Tag Archives: tea

some of my favorite things.

Frustration comes easily, living somewhere that’s not entirely familiar, where the simplest things are often misconstrued or misinterpreted. Not greeting someone in the morning; eating with the wrong hand (apparently the left hand is pretty tabou outside of Senegal as well, and you don’t want to know why); or any number of small little things that I have yet to pick up on. Conversely, there are plenty of things that make me smile for no reason whatsoever. Simple, seemingly silly things, that – thankfully – are pretty consistently present :
  1. Fancy Friday, or “boubou Friday” as some would have it. Whereas in the US, Friday is almost universally known for being a dress down day, here people do it up. It’s the day where all the men go to the mosquée, and men and women alike walk around in their best bazin for me, it’s a celebration that the weekend is actually here.
  2. When I needed flour last week (to make my ‘steamcake’), there was none in any of the grocery stores in my neighborhood.

    steamed to perfection

    Not entirely surprising. So I stopped by the boulangerie next door to my apartment, and, seeing at least ten 50-kilo sacks of flour behind the window, I asked the guy if he could sell me some flour. Of course he said no (what baker will sell you just the flour and not the bread?), but after explaining my situation, I walked away with a small black sachet full of wonderful white flour. For free. The cake was delicious.

  3. Avocados. Everywhere. At first I was skeptical, not gonna lie. I’ve had a few iffy experiences, and one really bad one. But this week, they hit the mark. I think I’ve eaten avocado every day, sometimes twice.
  4. Mangoes are even more prolific than avocados. And the two combined is better than you’d ever imagine. With a little hot pepper mixed in.
  5. the foam is the most important part

    Tea. AttayaThé. Whatever you want to call it. People drink tea here from sun-up to sundown. There is an entire process that goes along with it. Drunk from a small shotglass-like cup, it’s incredibly sweet, incredibly bitter, and if I’m *really* lucky, has some mint mixed in. Most of the time, I pass, but if it’s just right, it’s just perfect.

  6. Greetings. It takes about 45 minutes to greet anyone here, and basically goes like this. “Hi, good morning, how are you?” “Fine, thanks be to God, how are you? And the family?” “All’s well, thanks to God, how is work? And your family?” “Family is well, thanks be to God, how is your health? And your wife and children?” “Thanks to God, all is well. How are your children?” Etc, etc. This continues, the same questions being repeated over and over. It has this amazing back and forth rhythm, like a call and response, and I aspire – by the end of my time here – to have mastered it. For now, I can get about two lines in before I trip over my own western tongue. I’ve got three months to find my rhythm.

not sure what's going on with my hair here, but me voilà, and Bara in his bazin best!

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90 degrees at 9pm

It’s hard to believe that I am now sitting about 4000 miles away where I was just 36 hours ago. And that when someone says it’s 32 degrees outside, it’s hot enough to walk around in next to nothing.

As the plane was landing in Bamako, I watched the small screen on the back of the seat in front of me that tracks the flight and tells you the temperature and how much farther you have to go. I watched as the temperature went up from 21 degrees Celcius (71-ish degrees Fahrenheit) when we were at 7ooo feet, to 31 degrees Celcius (about 88 degrees Fahrenheit) on the ground. At 9 0’clock at night. Stripping off most of the layers I had been wearing all day, I stepped out of the plane and down the stairs, and it all came back. The reasons I am here and the reasons I know I will love it. The smell of the hot desert air felt like coming home; it made all my tension go away, and, as I breathed out again, made me realize exactly how perfect these next six months will be.

My apartment is incredible. Like I told my colleagues when they dropped me off there last night, ‘je suis trop gâtée’ – I’m way spoiled, to be living there. Two bedrooms, a kitchen, a huge living room, and a bathroom. My room even has AC, which is absolutely ridiculous.

mes valises

I unpacked everything (wondering both why I brought about 15 pairs of socks and how/where I possibly could have left my iPod), arranged my clothes in the armoir, stacked my books on the shelf, did a few stretches to undo the last 24 hours stuck in an airplane or an airport, and passed out on my queen-sized extra firm mattress, flicking away the occasional mosquito as I fell asleep. One light sheet on top of me was almost too much.

mes livres

In the morning, realizing I had barely eaten or drank anything over the past day, save for some Glenlivet in the Air France lounge and a few roasted hazelnuts, and simultaneously realizing I didn’t have any bottled water, I walked toward the kitchen to boil some water to sterilize it. Wearing nothing more than a tank top undershirt and the thong I had worn to bed (day-glo yellow, incidentally), and passing by the curtains in front of my front gate to get to the kitchen, I see a woman standing there who turned around and, in turn, sees me. One thing to know: in a very conservative Muslim West African country, a woman’s legs are the most sexual of body parts. Now here I am, I’ve just moved in, and I’m already parading around like the neighborhood whore. I quickly threw on a skirt which would cover my knees, and returned to the kitchen. Turns out this woman is the femme de ménage who will come every Monday to clean my apartment. I’m sure she has already told everyone that she’s working for a foreign hussie without even the courtesy to wear clothes in the presence of others. Bon.

I drank some tea, took a sponge bath, put on my linen pants and a light tank top and a scarf to cover my shoulders, and walked downstairs just as my colleague Bourama was arriving to pick me up for work. The first day is always kind of funny: trying to figure out exactly where I fit in, to listen as much as possible and absorb everything, to watch the interactions between other people in the office.  I have a basic idea of what I will be doing, but still nothing concrete. Tomorrow I will learn more, and the next day and the next after that. Already, though, I feel completely welcome here, and am basking in the warmth of this country. Literally and figuratively.

Having lived in Senegal, I was somewhat confident that I would at least have something of a cultural understanding of Mali. I had no idea just how many little ‘points de repères’, reference points or things that are familiar, there would actually be. The oranges with green skin that people suck on for their juice; drinking attaya (sweet tea that is also incredibly bitter) after lunch; saying “Bissimilah” to welcome someone; a genuine niceness that seems to pervade everyone. It’s comforting in a certain sense.

Anyway, I am going to drink my second round of attaya, (and pray that the third round is as démodée – out of style – in Bamako, as it was in Dakar), look through some documents to bring me up to speed, and try to wrap my brain around the fact that this is all really happening.