how to attend a malian wedding

as promised...

saturday

go to get your hands and feet henna tattooed... you may or may not be able to tell the woman exactly what you want, and you may or may not look rediculous. but hey, it's fun to sit and be intricately paited for an hour. wait for it to dry. eat.

after your hands and feet dry walk over to the tailor to pick up your dress. this will be one of your two or three outfits for the wedding day tomorrow. in my case, the dress portion of the wedding preparations was extrememly difficult and started the week before, the day after i arrived...

Fanta had told me she was going to a wedding, but since at the time I spoke almost zero french all I understood was "I, marriage, sunday" -- since i knew she was already married i assumed she meant she was going to a wedding on sunday (i learned the days of the week in first grade) but i didn't catch that she had invited me too, i just nodded. the next day, just to make sure, i ask an english speaking co-worker if i was correct. he tells me yes "but you are going too." "uh, what? ok. but i have nothing to wear!" thus begins a conversation between fanta and i where she tells me i can wear hers, but she is way smaller than i am, plus i want a dress made anyway. i go grab the only dress i have and point and gesture that i want it like this, but longer. like this? she wants to know, looking at me like i am nuts... yes of course cus i want a dress i like and that i know fits and one that i will wear at home, no way i am spending my money on one of those crazy shiney tie-died two piece embroidered african dresses, lovely as they are, no. but i can't say all this.... so it goes back and forth a few times "comme ca?" "oui, comme ca, but (point to my ankles and make a hem extended motion) plus comme ca." i end up making a sketch. ok... then she wants to know what color, so we go to her closet and she pulls out the shiney things... no i want a pattern, again i get the crazy look. she tells me she will go to the market and buy fabric and bring it to her tailor, what color. i pick out three dresses of hers that i like, and say like this or like this or like this. dress sorted, or so i think. nope! it turns out, as i said before, that you need one or two dresses.... she pulls out 3 outfits saying she will wear this in the morning, this in the afternoon, and this at night. shit! uh.... upon seeing the look on my face and us both knowing that this conversation has already taken an hour, she pulls another dress out and tells me i will wear this one. ok fine, i will be a plum.

so we have our dresses. and our henna. and i have no idea what i am in for!

sunday:

get up before the sun, put on your taxi clothes (niether the first or second or third dress) get in a little yellow taxi, and head to a village on the outskirts of the city. arrive to the stares of the entire town wondering why there is a white lady at the wedding. anyway, arrive, eat some breakfast, and sit.

wait. sit and wait. people arrive, people leave. more women sit, and wait. finally, put on first outfit. kids run around following orders. women point and talk, point point, yell yell, point. everyone takes a moment to stare at you though, and then carries on.

sit and wait.

suddenly there's commotion outside and the bride turns up! followed by every child in sight. oohs and ahhs and touching. hooray! and then she's gone, into the house. more sitting and waiting. then before you know whats happening everybody jumps in their cars... through the crowds of sunday marketing, with people staring and chasing the cars. it's like mandona trying to get through the airport, from point A to point B with no alternative. everyone stops at point B along with half of Bamako. a small building where everyone crowds into a small room around the couple at a big table. there is lots of yelling and hooting.

and the bam! everyone is pushing out. so, back to point A? nope, not not so fast there! upon exiting there is a huge scuffle around the bride and groom, theres shoving and yelling and people being pulled out of the way, and ,en are grabbing at the bride. why doesn't anybody do anything? why is everybody just letting this happen? oh well, not my problem. back in the car, back through the crowds, back to the house.

sit, wait, sit, sweat, dance (kinda), sit sweat, wait.... what am i wating for? sit, dance, sit.

lunchtime... biiiiiig to-do over the food... women yelling, scooping, and placing the giant bowls on their heads and walking away with a harumph. EH?!? vegitarian? no pork, no goat, no sheep, no fish? EH??!?

back to the house, this time sitting on the roof with the men, which if you're a white woman, is ok

to do for more than 5 minutes. it is cooler, and calmer and breezy... and whaddayaknow, many of the men speak english. so now it is possible to learn what has gone on today. what happened after the wedding? the grooms friends stole the bride. now what? they have brought her back,

she will sit in the room down there for 7 days. 7 days? yep, that's the honeymoon. aliright. what's with all the matching of the second outfits? ah, each family has a color or a pattern.

tea is drunk, millet poridge is slurpped, handslaps are exchaged, and politics are discussed.

one week later you go back to help the bride come out of hiding and watch her get sent off from the house to her new family.

i am still befuddled. but it sure was interesting.

my parents left me in africa...

and on the way to work the other day, I had to stop for a cow crossing the street. "le vache!" I cried out. "oui, le vache" said Amadou. (I learned that word from watching Monty Python by the way.)


why'd the cow cross the road?

to get to the other side!


I was laughing so hard I cried, but apparently this is completely normal. I assume he/she made it... we, of course, didn't stick around to watch since this is not interesting or funny to anyone else around.


If you are thinking, "of course there are cows crossing the road, you are in Africa!" -- well yes, this is true.... except I am not working in some remote village down a long stretch of dusty road, I am working in Bamako, the capital city of Mali... in an office. Hence the computer and the liberty to spend time online telling jokes. So when the cow crossed the road in the center of the city, I was surprised. I was even still surprised when I saw a donkey licking the car outside the apartment and the heard of sheep the went by the office as I was leaving. And everyone else was surprised that I was surprised. and I explained, in my poor but slowly improving french, that such a thing never happens in New York. And they were surprised. I think vehicles and livestock are quite hazzerous to eachother, but that stops nobody from reconsidering the whereabouts of their cows. At least the herd of sheep had an escort.




Anyway... for this instalment I have decided to dispense a little information in case any of you should happen to get lost around this side of the world and need to know where you are.


you know you're in Mali when...

- a cow crosses the road

- you have to relearn how to go to the bathroom because the toilet is level with the floor... and there's no toilet paper, just a swirly colored teapot.

- pregnant women are climbing cliffs with bowls of milk stacked on their heads and babies tied to their backs.

- a greeting can take two minutes and sounds more like a duet poem than a hello and involves an inquiry into your family, sleep, job, etc...

- everything is covered in red dust

- 4 year-olds are taking care of their younger siblings all day

- men are sitting around and drink very strong tea out of shot glasses, and a round is three seperate brews... first: strong as death, second: mild as life, and third: sweet as love.

- you're the idiot sitting on a chair and using a fork while everyone else eats with their hand out of a bowl on the ground

- sometimes, in order to breathe you are wrapping your entire head in 4 metres of brightly colored fabric

- children are running twoards you yelling "toubab" and upon reaching you saying "madam ca va bic?" or "ca va bon bon?" or "bidoun" or just plain old sticking out a hand expecting a "cadeaux"

- everything is reusable...

- pieces of scrap metal are being melted down and hammerered into nails

- the chicken that that kid was chasing around the Bozo village 45 mins ago is now on your plate (not mine, yours)

- you can have aaaaaany article of clothing custom made and everyone has a tailor... and trying to do so is one of the most fun things to do, especially with your mother.

- it is hot as hell and you feel like you should be soaked with sweat, except it's so hot it evaporates before it can soak a single hair

- plastic bags are seemingly growing out of the ground anywhere near civilization

- on the road for 4 hours you pass 2 other cars, 74 donkey carts, 47 bikes, 51 blue yamaha mo-peds, 38 plurple or blue "power k" scooters, and 17 trucks overflowing with food, coal or people... take your pick... and they are all spewing waste in one form or another.

- every other female is carrying a baby tied to her back.

- babies are duckfooted and bowlegged from spending most of the day folded in half on someones back.

- you don't have to turn off your car to fill it up at the gas station.

- you see a little kid in a random village wearing your old new kids on the block t-shirt from fifth grade.

- and if you are learning french with an african accent, you just might be in Mali.


next up..... how to attend a Malian wedding.

mali here we come...

goodbye morocco... where the PA system sings, and the sunsets last forever. country of love, hustle, and sunshine... and the occasional terrible storm that knocks you on yer ass soaking wet for 2 days.... but nevermind that... in the end it was a grand ol' time.


salamulekum... ech, you know what i mean.

the adventures of kay and trudy, part van-sanc

patatas ali-oli, camabert frito con salsa frambuesa, y salmorejo con omlette

siesta en plaza de espana


thank you for coming to adventure with me babe!! ... another new years/xmas with the jewnese.... another chapter in the travel adventures.

legend.