Bamako

I struggled to write this post because Bamako is a city that grows on you slowly. It’s also hot. This is worth bearing in mind, because the combination of heat lack of breeze affects every aspect of city life. This is particularly true during Ramadan: the fasting, and no drinking any water, slows down the entire rhythm of Bamako.

A colorful plane, with missing parts -- not sure whether it's intentional or not, but to me this captures Bamako perfectly

America continues to fascinate and attract,
something I experienced repeatedly

Upon arriving in Bamako, the first things that struck me were the heat and the resentment toward the French. On my way to get a cab, and while negotiating the fare, I made small talk with three people who all asked me if I was French. When I replied, ‘No, American,’ they smiled and stated repeatedly that the French aren’t trustworthy. I quickly noticed a relative lack of French cars, which were so dominant throughout Senegal: here, all taxis are old Mercedes, and German cars abound.

"Meat Roaster. Pharmacy of Good Health" reads the sign. Malians use bright
colors and signs to demonstrate their sense of humor and zest for life

Then came the feeling that I wasn’t in a city: rather, and despite a population of 1.8 million, Bamako felt like a village, only with the traffic and pollution of a large city. The side streets were often dirt paths, and where there were paved roads it’s hard to tell which of pavement and potholes is the norm and which is the exception. Moreover, unlike Dakar, sidewalks aren’t colorful places, nor do they function as intersections of sociability. They are functional. Sure, there are still stalls, but they’re much more established – some have display windows, for instance. Sidewalks are either so large the stalls barely register, or so narrow the stalls cover them entirely. In either case, little interaction occurs, and certainly nothing on the scale of Dakar’s busy social life. There are no neon lights except in a few areas, little outdoor lighting that suggests animation.

Moreover, the incessant noise from traffic, especially old motorcycles (three quarters of which function as cheap taxis), and the considerable pollution they emit, make the sidewalks on the whole less attractive areas to congregate than in Dakar. It isn’t rare to see inhabitants of Mali sporting masks over their mouths. Since potholes abound, and certain areas serve as sidewalks for pedestrians and motorcycle lanes simultaneously, you get used to motorbikes swerving around you. The key to understanding their driving patterns is to realize they will zigzag to avoid potholes and rocks as much as possible – these are the areas where you should walk, even when wearing flimsy sandals. You need to be constantly alert in Bamako, despite the absence of crime and even of street hustles, just because of the motorbikes.

   

From left to right: the Bamako market place. Bottles designate stops where motorcycles can get motor oil or gas on the quick. Right: the UN presence is hard to escape in Bamako (here, unsurprisingly: photo taken from MINUSMA HQ)

The Niger River which cuts Bamako in two isn’t just a divider: majestic in length, it is also the sole source of a light breeze in the city. When the heat reached 110 degrees, I would go onto the bridge, despite the busy, noisy, polluting traffic, and stand there to feel the breeze on my face. A police officer once asked me why I didn’t go stay in the shade under a tree, or in a restaurant with air conditioner. I explained that in the shade it would still be over 100 degrees, offering scant relief, and that I wasn’t interested in restaurants that catered to Westerners and were thriving with the large foreign contingent present in Bamako. 

All this made my last day in Bamako such a special moment. After walking through the city for two hours, I took a taxi to the top of a nearby hill, Pointe G, that offered great vistas of Bamako below. There, I walked another hour at the summit of the hill, in the midday heat, down a dirt path, a flock of sheep my only companions until they deserted me, before arriving at a deserted playground, and behind it, a sweeping view of Bamako. I stood in awe for about 20 minutes, enjoying not only the breathtaking view, but the sense of peacefulness – the sounds of the city rose occasionally to my ears, but muted. Not pollution in the air, no motorcycles zigzagging around me, just the city below and the majestic Niger River, and a slight breeze on my face.