, or huge ditch in the road they slide that lead foot over and slam it on the break. While we are trying to save ourselves from whiplash, and concussions, we notice lots of motos, and people heading the opposite direction waving to us to turn around. Finally we stop and ask what’s going on only to be answered with one word, “ji!” (water). Thinking well of course there is water in the road, its rainy season…only to be confronted with a running river of water crossing the road in front of us! Shocked! We jump out to get a closer look. Lots of people are standing around, offering to carry us across for $2 not realizing that once we got across that we would still need a ride the rest of the way to the village. We watched as they carried a moto over their heads through the chest deep water. We rode back to town, as our first day of working on the mural got washed away with the river. We made it back to house, put down our watches, and stopped worrying about the work that wasn’t getting done and wasted the afternoon away with old “chick flicks.”
The next morning we were up early and on the road! We were amazed to see a fast flowing river, safely under the bridge when we crossed and made it to village in good time and only suffering slightly from motion sickness and whiplash. Once there, we were greeted with open arms from everyone in the village, excited to see four white people! Ready and anxious to start working, we head to the school where we are to paint a world map in the 7th grade classroom, only to be told that the key to the classroom was in Bougouni (where we just came from) but someone was just sent to go get it. As we watched our work time shorten yet again, we put down our watches and took a nap until lunchtime. After lunch we still have no key to the classroom, but we do have a strong Malian, and a leatherman to open the school so we can finally start working, a day and a half later than planned.- Glad to report that after a few days hard work we had a beautiful world map completed and the Dugutiki even managed to come check it out!
By Wednesday, we were done painting, but exhausted, and ready to get back and celebrate Mali’s Independace Day. I decided to spend the holiday in my friend’s village because there, they celebrate with exciting bike, and donkey races. Due to the late arrival into town after the mural painting, we could not catch a ride to her village that evening. Waking in early in the morning we walk to the bus stop, only to be told that we were crazy to think that a car would be going that way on a holiday! Annoyed, we decided to bike to her village, in hopes we would make it in time to watch the bike, and donkey races planned for later that day. We get back to the house to grab our bikes, only to find out that my bike has a flat tire (that I attempted, and apparently FAILED to fix the previous night!) so I borrow another volunteer’s bike without asking, knowing she wouldn’t be in town for a few more days. Finally we head down the road, hoping to make good time. We have picked up a good pace, but we keep getting slowed down by all the hills, which after each one my friend assures me that this is the last one then it is free sailing from there, until we reach the next hill, by the fourth hill, huffing and puffing between bursts of laughter we decide to stop counting the hills. Almost half way there, and my borrowed bike starts acting up, and every third pedal my bikes falls out of gear. Click, click, clicking down the road, we finally stop to try to fix it but have no luck. We look up and see a crowd of bikers heading right for us! Moving quickly out of their way, we cheer them on and give each other a look that clearly means, “Aww man we’re missing the bike race but I don’t want you to know how disappointed I really am!” jumping back on my bike I click, click on to the next village when I realize that my handle bar is starting to get loose, and is sliding around. Finally I decide I need to stop biking before this bike falls apart in my hands. So we find someone who can fix my bike, and sit down and chat with a lady, who’s most exciting day of her entire life is Independence day and she talks for the next hour telling us about past winners of the bike race, and who she bets will win today. Our lovely conversation was interrupted by bursts of cheers, and hoots, and hollers, as the bikers have turned around and are now headed back to collect their winnings! As the next hour passes we decide it is now time to put down our watches and not worry about missing the events of the day. When my bike is finally finished, I go to get on only to find out that instead of tightening the screw to hold my handle bar on, he thought the best solution was to GREASE the handle bar!! I now have to use every muscle in my hands and arms just to keep the handle bar in the up right position, while pedaling. As far as I can tell my gears are working, and by working I mean they are not slipping in and out they are now stuck on the highest gear, making it quite a challenge to pedal up hills, and hold on to the handle bar, I can’t even attempt to change gears without loosing all control of my bike. We make it up the last mountain of a hill and come free sailing straight into her now empty village because all of the festivities are over.
Today (Friday) we woke up early, ate breakfast, and went to sit by the road to wait for a bus to stop and pick us up and take us back into town. After three hours of “patient” waiting, a bus finally stops. I then have to call the volunteer who’s bike I borrowed and tell her it no longer switches gears, and there is a small chance that her handle bar may come loose again! Afterward I head into to town to see the tailor only to have him ask me to sit and wait until he comes back from the mosque…so I put my watch down and waited…
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