Hi there! Long time, eh? The following is a little story about one of our days in Mali. It's a bit humanly uncharacteristic, as you'll read, but unfortunately not situationally. There will be more to come about what's been going on the past couple of months in the near future, but for now, enjoy a bit from This West African Life...
Oh, and hello to Charlie and Jackie all the way over in K-town. I enjoyed meeting the O-bros and I know they were taken care of very well while over here. :)
Love,
Courtney
HEY! HEYYYYY!!!! _____ YOU! Mind your own _____ing business!
I really want to punch him in the face right now!!!! My friend, Ellie, yelled emphatically, after spouting off a serious of censorious words to our 6ft 5 Malian gele apparantee. I’ll do it!, was my apparent response, after feelings of anger and lack of control of the situation came over me. In reality, I pictured my fist making contact with this man’s face. In reality, I attempted to make contact with his face, but he dodged. In reality, I made contact with his chest, then felt the need to kick him in the butt. What brings two passive, yoga practicing, save-the-world, peace & love Peace Corps volunteers to act as if they’re proving their rank in prison? One word: travel. West African public transport travel to be more specific. Thus, I’ll take you on a little journey that would have inspired a completely opposite type of train to ride if Cat Stevens were with us.
Once upon a time, three kind hearted and patient female PCVs just wanted to get back to Gambia without too much trouble after an adventurous and culture-filled visit to magnanimous Mali. P squared (aka the word transporter in French), Lil’ Pimp (our ticket to great bargains and cheep rides) and McGellan (who needs a compass when you’re in a Muslim country?), as they became known to each other, awoke diligently at 5am from their food comas- or rather they were awoken by their gurgling bellies, thanks to a bizarre, yet generously exquisite dinner consisting of food their stomachs hadn’t digested in over a year and a half, with 2 Austrian diplomats, followed by a night of Bamako’s finest live music and dancing (which is a whole other story more fit to be shared over additional fine dining). Despite frequent trips to the toilet, they managed to pack all their belongings and souvenirs and make it to the bus station with more than enough time to spare (especially with the new departure time of “1 hour later”), to catch the buss that would carry them in comfort, more than 2/3 of the way back to the home people. Between continual payments of 50, the 3 took turns watching bags and searching for green tea strangely packaged in animal print instead of the familiar “gun powder”, to quench the thirst of the obligatory family trip gift. Then, during a routine toilet trip, McGellan noticed the tail end of a bus snake around the corner and out of site. Frantically whipping her head around to locate the bus once situated soundly in its sleeping spot, confirmed her worst possible fear at that exact possible moment: the comfy bus set to carry them 2/3 of the way home had just left the building, without 3 of its biggest fans. Well, they only practically had to kick and scream their way onto the next overbooked bus that wasn’t nearly going as far, although they were assigned isle seats. No, not that one. The isle, bidong optional. 7 hours later, the 3 tuckered travelers reached their destination, where several extremely accommodating host country PCVs delivered the Worlds Greatest Combination: running water showers, clean sheets and a bed net. Taking a moment to exhale the days travel turbulence, they settle into a slumber dreaming about quickly filled geles and road side icees, but not before indulging in a rare tasty treat in the form of Nutella. Now, you’d think one would learn their lesson about ingesting foods outside the “white” food group, especially while traveling. But a honey bee rarely passes a bated hive and for the 2nd morning in a row, it wasn’t the 5am mosque call that summoned McGellan to the porcelain hive.
A little authors observation: I think you really have to be an optimist if you want to remain somewhat sane while traveling in Sub-Saharan, and by optimist, I mean one who is ignorant of foreshadowing, because if I had believed diarrhea at 5am was a prelude of what was to come; if I’d realized the least frustrating part of the day had already been flushed down the toilet, you’d be hearing about a Gambian PCV who went AWOL in Mali instead of this short story.
Anyway, P squared, Lil’ Pimp and McGellan finally set off late morning only to turn directly around in the taxi upon realization of forgetting probably the most important travel item: a frozen Nalgene bottle. Okay! Now we’re off to the car park! Wait, why are we slowing down to a stop, their furrowed brows non verbally communicated to one another. Once the driver filled the taxi back up with gas, they made it those 10k to the care park no problem. Once at the car park, they assiduously paid the ticket dude and promptly began their wait for the gele to fill. Then, after about 45 min, they realized they were waiting directly on the main road, so decided to test their luck in flagging down a moving car. Success in flagging down a big rig, ultimately led to the dialogue at the beginning of the story, at which the gele apparante told our big rig ride to leave us there on the road because we were already on HIS gele, even though we had already paid and willing to forfeit our tickets for the ride with the big rig, who we'd also need to pay. It was none of his ____ing business... Accepting defeat, they took to grieving in their own ways until the cursed gele was ready to roll. There was barely enough time to get wind blown hair when the back left tire, itself, blew, resulting in about a 45 min tire changing session. Back on the road again, it only took a few k for the 2nd and 3rd tires they had fixed on the same axle to become rubber road kill. It was time once again to wait.. Well, they don’t call her Lil’ Pimp for nothin’ and soon her golden finger was hailing and stopping out next ride: a car from the railroad company, whose gas and driver were both paid for, thus the agreed payment to take us as far as the gele was planning, was going straight in the pocket. Finally, 4 cars (including an ever so persistent border taxi dude) and approximately 4 hours later, they had crossed into Wolof Wonderland. Surprisingly swift, they boarded the equivalent of a Senegalese Ragin Party Gele that told them they’d be taken to the point at which they were to be dropped by the comfy bus. However, looks can be deceiving and nothing is ever the way it appears, especially when you’re being driven by the Mad Hatter. About 2 hours before dusk, the RPG rolled into a dusty, desolate car park. It was soon apparent this was not the anticipated final destination of the gele’s passengers, but it definitely was for the gele. Blood was beyond the boiling point, but it does not good to lose your cool, as the 3 had experienced earlier in the day. Nonetheless, nerves were wound and as the sun was setting over the savanna that seemed a little too unfamiliar, even to McGellan. At the prospect of spending the night somewhere an unknown number of kilometers away from their goal sleeping spot, they pulled each other up, like buckets of water from the darkest well and continued to take matters into their own hands. After flagging down yet another big rig, P squared turned on the translation charm and convinced the saintly driver that there was indeed room for 3 grown women and their 3 small children-sized backpacks, in the crammed space of 3 wool blankets. On the road once again, just as the sun passed behind the clouds, the 18 wheeler rolled passed a mile marker denoting that the RPG had stranded its passengers 115k from their destination. Finally, a total of 24 butt-seat prints and 10 excruciatingly long and frustrating hours later, P squared, Lil’ Pimp and McGellan arrived at their last temporary place of slumber, a mere 300k from where they began their day.
Once upon a time, three kind hearted and patient female PCVs just wanted to get back to Gambia without too much trouble after an adventurous and culture-filled visit to magnanimous Mali. P squared (aka the word transporter in French), Lil’ Pimp (our ticket to great bargains and cheep rides) and McGellan (who needs a compass when you’re in a Muslim country?), as they became known to each other, awoke diligently at 5am from their food comas- or rather they were awoken by their gurgling bellies, thanks to a bizarre, yet generously exquisite dinner consisting of food their stomachs hadn’t digested in over a year and a half, with 2 Austrian diplomats, followed by a night of Bamako’s finest live music and dancing (which is a whole other story more fit to be shared over additional fine dining). Despite frequent trips to the toilet, they managed to pack all their belongings and souvenirs and make it to the bus station with more than enough time to spare (especially with the new departure time of “1 hour later”), to catch the buss that would carry them in comfort, more than 2/3 of the way back to the home people. Between continual payments of 50, the 3 took turns watching bags and searching for green tea strangely packaged in animal print instead of the familiar “gun powder”, to quench the thirst of the obligatory family trip gift. Then, during a routine toilet trip, McGellan noticed the tail end of a bus snake around the corner and out of site. Frantically whipping her head around to locate the bus once situated soundly in its sleeping spot, confirmed her worst possible fear at that exact possible moment: the comfy bus set to carry them 2/3 of the way home had just left the building, without 3 of its biggest fans. Well, they only practically had to kick and scream their way onto the next overbooked bus that wasn’t nearly going as far, although they were assigned isle seats. No, not that one. The isle, bidong optional. 7 hours later, the 3 tuckered travelers reached their destination, where several extremely accommodating host country PCVs delivered the Worlds Greatest Combination: running water showers, clean sheets and a bed net. Taking a moment to exhale the days travel turbulence, they settle into a slumber dreaming about quickly filled geles and road side icees, but not before indulging in a rare tasty treat in the form of Nutella. Now, you’d think one would learn their lesson about ingesting foods outside the “white” food group, especially while traveling. But a honey bee rarely passes a bated hive and for the 2nd morning in a row, it wasn’t the 5am mosque call that summoned McGellan to the porcelain hive.
A little authors observation: I think you really have to be an optimist if you want to remain somewhat sane while traveling in Sub-Saharan, and by optimist, I mean one who is ignorant of foreshadowing, because if I had believed diarrhea at 5am was a prelude of what was to come; if I’d realized the least frustrating part of the day had already been flushed down the toilet, you’d be hearing about a Gambian PCV who went AWOL in Mali instead of this short story.
Anyway, P squared, Lil’ Pimp and McGellan finally set off late morning only to turn directly around in the taxi upon realization of forgetting probably the most important travel item: a frozen Nalgene bottle. Okay! Now we’re off to the car park! Wait, why are we slowing down to a stop, their furrowed brows non verbally communicated to one another. Once the driver filled the taxi back up with gas, they made it those 10k to the care park no problem. Once at the car park, they assiduously paid the ticket dude and promptly began their wait for the gele to fill. Then, after about 45 min, they realized they were waiting directly on the main road, so decided to test their luck in flagging down a moving car. Success in flagging down a big rig, ultimately led to the dialogue at the beginning of the story, at which the gele apparante told our big rig ride to leave us there on the road because we were already on HIS gele, even though we had already paid and willing to forfeit our tickets for the ride with the big rig, who we'd also need to pay. It was none of his ____ing business... Accepting defeat, they took to grieving in their own ways until the cursed gele was ready to roll. There was barely enough time to get wind blown hair when the back left tire, itself, blew, resulting in about a 45 min tire changing session. Back on the road again, it only took a few k for the 2nd and 3rd tires they had fixed on the same axle to become rubber road kill. It was time once again to wait.. Well, they don’t call her Lil’ Pimp for nothin’ and soon her golden finger was hailing and stopping out next ride: a car from the railroad company, whose gas and driver were both paid for, thus the agreed payment to take us as far as the gele was planning, was going straight in the pocket. Finally, 4 cars (including an ever so persistent border taxi dude) and approximately 4 hours later, they had crossed into Wolof Wonderland. Surprisingly swift, they boarded the equivalent of a Senegalese Ragin Party Gele that told them they’d be taken to the point at which they were to be dropped by the comfy bus. However, looks can be deceiving and nothing is ever the way it appears, especially when you’re being driven by the Mad Hatter. About 2 hours before dusk, the RPG rolled into a dusty, desolate car park. It was soon apparent this was not the anticipated final destination of the gele’s passengers, but it definitely was for the gele. Blood was beyond the boiling point, but it does not good to lose your cool, as the 3 had experienced earlier in the day. Nonetheless, nerves were wound and as the sun was setting over the savanna that seemed a little too unfamiliar, even to McGellan. At the prospect of spending the night somewhere an unknown number of kilometers away from their goal sleeping spot, they pulled each other up, like buckets of water from the darkest well and continued to take matters into their own hands. After flagging down yet another big rig, P squared turned on the translation charm and convinced the saintly driver that there was indeed room for 3 grown women and their 3 small children-sized backpacks, in the crammed space of 3 wool blankets. On the road once again, just as the sun passed behind the clouds, the 18 wheeler rolled passed a mile marker denoting that the RPG had stranded its passengers 115k from their destination. Finally, a total of 24 butt-seat prints and 10 excruciatingly long and frustrating hours later, P squared, Lil’ Pimp and McGellan arrived at their last temporary place of slumber, a mere 300k from where they began their day.
