So Wrong

I was conflicted about blogging this but have been since persuaded.

Now clearly my initial reaction when seeing something like this is "take a photo".  I find this sort of thing hilarious-- and to be clear, not hilarious like "haha, that racial group looks so funny" but rather hilarious like "I cannot believe that these sorts of images still exist".

I guess I could easily think about this sign in a different way and be super offended, or disgusted, but frankly my reaction is to find it sadly humorous.  Who are the people who designed this sign and when were they born?  Had they ever seen Asian or Black people?  Did they not learn that it's not okay to caricature racial features?  Also who is enticed to enter this establishment after seeing that sign?  What sort of person is a regular at this place?  Is it full of people ironically amused by the absurdity of it or full of neo-nazis?

Also, this sign is on a major street in a capital city swarming with tourists.  For some reason that makes it particularly egregious to me, though perhaps it shouldn't matter.

Anyway, every once in a while I feel like Europe is light-years ahead of the US in social awareness and fraternity but then I see something like this and can be thankful that I'm reasonably sure this would not fly chez moi (at least not in a capital city).

Goddammit Mali!

I wasn't really reading the news during my Thanksgiving break but I came back to the office today to hear a little tale about 6 people kidnapped in Mali.

Normally this kidnapping business happens in the North where the term "Mali" is used on maps but I don't think anyone is fooled into believing that the Malian government has any control over that part of the country.  However this time, the terrorists dipped too low for comfort and BAM, my beloved little Mopti has now become a "red zone" and all ex-patriot staff in the city have been removed to Bamako.

Flashback to Niger and my discussion with the UN security chief which essentially amounted to the idea that "terrorists can't swim".  Traditionally the shenanigans of AQIM occur north of the Niger River and everyone thought they'd never cross.  The logic was that it would take too long to escape back to the safe haven of the desert, despite the fact that you could easily swim across the river.  Then AQIM struck in Niamey, on the wrong side of the river in Niger, which was a game changer.  Now they have done the same thing in Mali.

Poor Mopti x 10000.

It's too early to say what this means.  However, as the Bamako Director told me this morning, the easy decision is to pull out all your staff, the hard decision is to put them back in.

Port by the Port

The camera made an appearance in Lisbon:


Drinking port by the port

A photo of the castle I was trying to get to... back downhill to try the ascent again.

 Some roofs (rooves?)

Spit of Shrimp

On the menu at a restaurant in Lisbon was "spit of shrimp" which made me laugh as I rifled to the french translation to see that they were talking about "brochettes de crevettes". Easy mistake, spit/skewer, same idea, different scale. Still gross to have saliva implied anywhere on a menu.

At the end of the meal I thought I'd be nice and show the waiter and his response was "I'm quite sure that spit is correct, you must be thinking of the word SPLIT." Right.

Public Condoms

So totally immature to find this as funny as I did, but anyway...

There was a really chatty Portuguese man sitting next to me on the plane to New York and he covered a vast number of subject areas including Portuguese government policy, secret sleeping places for flight attendants on airplanes, the different wine regions of Portugal, how to evade speeding tickets in Lisbon etc.

I wasn't always totally listening but when we got to real estate he started talking about:

Public Condoms.

Grossest English mistake ever.

Totally understandable though- condominium, condo, just an extra letter there on the abbreviation. But anyway, we laughed about that for the rest of the ride.

No luggage :(

One of the first off the plane, definitely the first through customs, the first standing at the baggage carousel, standing in the place where the bags first drop...

But no bags for me.

While apparently carrying 50 kitchen timers (a key ingredient in bomb making) to Mali was not a problem, carrying my dirty laundry home was.

When I went to the luggage claim desk the woman had my name on a post-it and just casually mentioned that they wouldn't put my luggage on the plane due to security concerns.

Thing is, my luggage was in the Lisbon airport for 30 HOURS! That's not enough time to rifle through my dirty underwear and get on with things?

Recap

Leaving for the airport now and can't believe I didn't relate this story from last trip:

On the way to the airport, my taxi ran out of gas. Yup, this guy's job is pretty much to keep gas in his cab and know where places are, and he failed on half of it. We pushed the cab to a gas station together and filled it up.

On the drive he also asked me to translate Katie Perry lyrics for him which are surprisingly good tools for English vocabulary. Hot/Cold, Yes/No, In/Out, Up/Down etc.

My last name

When I left Mali the first time the customs man asked me my name and when I replied said, "no, your Malian name". All Peace Corps people get Malian names apparently so he felt that I needed one also and dubbed me Fanta Sissako which was fine by me because it sorta sounds like Fantastico!

In Mopti however, I was told that my surname would not do, I was much better off being Fanta Diallo-- which is a Peuhl name. So for the last week or so I've been Fanta Diallo. I never offer up this name first, only when directly asked but my coworkers are really into introducing me as Madame Diallo.

But today I underwent another name change. Apparently now I'm Fanta Coulibaly because the guy who delivered my pizza said that Sissako's are too small and Diallo's are no good.

Every time I change my name, my network changes. There are "joking cousins" in Mali which essentially means you are besties with strangers based on your last name. When I was a Diallo my joking cousins were Toures and Dembeles. As a Coulibaly apparently my joking cousins are Fofanas. It's way easier to be a Frye.

Guts

It has just occurred to me that I have probably been inadvertently ingesting so many mosquito guts.

I tend to be a swatter but I don't actually squish mosquitoes with my bare hands but apparently I'm the only one. That means that pretty much every hand I have shaken in the last week (appx. 307) has probably killed a mosquito within minutes of touching me.

Also most bathrooms don't have soap.

Mosquitoes

It's my last night in Mali- even the last few hours of my last night in Mali and all I want is to remember what it's like to not have toxic chemicals all over my skin. I just took a shower and am trying really hard not to cover myself in Deet but man are the mosquitoes insane. They cannot be deterred by a fan or a mostly clothed body.

I'm pretty cavalier about malaria which will obviously be a problem eventually. A Canadian girl I know here got malaria and typhoid at the same time. I was relating this story to a driver who was like "yeah, that's normal". Apparently he has had malaria like 10 times. So my time is coming I suppose, but I just can't get myself to take prophylaxis. I'm not super into putting pills into my body, and I'm particularly opposed to super expensive ones that give me crazy dreams.

You're Beautiful

You know that lovely James Blunt Song "You're Beautiful" about him falling in love with someone on a subway and lamenting that they'd never be together? Well apparently I've only ever heard the sweet censored version for american radio because yesterday in the car in Mali I heard the uncensored version and it was ruined! Apparently they don't censor music in English in Mali. Go Figure.

Anyway, there's a part where he says "I'm flying high" like he is feeling so in love that it lifts him up! Except what he actually says is "I'm f'ing high" meaning he is on drugs. What? Lame. Anyway, I said "WHAT" when I heard it and then had to awkwardly explain to the driver what the F word is and why I was surprised to hear it in such a soft song.

Lopilopilo

By an egregious oversight on my part, I did not blog about my favorite moment in Mali last trip. However, thankfully a really fat German tourist reminded me as he sung "Lopilopilo" in the garden outside a restaurant. I almost peed myself.

At my last hotel one night a man with a guitar came and serenaded us and it was the best thing ever. See poorly lit video:

I bought his CD but he doesn't cackle nearly as delightfully in the studio version. Will post that when I get home.

DISCLAIMER: You will have this song stuck in your head for the rest of your life.

Scenes on the Road

So normally I get between Bamako and Mopti by this terrifying little 16 seat plane and while not pleasant, is at least fast. However, all 16 of these precious seats were booked for my return this trip which meant I had to go 7 hours by car.

The trip started at 5am.

I actually really like road trips, especially on roads I've never been on. I get a kick out of happy little scenes including "small child on a large bike" "man in parka in 100 degree weather" "yet another child with a tie-dye Obama shirt" "Absurd amount of people/cargo on a small motorcycle". However this time I had a real favorite-- "extremely dignified old man dressed in robes, with perfect posture, riding really slowly on a motorcycle."

Unfortunately I couldn't get pictures of any of these scenes because in contrast to the dignified old men, we were going absurdly fast.

Quoi

Malians say quoi like it's going out of style. I guess it's the equivalent of "okay" "right" "like" or any other superfluous words in English we add to the end of things.

Yesterday I made myself a personal challenge of appropriately inserting the word "quoi" at the end of three sentences during a conversation. The way I tested it was whether or not my friend looked at my funny after I said it and if he didn't, I stopped whatever I was saying to cheer, point out my victory, and count it. My winning phrase was "T'as envie d'encore du the quoi".

Splat

I have this theory that when cars are going fast there are wind current around them that essentially lift birds out of the way so that you don't really need to worry about hitting them. This theory was proven wrong today, twice. Yup, on my trip back from Mopti we killed two birds. The first one was a giant thud on the windshield and white feathers everywhere and the second one, hours later, splatted on the grill. The drivers reactions were "euh" and "bof" respectively.

Stranger Danger vs. Stranger Friend

My Malian friend (of the unpaid variety) was relating the tales of his recent travels to me the other night. It was his first time traveling outside of West Africa despite the fact that his understanding and insight belies his life experience. He went to Dubai and was full of tales of events and when he got to reflections he brought up something we had talked about in the past- interactions with strangers. He essentially related how he didn't fully understand what I meant about other cultures being a bit more private when it comes to people they don't know until he was standing in an elevator in disbelief as the only other person in the elevator didn't talk to him.

Of course I almost never talk to people in elevators and when I do I mentally congratulate myself on what a nice person I am. So it got me thinking about why. A generous assessment of my own behavior goes like this: "I don't want to bother people, they've got stuff on their minds, places to go etc." However, perhaps a more honest assessment is "I've got stuff on my mind, places to go etc. and can't be bothered."

But I was also thinking about being programmed from a young age not to talk to strangers. You know, there is always that 1 in a million chance that you tell a stranger your name and they become a stalker or try to kidnap you after being entranced by your smile you so naively displayed. Stranger Danger!

But really, how dangerous are strangers? According to Malians- not at all. And I'm starting to sympathize with this view. In fact, it's sort of nice to be in a place where there is so much blind trust. I have been in several situations which would (and after reading this blog probably did) cause my mother heart palpitations. But it all worked out. Strange taxis late at night. Weird guides following me around. All these things are probably not the safest in the US model but they all worked out. They might not always work out but I sort of like working with the model of "innocent until proven guilty" or rather "good intentioned until proven otherwise".

I know Anny reading this is saying in her head "oh great, the last thing Laura will have written before being abducted is some shit about trusting people". So I'll try really hard not to get abducted until I'm able to post at least one more thing :)

Scary White Lady

Yesterday there was a midwife training in the office and some of them have kids they brought so there was a little naked boy (maybe 3 years old) wandering around the office. I bent down to say hello to him and he took one look at me and screamed and ran away. Thereafter, every time I walked by, his mother would cover his eyes so he didn't have to look at me and be scared.

Glad that my effect on rural children knows no bounds.

Too Much Food

The amount of food I am being given here is astounding. I've been eating at the office every day and am just brought a plate of something every day at noon. These are already pretty large plates but then they are piled as high as possible with so much rice/cous cous/millet with a giant helping of some sort of stew on top. Each plate could feed a small family. Granted the ladies I work with are big ladies, but I can't imagine physically fitting all that food in my body at one time!

As a kicker, the child health program in the building just finished a training on how to make special food for malnurished children (so super caloric stuff) and they poured me the biggest mug of it ever and stood around while I drank it.

I might explode.

Things I Know Nothing About

European Economic Policy.

This became evident when I joined a group of expats in Mopti (perhaps THE group of expats in Mopti) for dinner and drinks at my hotel. They were Italian, French, and Portuguese and had a riveting debate about the economic policies of the Northern European countries versus the Southern European countries-- the comparative spending patterns, the attitudes toward regulation, and historic taxing structures, the relative proclivities for minimizing inflation... I mostly sat there and nodded.

Reservations Fail

So this trip was a little last minute and we haven't had internet in my office for a week which throws everything off and the person who usually takes care of my travel reservations was overwhelmed so I did them myself... all of this is to say there are a lot of excuses for my mega fail, none of which are particularly compelling.

So in order to get a reasonably priced ticket, I had to agree to a terrible itinerary that sends me on TAP airlines and had terrible timing and weird layovers (weird like 16 hours in Lisbon on the way there and 30 hours on the way back). So I left NY Saturday night, arrived in Lisbon Sunday morning, took a day room all day Sunday to sleep and then left for Mali Sunday night and arrived in Mali at 2am on Monday. Now in my mind I made a hotel reservation for Sunday in Lisbon and Monday in Mali and I was all set... except the problem with that is that 2am on Monday is effectively Sunday. FAIL.

So I get to the airport and at about 2:30 I'm outside in the mass of people trying to help me with my baggage, sell me CDs, and offer their services as guides (apparently they never sleep). No driver with a little sign with my name on it. I hang out for a bit and stave off the first few extremely persistent guides but it became clear I needed an ally so I grabbed one to help me look for the driver. No driver (because he was scheduled to pick me up the next night, when I actually had a room reserved). So eventually I took a cab to the hotel with the guide. It was so late, all travel no-nos out the door. It ended up being fine, as most sketchy situations in Mali do.

I arrived at the hotel and the night guard was there and said they were totally full and didn't have space for me. This was 3am. We went up to the terrace to try to call the management to see what to do but it became clear that he has a phone, but no credit and can't read the numbers that are programmed in. So I went through his phone looking for the right number and then used my phone to call and after about 30 tries, we got a hold of someone. At this point my scheduling error becomes clear. Devastation. I ended up going down the street to their sister hotel and got to spend the hours of 4am-8am sleeping there before I had to get up for my first meeting. Not the best way to start a trip.

Two Dead Cockroaches

Woke up in my hotel and there were two giant dead cockroaches on their back in my room. Wasn't really sure what to do. Perhaps the appropriate thing would have been to pick them up with a tissue and throw them out, but let's be real, I wasn't going near them. The cleaning lady was in the hall and I called to her and showed her the cockroaches and she looked at me quizzically and said "so you're saying you're ready for me to make up your room today?" Yeah. And gross.

But on the upside, now I know the french word for cockroach which I will remember because it resembles a friends old AIM screenname.

Taxi Tales

Well a trip just wouldn’t be complete without a weird taxi experience. I was spending time with friends (the unpaid variety) and it got to be 21h and we scrambled to get me a taxi before they all go home to sleep for the night. (Ah the luxury of New York and the omnipresence of taxis…). One came speeding down the road and nearly hit us when we flagged him down. Then there was an intense exchange regarding where I wanted to go and how much I would pay, brokered by my Malian friend. Eventually an agreement was made, even though it seemed pretty clear that the driver didn’t know where my hotel was, nor did he speak any French. Eh- it was late, I needed to get home, what can a girl do?

Thus started the series of weird occurrences:

#1 He mysteriously lit a match under the steering wheel before we started driving

#2 My door didn’t close and rattled intensely and every so often he reached over to physically hold it shut

#3 He picked up a random guy from the side of the road to accompany us- when I asked who it was he said “like a brother”

#4 We stopped for gas along the way because apparently his tank was empty

#5 He did the match lighting thing again and it became clear that the match was to illuminate the exposed wires under the dash so that he could choose the appropriate ones to hot wire the car

But whatever, I got home safely.

I wonder if there is a tipping point of how many weird things need to occur before the situation is truly unsafe? After how many oddities do I take action? Apparently 5 weird things is within my comfort zone.