‘What’s Your Last Last Price?’ – The Malian Market

“Good Morning!  How are you?  How’s your family? And the other family? Your children? Did you have only peace last night?  Me? Oh, no problems to report.  Fam’s all swell.  The hubby is good.  Yup, children are fantastic, thanks.  And only peace last night.  So.  Do you have any bananas here?”

    Even  though I can plainly see the bananas and sometimes just want to hand the Malian woman a mugan (100 CFA) for the 3 bananas and be on my way, I still must greet this way at each stand.  In the larger towns, like San, you can easily get overwhelmed by choice and mass amounts of people, but you can usually get by without greeting every person you see.  In my smaller town, however, there may be less people, but the pressure is on to make sure I greet each person who looks up at me – and seeing that I’m the only white person within 27 km (where another PCV is placed) there aren’t a lot of people who don’t look my way.  Lets just say Wednesdays tend to be pretty exhausting.

    All towns, whether they have a market everyday or not, have one specific day in the week that is known as their Market Day.  If the town does have a daily market, Market Day is just the time when the freshest goods are available, aka wayyy more people.  In cities like San and Koutiala, I would just as well wait until the day after Market Day and still get pretty fresh goods and skip the masses.  My town, on the other end of the spectrum, has Market Day.  Yup.  Singular.  Wednesday means access to tomatoes, bananas, bread, peppers, teeny onions, and occasionally garlic.  These goods only last me 2, 3 days tops.  For, as those of you who have tried to keep bread, tomatoes, or bananas fresh outside of a fridge in 90 degree weather for longer know, its next to impossible.  Oh how I miss whole foods.

    But, back to my main task.  After getting my normal goods, there are days when I need something a little fancier, like a plastic maize and blue mixing bowl, or some cloth to make myself a fabulous Malian outfit with, I find a friendly face selling said item and begin the bartering dance…

See above for greetings.

Then proceed to…

Me: ‘So how much for 1 yard of that fabric over there?’   

Malian: ‘Keme saba ni bidurru (1750 CFA).’

Me: ‘Eh?! That’s expensive.  Reduce it.’ (Yes, very straightforward, I would say its because of my poor language skills, but really, its just Mali)

Malian: ‘No.  You’re white.  You have money!’ (While laughing and smiling)

Me: ‘You must be a Coulibaly and have had beans for breakfast! (Malian joke that will literally crack them up) Give it to me at keme fila ni bidurru (1250 CFA).’

Malian: ‘ Eh, Allah! No.’

Me: ‘Fine.  What’s your last last price?’

Malian: ‘Keme saba (1500 CFA).’

Me: ‘Ayiwa (okay).  Here’s your money.  Ala ka sugu diya (May your Market Day be blessed). 

    The Malian market and bartering really just have to make you smile.  Most Malians laugh with you as you are telling them they are crazy for trying to charge you so much – when you both know what the correct price should be - and they always reduce it.  Sometimes its amazing how big the jump is from the first price to the last last one.  More advice:  Even if you are told a seemingly priceless green, yellow, and red belt (the colors of the Malian flag) with a shiny, rhinestone rimmed belt buckle adorned with the smiling face of our dear President Barack Obama on its face is only $2, barter.  You can probably get them to $1.75.  Maybe even a $1.50 if you tell them you named your donkey after them. 

Ode to the Bashe.

     Three dollars, keme saba, gets me from my town road to the larger city of San.  A 65 kilometer trek that can take from 1.5 hours on a perfect day to upwards of 5 hours, if you’re me and have terrible luck with Malian transport.  You may be saying to yourself, “FIVE HOURS, that’s just over 30 miles Alyssa!  You could bike and get there faster!”  Well in response I say, “Oh, well you must never have met my friend Bashe…let me introduce you:”

WHO:    Name – Bashe; Age – anywhere from 10-30ish years; Color – white, blue or an off shade of rust with a side of rust.

WHAT:   A small van – almost the size of the old green Aerostar van like the Marks’ used to own – except in Mali, it fits upwards of 25 people.  You must mind your arms or you’re bound to get scratched by the rust, bump into a woman breastfeeding her 2 year old child, or perhaps disturb a chicken’s slumber.

WHERE:  This vehicle is found everywhere in Mali and will take you just about anywhere you’d like to go – but no guarantees when you’ll arrive or whether you’ll be sold to another vehicle along the way if yours breaks down or if you’ll take a quick nap on the side of the road until one of their friends with a ‘more reliable’ bashe arrives to pick you up…assuming there’s space.

WHEN:   Most transport here leaves between 7H00 – 10H00 and then again from 15H00-17H00 from the bigger towns.  If you’re me, you bike from your home the 2km to the main road and sit with the ever-so-friendly Malian folk at the side of the road until a vehicle passes your way.  I’ve been lucky enough to only wait 2 minutes and then other times wait for quite. some. time.

HOW:    Once you see the van chugging down the road your way you raise up your arm, as if to hail a taxi, and the van will slow to a hum, ask you where you’re headed as they are already piling your goods (backpack, bucket, bike, goat if you so choose) onto the roof, and you’re on your way.  You climb in – and sometimes over numbers of people – and find a space while simultaneously asking all around ‘How are you, how’s your family, and your children?’  Some days you’re lucky and get a few seats to yourself, other days you’re stuffed in the row with 4 other people – inevitably with a small child or chicken on their lap.  Malians en route also tend to the larger side because those who have money in Mali – which you must to travel – are expected to be heavy-set. 

and finally…

WHY, Alyssa, WHY?:  Well, what choice do I have?  It’s my escape to Internet, electricity, cold drinks and English speaking friends!  I’m forbidden to ride on a moto and trying to bike would likely be a poor choice seeing that I’m on the cusp of the desert.  And how ‘bout a donkey cart?  Well, I could get there that way, but considering each time I run in the trails behind my abode I pass up at least 2, I think I’ll take my chances at 5 hours – even though the smell might be just as rough. 

And I will end with some advice: if you plan to take a visit to Mali, or any other West African country I presume, prepare yourself for a harrowing ride, or 12.  It’s a good thing Malians are so genuinely friendly and often share a snack and at the very least a huge smile on your journey :)

Cinquantenaire!

     So I’m going to change the format of my blog for the next little while after a dear friend of mine inspired me with her tributes at the end of her year teaching in Thailand.  I am not doing a whole lot at site right now other than language practice.  I figure this is a better time than any to start one of my other Peace Corps tasks – to bring Mali & African cultural understanding back to America!  This is mildly selfish in that it will allow all my committed readers the ability to relate to me when I return home all crazy-like.  However, I am also hopeful a few future Mali PCV’s may stumble upon this blog before coming in February & July and get a little bit of a better picture of what life is really like here.  I will be trying to keep the posts mainly with a funny or upbeat tone, but there are topics to be covered that are of a more serious nature and I will try to intersperse those throughout as well.  Blogs to look forward to: ‘What’s Your Last Last Price? – The Malian Market’; ‘An Ode to the Bashe & Other Harrowing Malian Transport’; ‘A Day in the Life of…’ – featuring Malian Men, Women, Children and perhaps a guest spot from a fellow PCV. 

     But first, I must share my experience of this year’s Malian Independence Day – Cinquantenaire!  This year marked the 50th since Mali gained independence from France and it was a joyous day – likely my best here so far.  I was handed an invitation the evening before stating the events would commence at 07H00 and in typical Malian fashion I arrived at 09H00 and was right on time!  I got the perfect seat, right behind the Mayor and his cronies and the village chief (aka the dugutiki).  There was a flag raising ceremony accompanied by song and then a number of speeches from the mayor, the dugutiki, and a few others all in Bambara and French.  The mayor outlined some of the things he hopes to work on in the upcoming year – including time invested in education reform & he stressed the importance of education for everyone, Hooray! 

     Once the speeches were over there was a constant flow of villagers, men & women, walking over to the line of 6 people in front of me, raising their respective arms and shouting at the top of their lungs as a sign of respect and to bless them and in return often received 100 CFA ($.20).  Then began the myriad performances from huge xylophones (balonis) & other Malian instruments, to singing and tons of dancing.  The performances had a repeat of the arm raising, but many of the performers instead received 1000 CFA – clearly much more lucrative :)  They also hosted a number of games for the children including a twist on pin the tail on the donkey, a rice sack race, and a very unsanitary game where young boys dunked their heads in buckets of water to fill their mouths, run to the other end of the field and spit into a bottle and whoever filled theirs up first won.  It was all quite strange to take in it being my first Malian fete!  I took some videos and photos of the day and hope to get them up sooni. 

     After the ceremony the most important and respected men in the commune (consisting of 16 villages) and myself went to the Mayor’s office to share a meal.  It was the first time in village eating at the same bowl as a group of grown men, so I felt some pride in that!  Now if only I could get them to wash their hands we’d be golden!  The rest of the day was spent relaxing and watching a local soccer game but I feel lucky that right at the start of my time here I got to celebrate with my village such an important event in their history.   

     That’s news for now so until next time…