The last two days in Paris were incredibly full, and completely lovely.  After some small transportation problems, Capucine and I met Mariah at the Louvre and spent the morning touring the French and Dutch/Flemish painting galleries.  It was completely lovely, we took our time, bonded with art, and chatted idly.  Capucine, unfortunately had to leave us after a couple of hours and report to University, so Mariah and I proceeded on our own.  After we had finished upstairs and took a quick peak at the midieval tapestries - a total love of mine, we headed over to the Louvre's café.  Usually I prefer to avoid eating at museums, as the prices are high, and it isn't always the best food, but we had a lot more of the Louvre to see, and their café is totally lovely - a great spot to sit and rest your feet before soldiering on once more.  We both ordered quiche loraine with salad, which was completely womderful.  Yummy, creamy, cheesy, eggy goodness with bacon and fresh greens with a light dressing - total heaven.  I finished with a café au lait before we continued on, and we enjoyed our lunch in the sunny and pleasent café before it was time to continue to other artworks.  We next visited the Italian Painters gallery, and swung quickly up and down with a brief stop at the Mona Lisa before reaching our real goal, the large scale French paintings.  Both of us had a soft spot for David, and spent a while oohing and ahing over his masterpieces.  Next, we swung quickly by Venus de Milo (another favorite of mine) before leaving.  What with my dad as a classics professor, the ancient Greek and Roman art galleries always feel like home, and it was fun to walk through them on our way out.

There is a a lovely sentiment that occurs after a long day at the museum.  A feeling of being culturally and educationally enriched coupled with very sore feet.  This phenomenon has been dubbed by my family as museum fatigue, and I have been lucky enough to feel it many times, and our day at the Louvre was no exception.  Thus, after we left we were pretty exhausted and decided to find a café a little ways away to catch our breath and some coffee.  Capucine had given me some chocolate torte, so we munched and drank some café au lait before heading out once more and wandering around the quartier.  We ended up settling down outside a church and planning what we wanted to do before the next day before saying our goodbyes and heading home.  The trip was a bit hectic.  I was tired from the day at the museum, but also stressed and hyper-vigilant about finding the correct way home.  Moreover, the Paris underground is one of the most confusing things I've ever encountered.  Not only are there about 15 different metro lines, but there are also the RERs and the suburban trains, so you have to be absolutely sure of where you are going and find the right train (or series of trains) to get you home.  Because Capucine lived so far out of the city, I had an especially challenging time of it, and I'm sorry to say I got a bit lost several times.  I asked a couple guards about where to go, however, and they helped me out.  Then I hit my second problem.   Maybe the train I was taking was just supposed to go to St. Cloud, or maybe it just broke down but regardless, it stopped one station before where it was supposed to get off.  And I, being the idiot that I am, followed the rest of the train off and onto the other one waiting at the station.  This train, had a different destination, however, and took me in the wrong direction.  So, I had to get off that train, wait ten minutes for one going back to St. Cloud, and then wait a little longer to find another one that could take me to my station.  It was, all in all, a little ridiculous, and I was incredibly releived when I finally disembarked at Ville d'Avray and walked to Capucine's house.  Lesson learned, pay attention.  But it all worked out and I was greeted by a lovely dinner with Capucine and her mother which lifted my spirits immensely.

The next morning I met Mariah at the Eiffel tower.  The trip involved taking the suburban train, the RER, and the metro.  Crazy.  And, of course, I got a little confused and lost, but I figured it out relatively quickly and didn't have to ask anyone for help.  The day was cold, and grey, and misty...really ugly, and we decided pretty quickly to pass on climbing the Eiffel Tower.  So, we took the metro and walked across the Pont Alexandre and up the Champs Elysées instead.  As we walked, we talked about how different it all was from Mali, how permanent everything is, the emphaisis on commercialism, etc and it was so nice to be with someone who understood the weirdness of being back in a 1st-world country.  When we reached the Arc du Triomphe, we skipped over to its metro station and navigated to Varenne where we visited the Musée Rodin.  The gardens were free, so we decided to wander around and avoid paying for anything.  Unfortunately, most of the flowers were still hiding away, and a lot of the statues had been moved indoors, but it was still nice to stroll and see some of Rodin's works.  We also saw our first daffodil since Mali, which was VERY exciting.

After Musée Rodin filled us up, we headed over to the Luxembourg Gardens, bought sandwiches and had a little picnic.  By this time, the sun was out, and the day was lovely, so we basked and chatted and enjoyed the beautiful scenery before we decided to continue on to more sites.  We swung by a patisserie on our way out, and bought two pastries for the road - a chocolate religeuse and a pear tart.  We ate the religeuse first, in the metro station as we waited for a train to take us to Notre Dame.  It was, as Mariah immediately noted, a religioius experience eating this thing, which ended up being a chocolate coated cream puff with chocolate mousse on the inside.  So, so yummy!!!  The tart was also delicious and was consumed in front of Notre Dame Cathedral, as we studied at the beautiful Gothic architecture and people watched, noting the idiocy and odd outfits of the more excentric tourists.

We then took a stroll down the Seine and found Sainte Chappelle - one of the most beautiful cathedrals ever.  The stained glass windows are phenomenal and the painted decorations downstairs are exquisite.  I absolutely love it, and we contented ourselves with about a half an hour under the enormous windows which depict Bible stories of the Old and New Testament.  It is, really, Paris' Sistene Chapel - stunning and lovely and unforgettable.

Finally, we visited Shakespeare and Company Bookstore and browsed a bit before making one last quick run to St. Germain.  I had lived in the 6th quartier the last time I visited Paris, and I wanted to swing by a very special bakery for some macarons before I left Paris.  So, after I dragged Mariah on my final errand, we made our way to La Défense, and said our goodbyes. 

The real crazy happened when I got home.  I packed my bags in about 5 minutes and Capucine and I lugged all of my stuff (a lot - 2 big bags, a messanger bag and a kora) to the train station.  We took a train, an RER, and the metro to her sister's house.  While we succeeded in doing it, it wasn't easy, as most of the stations were riddled with stair cases and little ticket checkpoints that were difficult to navigate with the bags.  Then, when we finally arrived at her appartment building, we had to drag them up six flights of stairs and stuff them in.  We ate a very quick dinner, before running out again.  Capucine arranged for us to meet a bunch of her friends at a bar.  It was really lovely, I saw most of the people I'd come to love over the last few days - lots of students, and all her friends from so many countries - France, Germany, Poland, Italy, Ireland, etc.  It was really fun, and I was reluctant to leave, but it was good to get back early as I had to be at the airport by 6:30 in the morning.

And so, with a heavy heart, I said goodbye to Paris.  Driving through its empty streets in the morning, i realized how much I'd miss it, but I know that I'll go back soon.  And, in the meantime, I was headed home, towards my dear family, friends, school, and all things familiar.  And that was a comfort.

 

Well, here I am, sitting in a café in Paris, so far away from Bamako though it's still near and dear to my heart. We arrived at 6 in the morning, gathered our baggage, and said our goodbyes. Mali made several last impressions in the airport - several Malians chatted with me as I made my way through the terminal, and the last time I looked at the baggage strip, a single mango was rolling down it. I'm not sure who's bag it fell out of, but it was a really funny sight.

Paris has been strange. Wonderful, in the way Paris always is, but culture shock is definitely here. I saw a skyscraper and felt so tiny, and wondered how they stand up, and what's really the point anyway? Then there's the fact that Bambara and French are mixed and I use "oui" and "owo" interchangeably now. And that I've seen countless girls with painfully short skirts (for me) - welcome back to the world where you can show your knees. Or that I keep looking for black people amongst the sea of white. I don't find many, and that makes me sad. I also struggle with people not using my Malian name. I've been called Farima for the last 2 months and the switch back is strange. But most difficult of all is dealing with people. I've always heard people say Parisians are stuck up, frustrating to deal with, short. Thus, I've always treaded carefully around them, smiled a lot, turned on the sweetness and charm. And, as a result, my interactions with them have always been really nice. Now, however, coming from a country where you're always super warm and greet and joke with EVERYONE, I'm not entirely sure how it's appropriate to act. I don't think I've made any grave errors, but I definitely find myself feeling a little socially lost.

I'm fortunate enough to be staying with my very dear friend, Capucine, who's family are some of the nicest people I know. Her mom, especially, who is kind of like a French Emma Thompson (think Love Actually). I'm not joking. She also happens to be one of the best cooks. Meals here are heaven. After the Malian "Il faut manger," style, I adore the French dinner. Slow, measured, and social. And the diversity! I was lucky and really liked Malian cuisine, but I missed a LOT of different foods. Here, however, I get salad or fruit, meat with veggies, bread, CHEESE, and really good dessert. (If you couldn't tell from the all- caps, I LOVE getting to eat cheese again...so yummy!) And it's perfect, because I get so much diversity in a meal, but everything's paced so I'm not overwhelmingly full at the end. And, the food is rich and flavorful enough, that I couldn't eat a lot even if I wanted.

Capucine's family live in a really lovely suburb of Paris called Ville d'Avray. Their house is beautiful, full of color and light, and we're only a short walk from the train station that takes you into Paris. We spent the day hanging in the neighborhood, visiting a large park and I accompanied Capucine to her riding class. It was nice to be in a barn and around horses. I brushed one a lot, and spent some time with her before she had to go into the ring, which was really nice. Although Mali had no shortage of animals and livestock, you didn't touch them, so it was great to have a chance to hang out with animals for a while.

Despite the fact that I had not really slept more than a few hours (due to the flight), I decided to go out with Capucine last night. We went to 2 different parties. The first was with her friends from school - most of whom were German. They were all very nice and really easy to talk to. Then we went to her friend's birthday party. It was a cinema-themed costume party, at her house - a huge 5 story place in which one room was transformed into a discotheque. Capucine went as Black Swan. I borrowed a black dress, heels, and pearls and went as Audrey Hepburn. I was very self conscious, as I knew no one and was wearing a shorter skirt than I have in months, but the party turned out to be really fun, and filled with really nice people. I talked to a lot of them, and danced a ton as well. French do the normal club dancing, but they also sometimes do "dance rock" which is basically an easy swing dance - kind of west coast with less control, rules, and steps. It was so much fun, and so great for me to dance again after so long. Especially since I've realized that I've forgotten to dance like a westerner. I got so used to imitating Malians, that now I dance like I used to see them dancing. So I'm sure I stick out a lot now and compromised by teaching some people a Malian dance.

Today's been calm, spent a lot of time hanging at Capucine's house, and then walked around Paris for a little bit before saying goodbye to Capucine (she went to Mass) and wandering a bit before settling in a café with free wifi. Tomorrow promises museums, art, sore feet, and a great day. I'll be joined by a friend from the Mali program, and it'll be nice to talk to someone who's probably going through similar levels of culture shock. In the meantime, however, I will be partying at Capucine's with students from France, Germany, Poland, Italy, and England. Très cool! (Also, people say "C'est wow!" here...how funny is that?)

Hope all your days have been full and enjoyable! Enjoy your Sundays!

~Mallory/Farima

Saturday afternoon all the families packed into a room in the Cres hotel for the famed farewell party. Everyone wore their best Malian garb and we danced well for our families before they were presented with certificates. Some tears were shed before the end of the eve, but with a week of class and final moments left, this wasn't really goodbye.

Well, it's been a week...a whirlwind, crazy, stunning week. Tonight I will sit on a plane, which will take off and within 5 hours (hopefully) deliver me to Paris and a new (albeit much shorter) adventure.

Things I will miss about Mali: -Ripe mangos
-The best oranges I've ever had
-Bag popsicles (especially the hibiscus flavored ones) - they're heaven on hot days -sotramas
-Evening football matches and the controversies they cause in the house.
-The tea-drinkers on my front stoop
-The many children in my neighborhood who call my name when they see me.
-Potates fryers and their wares (homemade Pima is the best)
-Frites with roast chicken and onion sauce - best ever! Nomnomnom!
-Our neighborhood mosque and the call to prayer
-The small, bustling market near my house where I go to buy gifts and fabric when I'm too lazy to go in town.
-Kora lessons
-Encounters with people that turn out to be ridiculously famous and awesome
-The livestock that wander Bamakos streets - all the goats, chickens, sheep, and particularly the donkeys.
-My tailor who has made me so many beautiful clothes
-My loving host family, who have made the transitions into life here so much more feasible. (Especially my little sister and our various craft projects.)
-Bamako itself, in its crazy, hectic beauty filled with some of the best people in the world.

Things I will be excited to get at home:
-A more temperate climate (the heat is growing so extreme that I can't sleep anymore)
-The ability to come home and not be covered in red dirt -Skim milk
-Cheese
-Museums
-Clean water everywhere
-Friends
-Work (oddly, I do kinda miss an academic lifestyle) -My cat
-My really comfy beds - at Carleton and home
-Mexican food
-Ice cream
-My computer (I hate putting it down, but it does make work, applications, and blogging a LOT easier)
-My harp
-My dear family

I remember showing up in Bamako - how terrified I was, how I had absolutely no idea what to expect (none of us did, really). Ten weeks later I can navigate this crazy city with ease. Now, my hand and feet are decorated with henna, my stomach maybe a little distended from all the rich food, my suitcase is overflowing with beautiful cloth, and my head and heart are full of memories, experiences, sensations and lessons. And in less than 12 hours, I will leave.

A week ago, when I thought of leaving, I only felt depressed. I wrote a long, indulgent journal entry about my fears about going home, my worries that I would forget what this trip has taught me and in transitioning back to life at school I'd lose parts of my experience. I don't feel that way now, however. Granted, I could easily and happily spend another few months here, but after a full week of living each moment like my last, I know it is time to go home, carrying Mali with me, and see how much I've changed.

I know at times it will be difficult. I know I will miss the sights, smells, experiences, and people that have been my reality for the last 3 months. I know I will struggle with aspects of Western culture - particularly the materialism and vapid consumerism. I know I will wonder at times how people can be so mean and self-absorbed, and then instantly wonder if I am too. I know I will miss Malian hospitality. I know in Northfield I will wonder "Where are all the black people?" I know I will cry as we leave Cherif and our families and climb on the plane.

But I also know that home has its comforts, and even though this transition will be difficult at times, it is a testimony to how wonderful my family, Cherif, and Mali itself have been to me. Before I left, people told me this program would change me, and I often wondered what that meant. I am, however, finally beginning to understand what they meant. This experience has altered me for the better. To explain how, is more difficult. I could say that I'm more culturally aware now, that I know how it feels to be a minority, that I have seen poverty and polygamy. But, there have been other changes too - deeper, less tangible changes that will probably become more apparent as I go home and visit other parts of the world. The fact is, however, I am so grateful for my time in Mali and all the changes it's brought on. Moreover, I know that these changes as well as the lessons I've learned and experiences I've gained here will serve me well in the future. And, I have no doubt that I will come back some day for more. As so many people warned me, Mali has gotten her claws in me, and that is a truly wonderful feeling.

We spent our last night just outside of Bamako, in a hotel/resort that is often frequented by toubabs who work in Bamako and want to escape with their families for the weekend. It was utterly bizarre walking in, the entire place FELT Western and they were playing things like Fleetwood Mac and Johnny Cash on the radio. It was really strange - being in Mali, but not at all. In that sense the place does its job well - you're totally transported. They had all sorts of entertainment - a playground, hammocks, volleyball and badminton courts, a big field for soccer, a pool, cushy seating, several bars etc. (The playground also had a teeter-totter which I realized I haven't seen in the states in a long time. Of course the lighter members of the group couldn't resist trying it out.) It was, in many ways, a small haven, a perfect way to decompress after the craziness of the Grand Voyage. Our beds were comfy. (Funny though, all the girls slept in a room lined with mosquito-netted beds that could not have looked more like the small cylindrical beds used by Ripley and the crew in "Aliens". It was super cool and space-age-y!) Our meals were phenomenal. (We got APPLES! Nom!). And, it was impossible to be bored, the whole place was filled with things to do as well as quiet places for chatting, reading, and writing if you preferred that.

In other aspects, however, it was strange. I think a lot of us were kind of freaked out by the Western atmosphere. Moreover, coming on the heels of the Grand Voyage, which both exhausted us and kept us together for a while, we all started to realize that we would be going home in less than 2 weeks. For me and many others, this produced a much more somber air and a bit of melancholy. Honestly, I indulged a bit - wrote the ridiculous lamenting journal entry and let myself feel sad for a bit. I figured I could do it for an hour or so, before returning home to my family and living it all up. We went for a final swim and talked logistics with Cherif about the next week before climbing into the cars one last time and heading out. We also gave a gift - a huge box of tea, to our trusty drivers, who helped us so much over the last few weeks. Saying goodbye to them started a few tears, but we were all dry-eyed by the time we left.

Driving through Bamako was great, I felt at home, and it was so nice to finally see a city I knew. The best part, however, was getting to my house. As soon as I hopped out of the car I was greeted by all the guys who sit outside and make tea. Then, as I was entering the house, my family saw me, and I heard them call out my name. There is a noise that Malians make - a high pitched cry of delight - when they are especially happy. For weeks my friends and I have talked about this noise, adored it, and tried to recreate it but it's pretty impossible. When I saw my family, however, I made the noise. (Perhaps a lucky few of you will hear it when I come home.) It was wonderful to see my family. I quickly threw my bags in my room and washed up so I could spend my evening chatting with my host mom. It felt so great being home, back in a system, back with people I know and love. I felt like all the weight and fatigue of the Grand Voyage was lifted in that moment, and I was really happy.

The last week has been a whirlwind of work, errands, and fun. We all had service learning projects that we did during the week. I worked with 4 other girls at CSCOM, a health clinic that specializes in treating women and children. Their work was incredible - they see over 40 patients a day, and deliver infants by night. And, although they lack some money and equipment, they do a wonderful job with what they have. One aspect that especially impressed me, was their family planning. They work very closely with their patients - seeing them often and giving good advice for safe health practices. For example, they advise that women have no more than 6 children in their lifetime, and that they have just one child every 2 years. They offer women birth control (in the form of implants in their arm) and consult each woman before the implant to decide if she wants/should have contraception or sterilization. They also follow up with the pregnancy in all stages as well as for the first five years of the child's life. Moreover, they try to provide DCI medications to their patients (they're expensive and hard to find here). The midwives especially impressed me though. One afternoon, a woman (8 months pregnant) came in who was in a lot of pain. The midwives laid her down on a bed, and within the next hour talked her through the birth. The infant was TINY and wasn't breathing correctly, but they stayed calm, cleaned her off, and gave her an injection and she was fine. It was so empowering for me, to see this center, to see their amazing work, to spend time, with all these amazing women. Most women in Mali stay at home and don't work, so it was really interesting and wonderful to spend some time with women who were better educated and working. The best time, in some ways, was the afternoons, when all the patients had left and we got to chat with the midwives as we ate some lunch. I hope, with all my heart, that I can go back to this center in the future, if nothing else, than to see the people we met, but better still, to bring some money/supplies, and maybe work with them more in the future.

It's been insufferably hot here - something I won't miss when I leave. (I've been taking 3 cold showers a day.) The last week has been strange, I've refused to brood much on our departure, but it's hard not to get a bit sad, to ask yourself if this is the last time you'll see something for a while. The whole thing is turning into a major juggling act, as I try to navigate spending time with my schoolmates and family, having experiences I missed earlier, finishing up school work, running errands, and answering the many demands of people to spend time with me. I treasure every moment, and appreciate everything that this experience has given me. I feel so grateful, so changed (for the better), and so full of wonderful experiences. And I've been raiding the tailor. Really. I've visited every day since Friday or Saturday. He has even started to invite me in on days he doesn't work just to chat. I've given the poor man so much work - but then again, he has a full staff, and I've given him a lot of money too.

Whew that was long! Sorry folks! I had lots to recap! I'll try to post once more before our departure on Friday, but if I don't, I think you'll understand why.

<3 Farima

Like so many of our other stops, our visit to Sikasso was brief. We arrived early in the afternoon, and passed out for an hour before heading out to see a bit of the city. Sikasso, apparently has a strong connection with the Senufo people, and houses both a museum and research center related to it. The center was fascinating, filled with photos, documents and artifacts. It was kind of funny though, despite the great work it was doing and wonderful pieces it housed, it was REALLY ugly. It was surrounded by lovely gardens that housed tacky blocky sculptures of people and animals, and the buildings were decorated with representations of different Malian proverbs. The worst was that most people's skin was painted with a hideously tacky gold/bronze color.

It was weird. It was, in some ways really cool to see all those artifacts, especially since a lot of African art is stored away in Europe or the US. That said, it was basically all stuffed in a room, spilling over the shelves and onto the floor. I couldn't help wonder how much people see this stuff, and whether its condition is degrading with time and no real preservation measures. That said, I felt really lucky to see all this stuff.

Later we ate a yummy dinner at the hotel and had some entertainment that night as well. Sikasso is also known for its connection to the balaphone, so Cherif invited a group to come and play for us. They were absolutely marvelous, really fun to watch and listen to. One of the performers was especially talented and played, sang, and danced for us. His dancing was marvelous and at one point he sang a song in which he sang to each of us individually. It was an impressive feat - over 25 minutes long, and must have been exhausting both for him and the accompaniment. As with all performances, we ended up dancing for a bit as well. In one song, they called out family names and all the members of that family had to go up and dance. I felt kind of grateful for the abundance of Keitas then, as I was feeling very tired and not especially coordinated.

The next morning, we visited a large rock formation which served as a religious site for both animists and Muslims. One side was the animist side - the site for sacrifices, patters, etc. and the other housed a natural mosque where Muslims could go to pray. Apparently near there a hermit also lives who hasn't left the rock for a very long time. It felt a little strange to be poking around, and I was glad we didn't run into him.

Another part of the rock was where the regional chief used to sit with his court and receive guests. It was magnificent - the best natural court you could have with vaulted rock ceilings and plenty of space. We also climbed the rocks to their peak, from which, on a clear day, you can see Burkina Faso. It wasn't a clear day, but the view was still magnificent.

On our way out, we stopped by a balaphone player's studio. His name was Soleman Traoré and he's apparently one of the best in the business. He showed us his studio, told us about how they make balaphones, and then played for us a bit. He was totally magnificent and really kind and entertaining. Apparently he came to Carleton a few years back and played at Spring Concert, where he was well loved. (I'll try to post a video soon.)

After that, we piled back in the cars, and headed out. I was with one of my some fun people. Our driver's name was Fuseni, and he was hilarious, speaking to us the whole way. We also decided to start reading the Hunger Games as a car, and read out loud to each other for most of the trip.

Our trip to Burkina turned out to be very different from what we expected. For one thing, we only ended up going to Bobo-Djulikaso and didn't get to visit the capital due to changes in the Grand Voyage after the riots. Then there was the fact that it ended up being ungodly expensive, and we didn't end up seeing the main attraction we were planning on visiting. All in all, it was a small disaster.

The trouble started at the border. The police gave us no end of trouble, demanding money for everything - passport stamps, the cars, the paperwork they'd have to fill out for letting us in. Their application form was ridiculous, filled with questions about what religion you are, how you judge your moral character, how you behave in public, etc. The worst was, once we finally got past the border, we had to spend at least another hour at customs and pay them more money so we could continue. We were all exhausted when we finally arrived at the mission that would be hour home for the next few days. We slept in large rooms (all the girls in one, the boys in another) that strongly resembled those in Au Revoir les Enfants. The beds were relatively comfortable, so we couldn't complain too much. The bathroom situation, however was the worst we've had thus far. Now, I used to do a lot of hiking and backpacking, and I've traveled enough to not be that picky, but this was a little much for me. We basically just had a series of stalls, some with pit toilets, others with showers. They were filthy and worse, inhabited by cockroaches. I made a point of using the toilets as little as possible, and decided I was clean enough to get a shower at our next destination.

The next day, we toured a small part of Bobo, which turned out to be an interesting city. It looks really modern from the street, but the second we stepped behind the first row of shops, the polished appearance dissolved into essentially a village, a maze of adobe houses and shops. The crazier part, however, was that the village we visited was divided into 4 parts for different inhabitants - the animist quarter, the griot quarter, the Muslim quarter, and the forgeron quarter. All coexist, sort of. They can interact with one another, but if they want to marry across the divide (for example a forgeron wanted to marry a griotte) they have to leave the village to get married. The whole place was really overwhelming, and this was our first real exposure to animism. We'd had some in Dogon country, but it wasn't the same as seeing the adobe pyramid covered in the feathers of sacrificed chickens. Moreover, we saw the "river" that held the fish which were sacred to the village. This was the most depressing part, as these large catfish were basically swimming in shallow sewage. It was heartbreaking to see so much pollution, even in a sacred area. Combine all of this with the heat, and I think everyone was a little overwhelmed.

We visited a mosque afterwards, however, which was both cooler, and more manageable. It was beautiful, and carpets covered the floor. Our guide led us through, to the mihrab at the back, then we went up the steps to the roof and were able to take some pictures of the city. He had this great way of speaking, emphasizing his words in a strange way, but it was more enduring than pretentious.

Later in the afternoon, we tried to visit the home of Wangrin, the main character in the book we're reading (The Strange Fortunes of Wangrin by Hampaté Ba). Most of the world thinks that the book is a work of fiction, but it turns out that it is actually based off of the life of a real person. The author changed the names of the villages and characters by using anagrams to protect their identities. Cherif has been taking people for years to visit his daughter and grandson in his old house in Burkina Faso. In recent years, however, the grandson has become more difficult, and began demanding money. This year, even through he wasn't in town, he hopped on a plane to come here, and squeeze as much out of Cherif as possible. He also ordered the servants in the house not to open it for us, threatening to fire them all if they did. So, we met two other grandsons, and stood on a very busy intersection in front of the house (which has apparently just been refaced and doesn't look like it used to) and talked briefly to them about Wangrin. Unfortunately, it was hard to hear, as there was a lot of traffic as well as several welders were working nearby. So, maybe less exciting than we'd planned on.

The good part about Burkina, however, was our dinner. We ate at a fabulous restaurant, near the mosque. Dinner was great: green beans, fries, peas, and the best kabob I've had in a long time - topped with herbs and garlic. I also tried bisop for the first time! I've been seriously missing out this whole time. It's this super yummy, sweet juice made from hibiscus. Best thing I've had since I've been hear. I now look for it everywhere. It's that good.

All in all, I learned a fair amount in Burkina, especially patience. It wasn't an easy trip on anyone, though, especially Cherif. He's said that he thinks he's finally done with Burkina Faso, as it's becoming to expensive and exhausting to be worth the effort. This is unfortunate, but I think it's a good plan. The entire group was pretty uncomfortable there, the commute exhausting. And, as Cherif said, there are enough great places in Mali that I don't think future groups will miss it much.

We arrived in Djenné around 8. Djenné is, in a way an island, and we had to cross a ferry to get there. As with Pays Dogon, our cars were mobbed by street vendors trying to sell various necklaces, bracelets, and souvenirs. By the time we got to Djenné, however it was getting dark, so we gratefully retreated to our rooms in our hotel. The rooms were all very nice, and after we were happily settled we went downstairs for dinner. I was starving and loved our meal. We also got papaya for dessert, a fruit that I'm quickly falling in love with. They also offered tea and coffee to us, so I helped myself to some of the lovely peppermint tea they were brewing.

After dinner a few of us asked permission to leave the hotel and buy some phone credit. Once we'd left, however, we didn't want to immediately return, and ended up wandering around a bit. As we meandered through the streets we came to a large clearing and discovered we were right in front of the mosque. Djenné's mosque is fabulous - the cities main tourist attraction. It was originally built in the 13th century (making it one of the oldest mosques in Mali), but it was expanded/reconstructed in 1907. It is the largest adobe structure in the world, and has to be re-mudded every year before the rainy season so that it doesn't fall apart. The sun does a number on it through the year as well - by the time they re-mud it, it's usually covered in cracks. The entire town helps rebuild their mosque, spending a couple days mixing and placing the adobe. Seeing this mosque that night - under the stars was incredible. Djenné has been named a world heritage site, so most of the other buildings are adobe as well, and the city's modernization is pretty limited (obviously causing some big problems), so the stars were really clear and the city streets were very quiet. I've seen a lot of religious buildings in my time, but this one was incredibly moving. Beautiful, ancient, and powerful. I couldn't get enough of it. The fact too, that the entire city's hands go into it, gave it another special dimension. It was incredible to sit on its steps, touch its walls, look up at the tiny ostrich eggs placed on its minarets against the sky. I loved it, and didn't want to leave. Even though we can't enter it, it was still wonderful to see it. And, honestly; I'm not sure I'd want to enter it. I loved seeing it, forming my relationship with it outside its walls, and I like the fact that the interior is reserved for the faithful. I think that makes it all the more special.

After we left the mosque, we met and spoke for a few minutes with a one of the residents. His name was Ousmane, and he had just been at the festival as well. Apparently he is the balaphone player for Baba Sissoko, one of the bigger acts at the festival. He was very kind, and before we knew it, we were whisked off to his house to have a couple rounds of tea. His "house" was tiny, just two rooms, but he made us tea, introduced us to his mother, gave us some peanuts, and every comfort we could wish for. He was so kind, and so attentive, all of us were very touched. Moreover, he said he'd be in Bamako soon, and that we could go watch him rehearse with other musicians. So that's something to look forward to.

The next morning we made our rounds to the most important sites of Djenné. I am so grateful now for our night excursion, as it allowed us to see Djenné more than we would have otherwise. We basically zipped into the museum, the library, the cultural center, and stopped by the mosque for a photo before we had to hurry back into the cars and head to Burkina Faso. For me, someone who usually spends time in the places I visit, this quick touristy way of seeing the city was frustrating. I wanted to spend more time, talk to more people, and was pretty cranky when we got back in the cars. But it wore off, and before I knew it, we were across the ferry and on our way.

We left Segou early on Sunday morning, and as I said, I wasn't feeling too good about it. It's funny how fixated I can get on places. I'd been looking forward to Pays Dogon for weeks and in seconds I forgot about it as I lamented leaving Segou. The drive was long...so long. We stopped for a little picnic around 1:00 and feasted on hard boiled eggs, sardines, bread, and sodas. I'd never tried sardines, my father loves them, eats them on crackers for lunch when he can. I somehow always equated them with anchovies and refused when he offered to share. I regret that now - they were super tasty, though that could have also been because I was really really hungry. As we started out, my car had a problem. An "Oh look! Some smoky fume-y stuff is coming in through the AC unit." moment. An "I am NOT going to die of carbon monoxide (of all things) in Mali today," moment. We turned off the AC after that. It was a long ride, but thankfully after a while, as we got closer to Mopti, the air cooled some. The landscape was spectacular - truly rugged and absolutely beautiful. I made sure to look out the window from then on.

We stopped briefly in Mopti for gas and some snacks. I didn't realize how crazy it was at first, but our gas station was SO much like what you'd find in the States. Unusually so, equipped with a service station filled with snacks. Emilia and I snagged some juice (apple - a rarity here), some cookies and some sour cream and onion Pringles. I feel a little guilty about how much I enjoyed those - they're one of my guilty loves in the States, and to someone who's been munching just Malian food for months, they were heavenly. Not that Mali food isn't marvelous - it is, but the taste of home was very welcome.

It started to get dark after that, and then we turned off the paved road onto a rocky path up the cliff. It looked - in all honesty like the start of a horror movie. Oddly shaped trees and rocks, abandoned motos on the side of the road, men walking alone on the path, little lights in the distance. I loved it, craned my neck to check out the architecture in the towns we drove through. Then I realized, if that was the commencement of a horror flick, I'd be the first to die. I'd be that girl, the one who's running around, looking at everything and chatting excitedly until I suffered some mysterious and horrible death. I'd be the warning to all others - leave the stuff alone, lock your doors, stick together, and pray you survive. It's always good to have moments of self-discovery.

The route got worse as we continued, and as it got worse, our car sounded worse. It sounded horrible, in fact. Like it was going to keel over and die any second. And finally, as we tried to maneuver, the sand caught us. We were totally stuck, couldn't move forwards or backwards. We weren't as bad as Cherif's car though, a few meters away, it was up to its bumper in sand. We had to get out, stand and watch as the chauffeurs tried to push it out. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry - it was close to 11:00, I hadn't had dinner, and our cars were stuck in the desert. In the end we were transported to the hotel in a working car. The chauffeur drove like a madman - fast, crazy. I now think I know what it feels like to be in a chase scene in a movie. But we made it ok, ate dinner, and by the time we were finished they had miraculously freed the two cars and all was well.

The next day, we took a hike to the top of the cliffs and down the other side. It was beautiful, magical. We got to visit 3 different villages, see the countryside, view the dwellings in the cliff sides up close. I was totally exhausted by the end, but I loved every second of it. Well, save the last few. We had been told that some guys would help us carry our water and help us with the more technical parts of the climb. I was reluctant to hand over my water. As a former big hiker/backpacker, I have a certain pride about carrying all my stuff myself. But there was a moment when I needed both my hands, and one of them took my water bottle, and only gave it back so I could drink, before reclaiming it. It was, in a guilty way, kind of nice. And he was sweet, offering me his hand when the going was tricky, carrying my bottle on his head to make me laugh. Anyway, most people had similar experiences, and for those who haven't climbed/hiked much, these guys were saviors. At the bottom, however, things got ugly. We had been told that Cherif would pay for their services, but these guys didn't wait long before they began to demand money from all of us. Some acquiesced, handed over 2000 francs or so, others had to endure the angry glares of their unpaid guides. Mine, thankfully, did NOT ask for cash and I escaped into a car pretty fast, but it was stressful for everyone else, and not a good final note for the hike.

After a quick lunch, and a nice nap, we headed down to visit a local sculptor. His work reminded me a lot of Dolo's and I chatted with him for a while about his practice, what materials he used, what exhibitions were like, etc. It was really cool for me, and he was very nice, so I really enjoyed our afternoon and stayed at his shop for a couple hours.

We packed everything up the next morning and, after breakfast, settled ourselves in the cars. We stopped briefly at a small town where some people bought something's before we left. These towns make me sad. Cherif told us that over the years, these towns have become accustomed to tourism, that their hotels are full to bursting and many people began to make their livelihoods on selling souvenirs to tourists. Now, with the problems in the North and the swiftly advancing desert, people hardly ever visit, and these vendors grow desperate. For me, this produced a constant mix of emotions - I was irked at being bugged, pressured constantly to buy some small idol or necklace but I also understood, and felt sad for these poor people who are going to have to rethink their lives if all this continues. Apparently the sand was never as bad as this year - some cara briefly got stuck, but it was never a big deal. On the contrary, though we took a different route leaving, two cars got seriously stuck again, and needed serious work to get moving again. Guess which two? Cherif's and...you guessed it, mine! I think Emilia and I were cursed on this trip - we even chose a different car, but we still got stuck. It was pretty ridiculous. So, anyways, Rick Perry, I think climate change is really a thing, you know, now that I've actually seen PROOF of the advancing desert, I think it's a pretty safe bet.

We stopped at two more towns before quitting Pays Dogon. The first, was a small village where we watched a Dama, or Dogon masquerade. Now, I've had mixed feelings about this for a while. On the one hand, the Dogon are known and celebrated for the Dama, it's spectacular one of the oldest and best preserved traditions in the world. On the other, however, is the fact that this dance was NEVER supposed to be seen by Western viewers. Tourism has changed all of that. It's kind of sad, one of their most sacred traditions has become an act for curious Western viewers. Part of me wanted to refuse to see it, on principle, out of respect for what this was. Another part of me, however, wanted to see it - to see this marvelous show, cited as performance art now in African Art textbooks. I wanted to see them move, to see one of the most memorable things I studied last term. Of course I did see it, and of course it was incredible. These men are amazing, the way they move, with those heavy masks blows my mind. The Dama is, truly, something you will never fully understand until you see it - and even then you won't really get most of it. It was incredible though, even with the twinge of guilt I felt, the anger at all the Westerners who stole this tradition.

Our last stop was Bandiagara - a larger city, where we lunched at a very nice hotel. It was filled with toubabous which, as always, was kind of weird, but we got a marvelous meal and I saw a parrot (!) amongst the foliage. So that was cool.

All in all, Pays Dogon was interesting, mystifying, and made me feel very conflicted. It raised a lot of really interesting questions for me, questions that I will undoubtedly ponder for a very long time. And for that, I am very grateful.

We met early on Thursday to leave for the Grand Voyage. Of course, we had a last round of classes first. All of us were together all morning for our last rounds of Bamana and French. We were all especially sad to to see the last of our Bamana instructors and snapped a group photo with them before we said goodbye.

After a quick lunch, we piled into the cars, counted and recounted to make sure everyone was there, checked and rechecked to make sure the air conditioning worked, and finally set out. The ride to Segou was uneventful, all of us spent it chatting with our car mates and the drivers or listening to music. Arriving in Segou was like a homecoming. Our first visit there had been in the early stages of the program, and we were all so happy when our cars pulled up in front of Oumar's hotel. We grabbed our bags, and hurried in, settling ourselves in our old rooms. Most of us were pretty tired, so we spent the first night at the hotel, relaxing. Several different musicians entertained us that night - the chasseur from last time, and another group run by Oumou Sangaré's former drummer. Most of us milled about outside, listening to the music and occasionally dancing. As for me, I was wiped out, and ended up passing out early.

Our next day was crazy full. After a quick breakfast, we headed out to visit a weaving guild. As my mom (in the States) is a weaver, this visit was super cool. Women in Segou were taught to weave by colonial missionaries as "something the women could do," and the practice got a strong foothold in Segou (though there are apparently similar places in other villages in Mali). This particular place had some trouble, however, as they broke and ran out of the materials to card the wool. Thus, one of Cherif's earlier groups had a student study with them and later published an article with an anecdote asking people to send materials to Cherif. Moreover, another group fundraised enough money to buy the foundation a computer and one of the students returned to install it. Both were really successful endeavors, so Carleton now has a really special relationship with this place. These women were incredible - they begin learning to weave at age 18 and work till they're close to 60. They receive the raw wool, and card it, spin it, dye it (using similart techniques to the bogolon place), and then weave it into elaborate rugs. They use vertical looms - tying the wool onto strings and then trimming it for that velvety texture. One meter takes a single weaver one month to make. The rugs are beautiful, and ridiculously cheap compared to what it would be in the states. The whole place inspired me - the baskets of yarn, big looms with kind women working diligently on them...I hope to go back someday.

We next visited one of the festival's main sites and saw that the "Festival sur le Niger" is, in fact, on the Niger. By which I mean that the stage is in the water and has to be accessed by a boat that's parked at its side. We snapped a few quick photos and hung out talking with people for a while before heading back. Even though music hadn't started yet (all music at this venue is in the evening and it boasts all the main attractions) it was still insanely busy, dancers milled about and performed for tourists, Tuaregs wandered offering to sell jewelry, and musicians climbed out of cars with heavy instruments. I even saw the calabasse player who accompanied Habib Koité. He remembered us (we are somewhat conspicuous I suppose) and chatted with a few of us, telling about how he was playing with another artist named Mariam Koné later that afternoon. (She's another artist you should check out - she heads an acoustic group in Bamako and their music is great.)

After a very yummy lunch at the hotel, we met a Carleton alum who was visiting the festival. He's now an ethnomusicology professor and told us a little about his experience as an undergrad and after. He also plays the kora, and runs an ensemble at his university. I got his contact info, and now, thankfully have a resource back in the States.

Next, we headed out to see some of the afternoon's performances. We two different women sing, and both were phenomenal, one's music typically accompanied performances using huge puppets of fish, and the crowd loved it when they appeared during her performance. They were enormous, operated by men on the inside and the "swam" around in front of the stage for a bit.

We hurried back to the hotel for a quick dinner and to clean up before the evening's festivities. Cherif was feeling sick, so he and some students who felt tired ended up staying home. The concert was packed with people, and getting a spot near the stage was challenging. We fought our way through though, and were able to enjoy the music from a relatively close distance. I ended up retreating to further up, and watched the performance on one of the many screens projecting it after a while, as some Tuaregs were flirting with me, a real creeper was getting in my space, and I just felt kinda claustrophobic. I ended up running into the calabasse player again though, and we talked for a while, which was fun. We didn't end up going home till 2am, and once we got there Somaila surprised me by saying "Discotheque?" So, after dropping some things off in our rooms, we hurried out again to another venue where a dj would be playing music till 6. Of course, they hadn't started yet when we got there, so we heard another group play for a while before we started dancing. Once we did start though, we had so much fun. We were joined by some of Somaila's friends - two girls who were working for the festival, and I had a blast dancing with one of them. She taught me a ton of new moves and laughed at me when I didn't get them right. It was really fun, and I think all of us appreciated doing something a little crazy.

We slept in late the next morning, as those if us who went dancing stayed out till 5. Our day was mainly spent relaxing at the hotel, though we also watched part of a documentary on the Dogon country (our next destination). It was really interesting, but unfortunately the sound was terrible so it was difficult to understand. We next visited (briefly) the bogolan artisans, and all of us purchased a few more things for our friends and families at home. Then we washed up, and ate a delicious dinner of fish and veggies and cake (!) - it was Molly's birthday - before piling in the car for the concert.

If I said the concert was packed Friday night, it was nothing compared to Saturday. We made sure everyone had phones before splitting up to explore/find spots. The place was packed. Also - I forgot to mention this earlier, but we saw more toubabous than we'd seen in the entire trip - combined. I'm pretty sure all the Peace Corps volunteers took the week off to come here. It was really strange to see them all - especially since most were crazy drunk and acting like imbeciles. Way to represent.

Salif Keita started playing at midnight. I was on the far right - near the river with a mediocre view of the stage. Unfortunately the sound was not especially good were we were, and everyone was talking, so it could be hard to hear. Everyone loved his performance, and the crowd sang along to all his songs. By the way, did I mention that we met Salif Keita? He and Cherif grew up together, and I think that Cherif is the only person in the world who can get/command him to do things. So, he asked Salif to come down and watch the film with us in Nana Kenieba, and he did it! He didn't end up watching the film - he just hopped out of the car for a few minutes, chatted with Cherif, introduced himself and got all our names, and then went back. It was crazy cool to shake his hand, and I was kinda shell-shocked for the rest of the night. Anyways, he gave a good show, and it was very cool to see him in concert.

Salif finished playing around 1:00 and people began setting up for Habib Koité, who'd be the closing act for the night. A couple of friends and I decided to try to get closer, and made our way in the crowd right in front of the stage. It was packed, hotter and sweatier, but the crowd was also energetic, the sound was much better and I had a great view of Habib playing. We actually throughout the performance pushed closer and ended up directly in front of the stage at the water's edge (this was facilitated by the fact that a bunch of people left). The performance was superb, he was dynamic and engaging and his music was wonderful. I was transfixed the entire time and danced a ton. It was a great ending to the festival, and although I didn't end up asleep until close to 5, it was well worth it.

Leaving Segou the next morning was hard. For a number of reasons, I've fixed on to the city, and I was really sad to leave. After two magical nights as well as some great encounters with musicians, I was very reluctant to head out. Moreover, Oumar is always so accommodating that I don't want to leave his beautiful hotel and wonderful person. I nearly cried in the car as we drove out - this probably had more to do with my lack of sleep than anything, but I also know that when I return to Mali, I will have to come back here.