Guaka! - archive.org

Crowd surfing in Bamako

Guaka — Mon, 21 Mar 2005 03:50:25 +0000

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It's the beginning of what people call spring in colder areas of the world, 2:30am and I'm crowd surfing in the streets of Bamako. About 6 men are trying to lift me into a black van. One of them tries to grab both of my arms, so I decide to give him my left arm and he attaches it to the van using handcuffs, leaving my right arm free to make a phone call. Off we go, on a ride that seemed to last for ages... It was the first time I felt cold in Bamako.

So, these men are policemen. The police, man's best friend. It's probably not the worst thing that can happen to people in Bamako, but given that it was the third time I was stopped in 3 weeks or so, it's definitely one of the more prevalent evils.

Two weeks before

So I haven't written yet, that two weeks ago I was walking on the Bla Bla / Sky Bar street with Awa, when suddenly two motorbikes stop. The policemen are asking for our IDs, which we're showing them. The cop sees 1996 on my shabby-looking paper and is complaining. So I have to explain that Dutch driving licenses are valid 10 years and show him the 2006 that's not written on the "main part". No problem. Awa's ID card, however, needs some more inspectation and the guys start asking me for 3000 CFA. Apparently some kind of seal was missing. Since it's a ridiculous demand I refuse to give them money. They decide it's time to drive away, with Awa's ID, me running after them and stopping them. Apparently their fangatigi is only 100 meters away. Awa is very reluctant to go there, but I wasn't going to get away with the ID just like that. After five minutes of silence and discussion the chef decides to take a look at the papers and starts his bike. (I haven't told much about prostitutes yet, but the crowd seemed a mix of whores and cops...) Fortunately someone offers him a torch and he checks it for about 5 seconds, and we're off.

One week before

Evasion Jazz Club is an amazing place. It is has a fabulous atmosphere. And it has Adama. He's a great musician. He plays guitar and sings. It's not really Jazz, but it's a thing not to miss. I've probably already recorded 2 hours of this stuff (in pieces of 3 minutes; Canon did a great job with the Ixus, but I hate the fact that they put this stupid restriction when filming; time for free software cameras?). I hope I get his permission to put it online under a Creative Commons license, so that you can enjoy a tiny bit of it as well, and so that he'll be able to get gigs in Europe... We're driving back and suddenly I see we're approaching a car full of policemen. A cop comes over and asks us for our ID's. I show my driving license, no problem, Josh shows his ID, and the cop starts nagging that one should always carry an ID. Josh starts being aggressive, getting his mobile and saying he's gonna call the Canadian embassy. I don't feel like the guy taking another peek at my license, so I try to chill Josh and take over the conversation, saying that from now on we'll always carry ID, and sorry for the inconvenience, bla bla bla. The cop seems to be happy with the respect shown and lets us continue our path.

Last week

. (http://www.industree.org/guaka/gallery/Bamako-3/img_3127)

Three o'clock in the afternoon Josh comes over and tells me Amadu, our beloved Dogon guard, is taken by the police. It's hard for me to believe that a person so nice could do anything that would cause the police to come over and take him into custody. The story becomes even more ridiculous when later that day they come to arrest Issa Yat, Geekcorps' driver, as well. Later that night it appears that it has something to do with a stolen mobile phone. Amadu and Issa don't return that night. Fortunately they return during the next day. Apparently, here in Mali, the police actually arrests people, while they're working, lets them sit in jail for the night, on the suspicion of making the mistake of buying a stolen phone. (Oh, if your old dust collecting phone is still working, please send it to Mali instead of throwing it away. It has the power to keep people out of jail...)

Last night

What happened? Do I know? I was going out with Issa Dolo and Mame and it was getting a bit late. We're walking around through the streets of Korofina (area in Bamako), looking for a cab. Right in front of Bla Bla Bar the cab stops and a bunch of cops show up at our windows. Well, no problem. I get my driving license to show it. Well, problem. They're not happy with my driving license and ask me to get out of the car. I'm like, WTF is this? I'm not getting out of the car, and tell them my passport is at home, if they want we go there so I can show it - hoping that they'll leave it at that. But, no, in Mali one is to carry an ID at all times. If not, one is to go to the bureau and pay a fine. I ask them if it's just money they want. No, they say, they don't take money. I am to go to the bureau. Three cops are standing next to the car, ready to drag me out of it. I figure that it's probably a better idea not to let them. The moment I step out of the car they start pushing me towards the van, and naturally I'm saying things that one shouldn't say to coppers - even if you think they don't even know what it means. And suddenly I'm crowd surfing, again. Last time must be more than 6 years ago. Back then the crowd was huge, happy and partying. This time it was a flock of underpaid uniforms.

In the van

I'm sitting in the van, my left arm is attached to the back of the bench. The wind is blowing through my hair. My company consists of (probably) 4 policemen, one with a big rifle, 7 other people who were unfortunate enough not to have ID on them. And then there's 3 more cops in the front of the van. I start to talk with the cop next to me. He's not unfriendly and I don't really remember what we talked about - but it must have been about the Malian police. I find out we're headed for the bureau du sixième arrondissement. Always good to know. Armed with this knowledge I tried to take a chance with my free right arm. I called Josh, Laura, Ian, no response. Of course not, people are supposed to sleep at such unholy times. Then I remembered that Laura might actually be close to another phone and I managed to speak to her, which was a great relieve. Ian called me back some time later. Cold. People on the side of the street wonder what a tubab is doing in a police car and I wave at them with my left hand, which is responded with a seemingly warm waves. It's amazing, what thoughts enter one's mind in such situations. And mine was still pretty good. I was thinking about the other people in the van, who don't have a mobile phone, don't have an embassy to call, don't have colleagues who are able to come by to pick them up in the middle of the night, who probably don't have a job or money to buy more than the bare essential. I was thinking of people all over the world, taken away by police, army, militias. Brought somewhere. Anywhere.

And I thought of 5 months ago, when I was summoned to a police station in France, to my great disbelief. For tapping on a window for just a tiny bit too long. Back then my world seemed annihilated - and I thought it was me, the great annihilator. Later I found out that act of destructive madness was actually the best thing I had done in at least the last 3 years.

Is it funny when people grabbed from the street are entering your office?, I asked the laughing policemen. Not very prudent. But it might have shown them that it's not me who's the dog. I set down next to the other delinquents. Observing. Listening. Bambara. Finally it was my turn. They asked me for my name and instinctively I asked them if they wanted to know my Malian name. The same time I realize that that might have been a very stupid question. However, it seems to break the ice, and they ask me if I speak Bambara. Awo, I say, n'be bamanankan fo doni doni, which is probably smart, as long as one only understands doni doni. If you only speak a little bit people realize I might actually be able understand what they're concocting, so they won't try. I tell them we're I'm from, what I'm doing, and one of them even asks me why I don't want to "informatiser la police malienne". I don't speak out what's on the tip of my tongue (something along the lines of "over my dead body") and politely say that Geekcorps doesn't have the capacity right now, and that it might happen if there is some money to actually do that in the future. So I had made clear that I wasn't going to pay any "fine", that I was told a driving license was sufficient, both by the embassy (a lie) as well as by my chef (true) and that I was friendly - enough. Enough to melt the ice. The fangatigi told me they'd drop me at home the next shift... Relief. Snoring policemen.

And African music TV. Lots of music from Angola. Is that the Portuguese influence? Thoughts of Juliana then cross my mind, radiant and blind, a girl from Angola - today I received her "groetjes" through Joris.

A while later I feel my phone shaking and I realize in all my bewilderment I've forgotten to make some phone calls to people who are probably slightly worried about my situation, for which I am sorry. Ian was ready to come over to get me out of my situation, and I tell him it's fine. Everything under control.

Issa

. (http://www.industree.org/guaka/gallery/Bamako-4/img_3498)

The policemen had also asked me whom I was with, which I told them - one good friend and one friend I've seen a couple of times. I was not mistaken. While watching TV with the policemen involved in heavy discussions about women, mafia, Issa suddenly came walking in, accompanied by the police. I told him I was fine. I wasn't really sure how my situation was, so I decided to go with the flow, sit down, don't say more than necessary and just wait. After another ride in the van, this time not handcuffed, at 5:30h I was home again, finally. Fortunately for the person who thought the police was after him they dropped us off right in front of Geekcorps HQ. The signed letter with Geekcorps and USAID logos I found on my pedestal cupboard will stay in my wallet for the rest of my stay in Africa. And this night I will not easy forget.

Today

Ok, I haven't yet printed the copy of my passport. But I did add the emergency number of the Dutch embassy to my phone - please, people, do the same before you go to a country where you'd rather not bump into the police. Oh, sorry, that could be any country these days, especially if you're skin's just not white enough

"There’s plenty of evidence that time is running backwards"

Guaka — Sun, 13 Feb 2005 03:29:11 +0000

tag:

You know, I really love this place! It’s dusty all the time, the food is crap most of the time, mosquitos are having me for dinner, and I hate aircos in cars. They’ve made me sick before, and I just don’t get why people need to get this ice cold air into their face. I even prefer the leaded dust right into my eyes. But maybe that’s because it was my first time on a scooter, in Bamako today. Yesterday night we went out to the Blabla Club, at the other side of the Niger. Way too expensive. But le plus singe Josh managed to get us - the usual bunch plus our dear colleagues Moussa, Amadou and the lovely Maimouna - a VIP spot with a bottle of wodka and some juice. But, the bottle was too small, according to Josh. So he had to try and get a bigger bottle. To our great relief he settled down after half an hour of discussion... so we could finally drink the wodka. There are many Lebanese here. They make great humus and baba ganouche. And they own Le Biblos, the club I went to two weeks ago. That probably explains why it is so much more western than the Blabla Club, where they play much more African-style stuff. Unfortunately the guy at the Lebanese restaurant around the corner doesn’t feel like preparing falaffel. But, I now know how to make some myself. At the Miniprix (owned by, you guessed it right, Lebanese folks) they sell fallafel powder. Add half a cup of lukewarm water, form some balls, bake them, et voila! Du fallafel excellent! Maybe I should buy a bag of humus at the Lebanese... Yesterday I bought a little bag of peanut butter. And at the egg-sandwich joint around the corner I just saw them selling a little bag of spaghetti (they didn’t add mayonnaise this time). I really don’t give a rat’s ass about learning all the salutations by heart. It is part of culture, but it is not me. I don’t like to pull off a show every time I meet someone, uttering some magical incantations I don’t understand. But, I still feel that my Bambara is going quite well. I haven’t find any real book in Bambara yet (and I forgot about finding a bilingual French-Bambara book), but I’ve found a nice Bambara course which is great to carry along, say out loud some phrases, make people smile, and corrrect my pronunciation. And, as I wrote yesterday, I actually started writing Bambara myself, still very basic, but it’s directly on the Bambara Wikipedia. Still have to wait for other people to join the effort. But that worked out very well for the Limburgish Wikipedia. I hardly ever write anything myself, but there is now 1 very active (several articles a day!) and some active contributors, and the - to my knowledge - first encyclopedia in Limburgish is approaching 200 articles, written in less then 3 months! Oh, and from the French-Bambara dictionary I learned that Kunafonix (the Malian GNU/Linux LiveCD/InstallCD) should probably be written Kunnafonix... Here in Mali I’m refinding, and redefining myself. It’s a great experience, socially, culturally, intellectually, emotionally. Yesterday I joined Laura on a visit to her Malian family. In Africa it’s very common to be adopted, or rather, be accepted as a member of the ’extended family’. African families are so totally different than Western families. Many many people live in one house, share their lives, their food, their money. Her Malian mother was in a very bad shape. She has diabetics, and would be in trouble even if she were in the West. I hope she’ll recover... On the way there we met Anna, and Rusty, an American living who’s living in the same building as her. He gave me Markus’ phone number, a German saxophone player who ’s allegedly in for some experimentation, and who knows quite some open minded Malian musicians. So that’ll be fun! :)

And now for something completely different...

While writing this I’m concurrently reading this amazingly interesting article, about a "Princeton University project, run by a group of scientists who respect the scientific method, who are trying to do their best at sounding humble while making extraordinary claims". It might be bullocks, but the article is fun to read, and the implications of this stuff being true are - literally - mind-boggling.

During the late 1970s, Prof Jahn decided to investigate whether the power of human thought alone could interfere in some way with the machine’s usual readings. He hauled strangers off the street and asked them to concentrate their minds on his number generator. In effect, he was asking them to try to make it flip more heads than tails. It was a preposterous idea at the time. The results, however, were stunning and have never been satisfactorily explained.

Again and again, entirely ordinary people proved that their minds could influence the machine and produce significant fluctuations on the graph, ’forcing it’ to produce unequal numbers of ’heads’ or ’tails’. I might have told somebody, once, seemingly ages ago, about a yellow Russian schoolbus with weird writings, I dreamt of that night... Sweet dreams!

And then there was Kunnafonix

Guaka — Thu, 03 Feb 2005 03:34:50 +0000

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I expected that, as a white guy from the west, you would also pay accordingly. It happens to be, however, that in Mali people actually don’t try to rip you off all the time. In India anyone would try to get some extra cash from us poor westerners. But here, up to now I only paid too much to a cab driver. I actually knew that I was way overcharged for my cab ride to the Hellen Keller Institute, but what the heck. 2000 CFA instead of the 750 CFA we paid to get back. It was hot, and I didn’t feel like stressing myself. I just told the guy that I knew he was bullshitting me. For food and the like prices asked were always correct. I bought some dates (dadels, Dattels, dattes) and the 1000 CFA I paid were just fine, according to Issa, our driver. He actually speaks not only French and Bambara, but also Arabic and his mother tongue. As do many other people here, in this francophone muslim country with 12 or so national languages... The InstallCD (and we get a LiveCD for free, in the process) is rapidly progressing. Based on Morphix, and meant to make it easy to put lots of useful free software and free information on computers people in the west are dumping. Amadou, my percipient Malian colleague, proposed to name it Kunafonix, after kunafoni (which is Bambara for information). So within a week or so we’ll probably be able to put out a beta version with lots of cool stuff that can be used at radios and schools in Francophone Africa (or any Francophone country for that matter). It is funny, you can buy oranges at about every second street corner, but the orange juice people drink here actually comes from Spain or France. At least, the people who can afford to buy orange juice. It seems that 50.000 CFA (69 EUR) a month is actually a decent wage here. That’s about 42 litres. So most people eat rice and beans (rice, beans, beans, rice, beans, rice, rice). I’ve read somewhere that the CFA is way overvalued due its fixed rate with the euro, with the consequence that rich people can get western products for relatively low prices, but that the goods of the poor people involved in farming and fishing (about 80% of the population) are too expensive to compete on the world market. So, we volunteers could actually buy 5 times as much orange juice a month. We’re fucking rich here, to local standards. Which is hard. How to explain that my digital camera wasn’t expensive while it could have meant food for an entire family for a month or so? What to do? Spend the money on the pool and the housemaid? "Well, yeah, isn’t that gonna feed families just as well as giving away would do?" could one ask himself to soothe those thoughts. The courses at HKI, given by my geeky colleagues (although I’m probably the ubergeek of our group) were a big success. By Friday night the radio stations will be equipped with a website, which they can easily manage themselves It’s good that I dropped by, not only to give a techy helping hand here and there, but, more important, to meet the people I will work with later on, when I’ll be visiting other places here in Mali. Yesterday evening I found out that the Citroen 2CV is actually one of the best cars to ride in this city, much more comfortable than the Geekcorps 4WD. Its suspension and open roof are just sooo convenient in this hot and dusty city, where unpaved roads contain many deep holes, and there aren’t that many paved roads. Although I haven’t seen much of the city, I haven’t seen any traffic lights yet. I neither went out to shop for clothes, books or musical instruments. I will on Saturday. And I’ll probably get ripped of then. ’Cause it seems that for stuff like that you are supposed to hassle. Isn’t it so nice to wake up (at times I would consider brutal just a while ago) and hear that "...with a healthy, growing economy, with more Americans going back to work, with our nation an active force for good in the world -- the state of our union is confident and strong."? And realising that you’re a part of that? Well, am I? No, what? Well, I am more or less paid by this clique of well-respected criminals to improve their image. So well, fuck it! I’m doing stuff I like, "helping create a better way of life for Malians in one small way, providing radio stations with better access to information. It’s intended that they will use that access to spread relevant info to the people - weather reports, law changes, etc - that will help them grow more crops, do better business, and raise the overall standard of living." A k'an be!

Learning another language

Guaka — Tue, 01 Feb 2005 03:36:57 +0000

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It is interesting to be in a country with 11 national languages besides the official language, and these are only the biggest language groups. So many languages makes French actually much more neutral than one would think at first regard. I haven’t been studying Bambara as much as I wanted. Bambara is, surprise suprise, the language of the Bambara, comprising 30% of the population, and Mali’s lingua franca spoken by about 80%. Many think learning languages is difficult. I think it isn’t. If you know how to read and don’t feel too scared to start with actually practicing the very little knowledge you have when there is an opportunity it’s not so difficult, as others have come to realise. The problem with many African languages is, however, that there isn’t actually a lot to read. And reading is one of the best ways to start when learning a language... Though here I must confess that I haven’t checked out Bamako’s bookstores yet, in which I hope to find some bilingual French-Bambara books. Wikipedia is a perfect tool for learning languages. Not only can you look up an article - which should be much quicker, and actually can be much quicker thanks to Wik2dict - you can also contribute to Wikipedia while learning! I think a great way to learn a language is to actually write - once you reach a sufficient level to actually use a dictionary and conjugation system you can start trying conveying your ideas in that language, by writing emails with native speakers and even by actually creating new information! If native speakers can understand what you wrote, they will be tempted to correct your hair rising grammar and spelling errors... And you learn from it! The other way is to participate in adding to the phrasebooks at Wikitravel, or the language courses at Wikibooks instead of making notes nobody will correct or add to...