La Saison des Fêtes

Wandering outside early this morning, I was once more the only person in a t-shirt in a crowd of Malians in parkas, sweaters, and overcoats.  The temperature drops into the low 60's F this time of year, which is polar to Malian sensibilities.  I remember being in a village once in January, and awaking to find my host dressed in a full-length green felted wool overcoat, military style with a double row of brass buttons and epaulets.  Nothing like material culture to bring home the realities of globalization.  He really liked the jacket, though; not only was it warm, but he'd also found 20 euros in an inner pocket, which confirmed it for all time as his lucky jacket.  

I've received several emails expressing concern about the political situation here in Mali, so I thought I'd say (write) a few words about that.  This latest intrusion of the military into civilian politics was greeted with indifference among the Malians with whom I've spoken (admittedly, not a statistically rigorous sample size).  Cheick Modibo Diarra (hereafter CMD) did an equally poor job managing public opinion and his relations with the other 2 members of Mali's ruling triumvirate, interim President Dioncounda Traoré and Capt. Amadou Haya Sanogo.  Rumors were rife of problems between the 3, and CMD gained a reputation as spendthrift after Malian journalists reported that he and his revenue stayed at the Ritz Carlton in NYC when he spoke at the UN.  This was particularly corrosive, as it added to the preferred narrative of the career politician class, i.e. that CMD was completely out of touch with the realities of life for the average Malian.  From the beginning, CMD has universally been known in the Malian press as "space man" and "interplanetary navigator."  Even those who found the rumors ridiculous realized their power; The Prince would probably be a boring read for most Malians, who grow up with the firm belief that your reputation is based partially on your actions, but mostly on whatever people say about you.  Malians are nothing if not political realists, and CMD was, in the general view, ineffective.  Even if the rumors weren't true, in the grand scheme of things, many Malians believed them, and that effectively sapped his popular support base, as evidenced by the complete lack of rallies, demonstrations or boycotts, even by nominally opposition political parties.  The interim president appointed a new prime minister within 24 hours, and that was that.

So much for the latest political turmoil.  Bamako continues as before, grinding away slowly, the cold weather and lack of money slowing everything down.  Everyone is gearing up for "le 31," New Year's Eve, a major Malian holiday (or at least a major Bamako one).  Chicken, pigeon, and Guinea hen prices are already on the rise, and the neighborhood streets resound with the whistles, screeches and sudden explosions of fireworks as children clear out last year's stock before rearming later this month.  It has certainly added a certain piquancy to the daily aural background of children's laughter, the hawking of ambulatory street-merchants, passing scooters, and endless chatter at my teacher's compound.  No doubt in another 2 weeks the sight of a dignified Malian man of 40 years old visibly flinching when a pétard goes off 3 feet behind him, then turning and haranguing the group of wildly laughing children will grow old, but it hasn't yet.  Respecting personal dignity is incredibly important in Malian social relations, and it's always interesting to see who can get away with what.  Foreigners, children and crazy people have a lot more leeway than typical Malians.  Still, as in any culture, people are always testing the limits of social permissibility, and much time is spent over tea discussing just who has offended whom during the last week.  

On a less theoretical note, I've been playing kora as frequently and quickly as possible (the latter aided by large quantities of Malian tea), and my fingers are definitely getting faster and stronger.  I've posted some pictures of my new kora below.  It's not perfect, but it sounds better than it looks, and it plays well.  If any of you need a professional-level kora, let me know; I know a guy.  

See you next week.  

The master checking his handiwork

  

My kora is on the right, Toumani's is on the left

Pictured with optional carrying strap

Hand-carved posts and extra-thick rawhide tuning rings

The Cool Season

Greetings from Bamako.  The weather's getting cooler here, people are settling in for the dry cool season, and the wind blows all night long, sometimes.  Good kora-playing weather!

I'm settled back into my old schedule of study with my kora master, Toumani Kouyaté.  In my absence, he's made me a custom kora similar to his own.  An extra-thick gourd and cow-hide, well-fitted tuning rings, geni wood (the preferred of all Malian kora makers) and super-strong American nylon strings from an anglers' supply store, courtesy of Mr. Chapman Ballard (thanks, Bootie!)… I'm really happy to have a professional-quality instrument.  I'm not sure I'm a good enough kora player to merit it yet, but I'll grow into it, and I'm unfortunately way too used to nice instruments by this point in my musical career.  I'll post a picture when I get the chance.  

I've been studying for two days with Toumani, then resting for one.  This schedule seems to be working well; I'm not getting burnt out, despite the intense amount of playing.  In another week or two I'm going to start diversifying, adding in some n'goni lessons and jamming more on the banjo.  For the moment, though, my technical abilities are coming along as quickly as I'd hoped. 

Sadly, the general situation in which Mali finds itself is considerably less rosy than my specific one.  Public confidence in the government is at a low.  Today's the second day of a general transit strike protesting increasing cost of living expenses.  The police have also been particularly bad of late: I've been stopped much more often in taxis during the last two weeks than on the previous trip.  Lots of political infighting: bulletins and flyers posted everywhere downtown, and nothing in the news but posturing amongst the various political parties, rebel and terrorist factions, not to mention the Malian military…  The musical situation is also pretty grim since the departure of les blancs: some of the clubs have kept their doors open, but a lot of the club-goers are gone and don't seem like they're coming back anytime soon.  On the other hand, I was happy to hear the familiar sound of marriage corteges last Sunday; marriages, street parties, and baby naming ceremonies are at least keeping some musicians from starving.  

All in all, Mali's as fascinating as I remembered, as poignant, ridiculous and real as it was the last time I was here.  As always, waraden.diabate@gmail.com's the way to reach me.

Round Two

Hello, faithful readers and new ones!  I'm starting up this blog once more in preparation for my next trip to Mali.  I'll be leaving tomorrow for another six-month stint of intensive, mostly one-on-one instruction in traditional Mandé music in Bamako, Mali's capital.  I'm better prepared this time around, I think: my car is finally in-country and through customs, so theoretically I should be able to drive myself around, I have my own apartment, and I should be able to study with all my old teachers, so the essentials are set.  I've also got a new kora waiting for me that, I'm promised, is of the finest quality.  Mostly, though, I have a much better practical understanding of Mandé music than I had last year, and I'm hopeful that I'll be able to improvise in the Malian style before the end of this trip.  Plus, I've upgraded my field-recording gear with a stand and a windscreen, so there should be some higher-quality recordings up on the blog later this year.

I might try to post some video, as well.  I've stayed away from recording video in the past since Malians, no less than anyone else, act entirely differently when they're being filmed.  Given that I've spent a lot of time and energy trying to become more Malian or Malian-seeming (learning Bambara, entering into a traditional master/apprentice relationship, spending endless hours drinking tea and discussing world politics), I'm leery of anything that will label me as an outsider.  As I said, we'll see; video can be a powerful explanatory and documentary tool, but I'm not sure it's worth the time and loss of intimacy, particularly as I'm not in Mali for anything other than personal study, not as a grad student or ethnomusicologist.

Many people I've spoken with who know about this return trip have been concerned about my safety, vis a vis Mali's current political situation.  I can respond to this in a couple of ways.  First, I'm not particularly thrill-seeking: if I thought there was a good chance that I would be in physical danger in Mali, I wouldn't be going.  I know and speak with many Malians, both in Mali and without, and read a lot of analysis, both in the world media and on Malian news-aggregator sites.  My considered opinion is that, provided that I stick to Bamako and the south of Mali (including Kita and Sikasso, the only other two cities I'm considering visiting), I should be in no more danger than I ever have been in Mali.  Second, while it is shocking to see the huge territorial gains that Islamists and Tuareg separatists have made in Northern Mali, it's important to remember that this area is sparsely populated, and its inhabitants (those that are left, at least) are widely separated and at the mercy of small, well-organised armed groups like those occupying the region right now.  Bamako alone has more than 2 million inhabitants, or about 1000 inhabitants for each militant by most of the estimates I've read.  Mali's main army base at Kati is only 15 kilometers away, while the "front," if you want to call it that, is over 480 kilometers from Bamako, so if I'm going to be in Mali, I think I'm in the safest place I can be.

I realize that none of this may be overly comforting for some of you reading this, but we're just going to have to see what happens together.  Hopefully you'll all continue to learn about my adventures through this blog, and not through CNN breaking news...

Finally, I should mention that I'm not undertaking this trip under the aegis of the U.S. State Department or the Fulbright program, but on my own.  Mali has temporarily been removed as a Fulbright grant location, so I've been working all this summer to get together the necessary funds for this second trip.  That said, I'll be doing essentially the same activities I did while I was a Fulbright Student, just better, hopefully!

Oh, I've also been going through the 80+ hours of field recordings I made last trip, and I'll try to post one next time so there will be more music and less blather.  Excelsior!

See you in November!

Belated greetings from Virginia.  This blog's been semi-dormant for a few months now, and will be for the next few months, too, I'm sorry to report.  Sadly, Mali's current political situation is in many ways as poor as it was when I left a month and a half ago.  The North of the country, including the regions of Kidal, Gao, and Timbuktu, are all in the hands of either Tuareg separatists or Islamists, who alternately skirmish and forge short-lived alliances.  Hundreds of thousands of the North's inhabitants have fled, either South into government-controlled territory, or into neighboring Niger, Burkina Faso, or Mauritania.  In Bamako, the political situation is still confused.  Many soldiers still seem loyal to Capt. Sanogo, who headed the March 22 coup d'état and has, despite his numerous protestations to the contrary, yet to give up his significant political power.  The ostensible head of state, interim-President Dioncounda Traoré, is still recovering in Paris from wounds received in Bamako at the hands of angry protestors in a move seen by many international observers as orchestrated by Capt. Sanogo.  Some cynical political observers have suggested that Traore is seeking to wait out the ongoing political crisis in the comfort and safety of his hotel room.  The highest-ranking civilian official in Mali is thus Prime Minister Cheick Modibo Diarra, a former NASA employee and former presidential candidate (as was Dioncounda Traore).  Mr. Diarra has had little success as yet in reigning in the excesses of Capt. Sanogo and his men, nor in dealing with the crisis in the North.  Given the political crisis, the local regional power broker, ECOWAS (the Economic Community of West African States), has been threatening with increasing vigor to send in a 3000-member military intervention force to deal with both the Northern and Bamako problems en même temps.  The backdrop to this tragedy is the ongoing Sahel drought, variously projected to leave 10, 15, or 20 million in need of food aid.  Many aid organizations have been forced to pull back from the North of the country due to banditry and the outright theft of goods, not to mention the danger of kidnapping and extortion.

As for me, it seems unlikely that I will be returning to Mali under the auspices of the Fulbright Program.    The State Department is understandably cagey about sending U.S. citizens into such an unstable situation and at this point I don't think that funding will be made available for me before the end of this year, when the funding will be cut for my year's group of Fulbright students permanently.  As such, I'll probably be returning to Mali on my own dime, something I hope to do in early November.  Obviously, I won't be going back if there's civil unrest in Bamako itself at that time.  However, I had always planned to return to Mali to continue my musical studies even after the full 9 months of my Fulbright term; having only been there a little more than 6 months, a return trip is even more crucial to me now.

So, there you have it.  As always, my thoughts are with all my Malian friends, musicians and otherwise, who are living with this uncertainty on a daily basis.  I can only hope that Mali's crises are resolved as quickly as possible.  In the meantime, I'm listening to and playing Malian music every day, and I have every intention of returning to Mali this Fall and spending another 6 months.  The blog will be in hibernation until then.  As always, I can be contacted at waraden.diabate@gmail.com.  Have a great Summer!

Back in the USA

Three flights and 30 hours later, I'm back home in Virginia.  I'll post some thoughts on the ongoing coup and Mali's music scene tomorrow.  Right now, I'm going to go sleep off the jet lag.

Thanks for all the kind wishes and comments.  -Seth

A Bana (it's finished)

...and thus ends, at least temporarily, a noble experiment in cross-cultural relations.  After repeated calls from staff at the U.S. Embassy here in Mali, I've decided to leave the country.  Possibly I'll be finishing my grant in the Gambia, or else I'll be heading home to the States.  Things are calm in Bamako for the moment, but Mali's borders with its major trading partners (Senegal, Ivory Coast, and Burkina Faso) have all been sealed to commerce and fuel since yesterday.  This hasn't caused any problems yet, aside from a rise in food prices, but the end result could be catastrophic.  It's unclear how much of a fuel reserve Mali has, but the taxi drivers I spoke with today thought about three days at the outside (the most optimistic report had it at a week).  Another problem is that the majority of Bamako's electricity production is dependent upon diesel-powered plants, which will also run out of fuel, barring the re-opening of the borders.  Mali has also been isolated from the rest of the FCFA community, meaning that little to no money is flowing into Mali, at least through the banks.  I managed to find a working ATM today, but they're becoming scarcer and scarcer.

In short, the refusal of Captain Amadou Haya Sanogo to relinquish power and reinstate civil authority in Mali means a continuation of the embargo on Mali, not only by the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), but also by the U.S., which has cut all military aid, and France, which has cut all of its aid, including humanitarian projects.  The French, English, German, and Canadian Embassies have already advised their respective citizens resident in Mali to leave the country; to my knowledge, the U.S. is the last major foreign power here to do so (aside from China?).  This was apparently triggered by Capt. Sanogo's announcement today on the national television station, ORTM, that he would not relinquish power until he had tried the former president, Amadou Toumani Touré (ATT), for "financial misconduct."  In other words, no time soon, if he has his way.

It's unclear (there's that word again) how long it will take for Capt. Sanogo to leave; it could be tomorrow, or a month from now.  Unless he does so within the next few days, or unless some junior officers take it upon themselves to remove him as he removed ATT, who in turn removed Moussa Traoré in 1991, I will be leaving Mali.  I've had a wonderful time here, met dozens of proud, skillful musicians, and heard (and played) a lot of great music, but it's time to go.  I hope to return later in the year, even if Fulbright funding isn't available, provided Mali can find some solutions to the ongoing rebellion in the North, the coup d'état in the South, and the rampant corruption everywhere.

I had not entertained serious thoughts of leaving Mali until today, and it's with great sadness that I've decided to do so.  Having spoken with many Malians over the past five months, I've heard first-hand how frustrating the corruption in almost every aspect of Malian society has become.  For many people I've spoken with, the rebellion in the north was the straw that broke the camel's back.  The coup was welcomed by many people I spoke with, at least at first; anything that could break the cycle of corruption was seen as as positive, even something as dramatic as a coup.  Now, however, we're starting to see some sad results.      The musicians I've worked with, in particular, will be hard hit in the months to come: with the vast majority of the expat community departing Mali, and the political upheaval and overall money problems of the country, their major sources of income have pretty well dried up.  The Malian music scene has survived tougher times than this, but it's still painful to see so many professional, highly-trained, dedicated musicians deprived of any chance of regular income.

My thoughts and sympathies are with the Malian people tonight, and particularly its musicians.  I can only hope that better times will soon come.

Waiting Around

Hi.  Not much to report from Bamako.  The city has resumed much of its daily activities, though there's still a lot of tension.  Yesterday, wedding parties on mopeds were out driving on the streets, blaring their horns like normal.  Unfortunately, though the participants were ready, the neighborhood mayors' offices were closed, leading to much confusion.  To my mind, this is a good example of where Bamako is emotionally right now; most people want to get on with their daily lives, but there's mass confusion among the political/elite class.  It's entirely unclear how this coup d'état is going to work itself out.  There are several demonstrations planned today, the 26 March, in remembrance of the day 21 years ago when Amadou Toumani Touré, the Malian president just overthrown by the coup, staged a coup of his own and overthrew Mali's dictator, Moussa Traoré!  The irony is not lost on Malians...

At this point, I'm just waiting around to see what happens.  I had been planning to go out today and begin kora and n'goni lessons again, but what with the demonstrations, I'm going to wait until tomorrow.  Several of my Fulbright colleagues have decided to leave the country, while several others have decided to stay and see if the situation worsens.  I'll also be staying, for the time being.

Exciting times!

Oh, and a quick political postscript.  There's been a fair amount of analysis in the world media of Mali's coup, and I've found much of it superficial, in that most commentators have universally condemned a coup against a "functioning democracy" that was less than two months away from presidential elections.

The problem is, many Malians didn't see the regime of ATT as a "functioning democracy."  The systemic corruption which has plagued Mali since the time of Moussa Traoré, but particularly during the last ten years, has been extremely frustrating to Malians of all walks of life.  Everyone from my host parents (members of Bamako's growing upper middle class) to my music teachers (who, if not at the poverty line, are not incredibly far from it), to my friend the Sotrama driver, to all the unemployed young guys who hang around my kora teacher's neighborhood, have increasingly complained about corruption since I've been here.  International commentators who see the military coup as purely related to the mismanagement of Mali's war against Touareg rebels in the North are seriously missing the point: this coup was the apotheosis of years and years of frustration.  The all-inclusive, nobody's-at-fault politics of ATT's presidency have, at least in the eyes of many of the Malians I've spoken to, seriously undermined the political and societal institutions of the state.  The poor performance of the Malian Army in the North during this latest Tuareg rebellion are a symptom of Mali's problems as a whole, a microcosm of the macrocosm of Mali's universal corruption.

I could go on in this vein, but my friend and fellow Mali Fulbright Scholar, Bruce Whitehouse, has already written an excellent analysis of what I think is the underpinnings of the coup.  You can read it here:

http://bamakobruce.wordpress.com/2012/03/25/good-riddance-att/

Another Unscheduled Interruption: Coup d'état edition

As many of you are no doubt aware, Mali is in the midst of a coup d'état.  Low-ranking soldiers from the nearby military base of Kati, incensed by the poor management of the ongoing fighting in the north of Mali between government forces and Touareg rebels, have seized control of the national radio and television stations, occupied the presidential palace, declared martial law, suspended the constitution, and instituted a nationwide curfew.  All government offices are closed, as are the gas stations and most banks.  The putschists have stated that they will return power to a democratically-elected president after the rebellion in the north has been put down.  They have been condemned by the international community, including the American, French, and Algerian governments, and the Economic Community of West African States, an influential coalition of regional governments.

The (former?) president, Amadou Toumani Touré, is reported to be in a loyalist military camp here in Bamako, purportedly under the protection of the elite "Red Berets" of the Presidential Guard.  There has been intermittent gunfire and looting since yesterday evening, as well as the theft of cars by rogue military, police, and gendarmes.  Mali's borders, including the Bamako Sénou Airport, have been closed.  That said, the situation is relatively calm in the streets for a coup; there's a lot less traffic than normal, and almost no gasoline to be found, so most people seem to be sticking close to home.

This just in: my host father's sister is married to the Malian Minister of Economy and Finance, whose house has apparently just been ransacked.  The Minister is in hiding, and my host father, his sister, and her children have taken shelter in a neighboring compound.  Rogue soldiers, firing shots in the air, emptied the house of inhabitants before looting everything inside and breaking windows and doors.  Also, this morning my host mother was apparently at the house of the General Amidou Sissoko, the second in command after the Malian Chef d'état Majeur, essentially the chief Malian military commander, when it, too, was ransacked.  Her cousin, the general's wife, managed to convince the soldiers not to "requisition" her car, as it wasn't government property.  The general is also in hiding.

From what I can tell, low-level soldiers (by far the majority of the soldiers behind the coup) are taking advantage of the chaos to make up for their chronic low pay and settle scores with higher-ranking government officials and officers.  I've heard of the looting of half a dozen houses of ministers, deputies (i.e. members of the Malian House of Representatives), generals, and the like.  So far, this doesn't seem to have spread to the general population.

I'm safe at my host family's house in Bako Djikoroni, some distance from the center of town, the American Embassy, and the military base where ATT is currently hiding.  I'm not overly worried about looters; the house is buried in the middle of a neighborhood, and my host family isn't connected to the government or military.  So, no worries!

More news as it comes.

Theme song for the week: tie between "Kele Magni De" (Fighting is bad) and the Sunjata epic fragment "Kele ye Mande ci" (War has brought down the Mande).

Unscheduled Interruption

Hi!  We're back after an unscheduled interruption due to malaria.  This was my first experience with that most ubiquitous of African maladies and, as advertised, it was unpleasant.  Thankfully, my host mother is a doctor, so she was able to recommend her favorite anti-malarial, write a quick prescription, and send someone off to the pharmacy in short order.  Three days later, I was feeling much better and ready to face Mali's increasingly-hot hot season once more.  In fact, I'm going to leave off talking about the weather in future posts (it's both miserable, and sadly predictable); feel free to assume that it will continue unbelievably hot here until at least the end of May.

On the other hand, I had a fascinating Saturday visiting one of the living legends of Malian music, Djelimory "N'fa" Diabaté.  N'fa is the last living member of what I think of as Mali's "Big Four" kora players of the last generation.  Owners of the exquisite, highly-recommended kora CD "Mali: Cordes Anciennes" will be familiar with this group, which includes Batrou Sékou Kouyaté, Sidiki Diabaté, Djelimady Sissoko, and the aforementioned N'fa.  I've spent a lot of time listening to this CD since I arrived in Mali with my kora teacher, Toumani Kouyaté, and it's still breathtaking 40-some years after it was recorded.  I've managed to track down additional recordings from two of the four, Batrou Sékou and Sidiki, but Djelimady' and N'fa's recordings have been a little harder to find.  I plan on making a run on ORTM (L'Office de Radiodiffusion et Télédiffusion de Mali) later this week, and I now know that N'fa made at least ten, and maybe a dozen, solo kora recordings, which should be in their archives.  Paying for copies of recordings at ORTM is a long-established, if legally dubious, practice.  Unfortunately, it's also the only way to get certain recordings, which I've been unable to find in America, on the internet, or on Mali's legal and black CD/tape markets.  Stay tuned for more exciting dusty archives updates!

Anyway, it's been my pleasure to explore "Cordes Anciennes" with my kora teacher, who has demonstrated quite conclusively (to me, at least) the ways in which these pioneering four kora players, arguably the first "great" Malian kora-ists, influenced the following generations.  Certainly their children have carried on the tradition: Sidiki Diabaté's son, Toumani, is the best-known kora player in the world (and to my mind the finest), and Djelimady's son, Ballaké, is among Mali's top kora players.  The sons, Toumani and Ballaké, even recorded a tribute album to their fathers called "Nouvelles Chordes Anciennes" ("New Ancient Strings," after their fathers' "Ancient Strings") which is also highly recommended.  Both Toumani and Ballaké have introduced the kora into the World Music scene with cross-overs with international musicians (Taj Mahal, Béla Fleck, and the flamenco band Ketama for Toumani, and the French cellist Vincent Segal for Ballaké), in addition to their own well-received work.

Meanwhile, N'fa's son, Mamadou "Djelikejan" Diabaté, has lived in the U.S. for over a decade now, and won a Grammy award for his kora playing in 2010.  Mamadou is one of the best kora players in the U.S., and tours regularly; I've seen him perform several times with my old n'goni master, Cheick Hamala Diabaté, at the late, great Prism Coffee House.  Another son of N'fa, Djibril, was also a professional kora player and close friend to my kora master, Toumani Kouyaté, but sadly passed away last year.

Batrou Sékou Kouyaté did not leave any professional kora-playing offspring, but his eldest son, Balla, is a well-known kora maker and artist of vibrant, colorful kora paintings and village scenes.  He also built my first kora, which was shipped back to America in a custom-made wooden case strongly reminiscent of a child's coffin.   Oddly enough, I later learned that another of my traditional music teachers, the late Mike Seeger, also used to carry around his instruments in a wooden coffin-case...

Uh, that's a little off-topic, but I can definitely recommend Balla as a maker of high-quality koras.  He also still lives in the compound in the Hippodrome neighborhood where Batrou Sékou once lived, which is pretty cool to visit as a kora nerd...  Coincidentally, Batrou Sékou's youngest son, Drra, is also studying kora and often visits my teacher, Toumani, for lessons.  Bamako's a small town...

However, the influence of the "Big Four" past kora masters hasn't been limited simply to their offspring.  They helped shape the Malian kora repertoire with their versions of classic Malian songs like "Kulanjan," "Mamadou Bitiki," "Ala l'a Ke," and "Kaira," all of which remain standards.  Even more importantly, their individual playing styles were, and remain, sources of inspiration for all kora players.  Of particular interest are the blistering, perfectly placed "roulement"-style improvised solos of Sidiki Diabaté and the pioneering work of Batrou Sékou Kouyaté in playing solos and an accompaniment pattern at the same time.  Sidiki wasn't the first to feature quick, downward scalar runs in his playing, but both his skill and the frequency with which he used them elevated them to a new level.  Likewise, Batrou Sékou wasn't the first to play a solo over an accompaniment pattern on the kora, but his skill in doing so laid the groundwork for future generations of kora players (notably, his are the only solo kora tracks on "Cordes Anciennes;" the others are duets).  The perfected versions of both of these techniques can be heard in the playing of Mali's best kora players, notably Toumani Diabaté, Ballaké Sissoko, and my own master, Toumani Kouyaté.

On a personal note, it has been one of the great pleasures of my time here in Mali to dissect and analyze the playing of Mali's greatest kora-folaw (Bm. "kora-players") and understand, for example, the enormous effort that went into the making of the complete package with which the world was presented in Toumani Diabaté's seminal CD, "Kaira."  The savage, youthful-yet-restrained beauty of "Kaira," to my mind the greatest solo kora album ever, was the product of years of practice combined with the brilliant synthesis of many kora techniques, all filtered through the mind of a remarkable, driven, musician.  For years, I approached each the five tracks on "Kaira" as finished, indivisible, unanalyzable.  Now, after five months' worth of intensive kora study, I can at least understand how "Grand Toumani" (Toumani-ba) constructed his style, even if I can't imitate it.  Kora music, evidently, isn't magic, just lots and lots of work and practice!

So, to wrap up this week's blog post, a few anecdotes from the last remaining "Old Master" of the Malian Kora, N'fa Diabaté.  Batrou Sékou Kouyaté, the eldest of the Big Four, apparently learned kora from a Gambian named "Alou" (last name unknown), providing more evidence for what I had long suspected, that the kora is relatively new to Mali (more on the history of the Malian kora in a later post).  Second, the first Malian National Orchestras of the 1960's (The Orchestre National "A," "B," "C," and the Ensemble Instrumentale), while prestigious, really didn't pay very well.  Lastly, "all kora players are hugely egotistical" in N'fa's opinion.

And on that note, see you next week!

Getting Hotter by the Day

The weather continues hot here in Mali, as does the music.  Despite being surrounded by Malian tunes, my theme-song for the last few weeks has been Third World's "96-Degrees in the Shade," a great song from a decent band.  That said, Tinariwen's "Aman Iman: Water is Life" is a close second...

The Festival sur le Niger was, as far as I was concerned, a success.  I saw a ton of great acts (Salif Keita, Boubacar "Kar Kar" Traoré, Rokia Traoré, Habib Koité, and Abdoulaye Diabaté, to name only the best), sat under at least a dozen of Ségou's 4444 Acacia trees (one is missing, mysteriously, on account of a nebulous "treason" that was never fully explained to me), and generally enjoyed my first trip outside of Bamako in 4 1/2 months in Mali.  I've got a bunch of pictures, but my camera's acting up, so those will have to wait for the next post.  My experiences with public transportation getting from Bamako to Ségou and back were appropriately hellish for W. Africa (on neither of my trips did the bus arrive less than five hours late at its destination, despite the fact that the entire drive usually only took 6 hours), but I'll spare the details.  Suffice it to say, that the trip was well worth it, and I arrived back in Bamako refreshed mentally for another 4 1/2 months of sitting in a chair for 6 hours a day playing music.

Highlights of the festival included standing 10 feet from the front of the stage staring up at a beaming, sashaying Boubacar Traoré surrounded by a cloud of fog from the fog machines, then realizing that this 70-year old man's 40-year old songs had so inspired the crowd of under-20 Malians around me that they'd started a mosh pit, as well as the synchronized dance moves of Abdoulaye Diabaté and his brother, and the deafening, two-minute standing ovation when Salif Keita stepped onto the stage.  I also got to spend some time with Balla Tounkara, a wonderful kora player who's recently returned to Mali after 10 years in the U.S.  I'm reminded of how weird it must seem to the Malians to interact with a Bambara-speaking American whenever I chat with Balla and listen to his flawless, Brooklyn-inflected English!

I also want to give a shout-out to all my new-found friends in the Richmond Friends of Mali, with whom I spent a lot of time in Ségou.  They were nice enough to find me a couch and a comped ticket to the Festival, and I tagged along with them to see some of the projects they've helped fund through their amazingly successful sister cities program pairing Ségou and Richmond.  It was wonderful to hang out with such a diverse group of people, all of them passionately interested in engaging with and helping members of a society very, very different than our American one.  Also, we got to meet the Mayor and the American Ambassador to Mali, which landed us all on Malian national television!  Who doesn't like seeing themselves on television?

Alright, that's it for now; tune in on Tuesday for a longer post on (some of) the many, many different styles of Malian music.

The New Year

Hi all.  Sorry it's been so long between posts; a lot of stuff has happened in the last month and a bit, and I've kept pushing it back until now!  Hopefully this will be the last time I miss so many updates!

So, briefly, a recap: on New Year's Eve I went out to a hotel and saw the legendary and ultra-cool Amadou & Mariam, one of my favorite bands in the world.  The concert was basically everything I wanted; they played all their old, lesser-known-outside-of-Mali songs, didn't stop until 3 in the morning, blessed all of us for the New Year in 4 different languages and hey, there were fireworks, too!  My buddy Krista, another 2011/12 Mali Fulbrighter, and her boyfriend Paul went with me, and Krista snapped this awesome picture.  

Amadou & Mariam at 2 o'clock in the morning in their designer French sunglasses.  

Definitely a New Year's for the books.  

Unfortunately, the year didn't start with quite the bang I'd hoped it would.  In early January, my father came to visit me here in Bamako, but immediately fell ill and had to be rushed to a clinic the day after he arrived!  He turned out to have been bleeding internally for days, albeit so slowly he just felt tired.  The doctors quickly diagnosed this (it helped that he had turned white as a sheet) and figured he had a stomach ulcer.  It was in fact a benign stomach tumor, which everyone (myself, my parents, and the American and Malian doctors) felt would be best dealt with in America.  Long story short, after one very, very scary night spent telephoning all over Bamako for blood, we managed to get some the following morning at the Malian National Blood Bank.  The blood bank, it turns out, lacks the resources to keep blood on hand for emergencies.  Instead, relatives and friends of whoever needs the blood come in the morning, have their blood drawn, and can pick it up in the afternoon after it has been tested.  That being so, I was desperate to find 4(!) donors who could provide Dad with the 4(!) liters of blood he needed transfused.  

I was overwhelmed with support.  My friend Krista immediately volunteered, as did either 4 or 5 US Embassy staff with the same blood type as my father.  Throughout the night, I spoke with various Embassy personnel on a succession of cell phones (I had to make one frantic 3-in-the-morning run outside to buy one off a passerby when my battery died), and by morning, there was a convoy of people shuttled over from the Embassy to the blood bank, the doctors there had been briefed on the situation, my father was moved to the best clinic in Mali, right next to the Embassy, and from there, everything moved more-or-less smoothly.  The Ambassador herself gave a liter of blood making my father, in her words, at least partly "ambassadorial."  There's an endless number of jokes about politics and blood to be made ("Body Politic?" "Bleeding for one's constituency?") but I'll forgo those here in favor of simply saying "thanks."  By that evening, we had gotten as much blood into my father as we had time for, and got him onto an Air France flight back to the States, where he was checked into our local hospital, operated upon, and is currently recuperating at home with no long-term side effects. 

...I have mixed feelings about patriotism in general, and American patriotism specifically.  A country, particularly such a vast one as America, is composed of so many disparate groups of people, and acts in so many disparate ways, that it's hard for me to support it 100% of the time.  There are things I like about America (our immigrant culture, the 4th of July, our higher educational system, our amazing, permanently vibrant music scene) and others I don't (much of our domestic and international politics, consumerism, horrible public transport).  That said, I was extremely moved by the outpouring of support from the American community in Mali, not just emotionally, but physically; it's hard to get more basic than giving blood.  I realize that this is the sort of thing that Embassies do in general, and all of the Embassy personnel I spoke with seemed surprised that I was so grateful, but dealing with the potential slow death of a parent in front of one's own eyes tends to bring out such emotions.  In plain words, the immediate, competent support the Embassy gave may very well have saved my father's life.  

I have never been so proud to be an American. 

Right!  That's the sappy bit; on to the normal stuff.  Compared with all of that, the rest of January seemed somewhat boring, for which I was exceedingly grateful.  I've been continuing to take kora lessons with Toumani Kouyaté perhaps two out of every three days.  The kora is such a complex instrument (the most complex I've ever attempted, at least in the "finger-work") that it's taking me a long time to break through to the next level of comprehension.  Normally the process takes years, as with any instrument, but I'm in a hurry, so I'm trying to artificially speed things up by playing all the time.  

To that end, I decided I needed a kora with which to practice during the days when I didn't have a lesson.  My teacher helped me find a decent one that wasn't too expensive, and I took delivery of it about a week ago.  Admittedly, we did have to leave it in the sun for a few days to completely dry the skin head, and tuning 21 brand new nylon strings took us three days, as they constantly stretch and need to be retuned.  However, that's all finished now, and the kora is sitting in my bedroom waiting to be broken in (I'll post some pictures next week).  My kora teacher is also in the process of making me a professional kora, identical to his own, but for various reasons that's taking a while.  

I've also had a good number of sessions with one of my two primary n'goni teachers, Kélémonson Diabaté.  Sadly, his father passed away in January, so we had to stop our lessons for a few weeks while he was back in his hometown dealing with the burial, but we've started back up again.  Kélémonson's father, Cémogo, was a very well-known n'goni player during his day, and an influential teacher in Kita, one of Mali's biggest centers of griot music.  I've been learning about all of this, as well as a lot of Kita and griot history in general, from Kélémonson during the past few weeks.  I initially had mixed feelings about all the history.  After all, I came to Mali to learn to play music practically.  However, all of my teachers are quite sure that the historical (and sometimes mystical) aspects of the griot's art (known as jeliya) are every bit as important as the actual technical playing of an instrument.  One way or another, everything's getting recorded at pretty decent quality, so even if all of this information isn't interesting, relevant, or comprehensible at this point, it might be in the future to me, or someone else.  

Regular updates will start up again on Monday; I'm heading out today for Ségou tomorrow to attend the Festival sur le Niger, so I'll be out of email contact.  Expect a field report of the festival when I get back!