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/
Monday, March 26, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
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).
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).
Monday, March 19, 2012
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!
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!
Sunday, March 11, 2012
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 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.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
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.
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| Amadou & Mariam at 2 o'clock in the morning in their designer French sunglasses. |
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!
Thursday, December 22, 2011
-erie Hilarity
Greetings once more from the biggest village in Africa. I'm still playing lots of banjo, kora, and n'goni here and as nothing much has changed on that front, I thought I'd talk (write) a little about everyday life here in the city this week.
Bamako is the largest city in Mali, with around 2 million inhabitants. It dominates every sector of Malian society, with the exception of agriculture. Industry, commerce, entertainment, and government are all centered here, and the city is growing at an astonishing rate. In the five years between my second and third trips to Mali, entire new neighborhoods had come into existence. The huge number of (predominantly young) Malians moving to the capital is a source of serious social friction, and the problem is only aggravated with each passing year; the more people move here, the more everyone else wants to, too. That said (written), the constant immigration and crowding do make for fascinatingly diverse and energetic street-life, plus great music, food, and a great mix of taxi drivers, food vendors, and merchants.
By far the most common languages here are Bambara and French. Bambara is a dialect of what is usually called Mandékan or Mandingkan (and, occasionally, Mandenkakan), a language group that is spread across most of W. Africa. The majority of Malians speak Bambara, and many immigrants from Senegal, Burkina Faso, Guinea, the Gambia, and Ivory Coast speak some language that is mutually comprehensible with Bambara. The Bambara spoken in Bamako, however, is heavily mixed with French, and also incorporates lots of words from other Mandé dialects. It's nice to be able to use the occasional French word that I don't know in Bambara, although that's a trick that only works in the capital. This mixture (fr. mélange) of French and Bambara is evident not only conversationally, but also in various street signs. One of my favorites is the picture below; a marriage of Bambara and the French suffix "-erie" ("shop," roughly).
Another thing I love about Mali are the various slogans, emblems, and proverbs painted, stencilled, or stuck onto the sotramas (public transport mini-busses) and tractor-trailers. I'll keep updating with more pictures in the future (I get a couple good ones every week) but for now, I'll just put in this one:
One last city event; on Monday, there was a general strike by the sotrama drivers and petits comerçants (the street vendors who sell almost everything in Bamako), protesting a precipitous hike in their annual taxes. The streets were bare, and I made it across town in ten minutes' less time than I ever had. By nightfall, the government had caved, and the streets were full again yesterday. "Comme d'habitude" was the only comment from my bemused host-father. This incident certainly underscored the power of communication and mass action in Malian society to me; the Malian government certainly didn't want such a large sector of the Bamako population angry, particularly with an election six months away. Not exactly an Occupy Wallstreet, but still an example of the power which mass action can have.
Questions and comments; waraden.diabate [at] gmail.com.
Bamako is the largest city in Mali, with around 2 million inhabitants. It dominates every sector of Malian society, with the exception of agriculture. Industry, commerce, entertainment, and government are all centered here, and the city is growing at an astonishing rate. In the five years between my second and third trips to Mali, entire new neighborhoods had come into existence. The huge number of (predominantly young) Malians moving to the capital is a source of serious social friction, and the problem is only aggravated with each passing year; the more people move here, the more everyone else wants to, too. That said (written), the constant immigration and crowding do make for fascinatingly diverse and energetic street-life, plus great music, food, and a great mix of taxi drivers, food vendors, and merchants.
By far the most common languages here are Bambara and French. Bambara is a dialect of what is usually called Mandékan or Mandingkan (and, occasionally, Mandenkakan), a language group that is spread across most of W. Africa. The majority of Malians speak Bambara, and many immigrants from Senegal, Burkina Faso, Guinea, the Gambia, and Ivory Coast speak some language that is mutually comprehensible with Bambara. The Bambara spoken in Bamako, however, is heavily mixed with French, and also incorporates lots of words from other Mandé dialects. It's nice to be able to use the occasional French word that I don't know in Bambara, although that's a trick that only works in the capital. This mixture (fr. mélange) of French and Bambara is evident not only conversationally, but also in various street signs. One of my favorites is the picture below; a marriage of Bambara and the French suffix "-erie" ("shop," roughly).
 |
Dibi= BBQ in Bambara. So, "barbequerie?" "Barbeque-erie?"
Another thing I love about Mali are the various slogans, emblems, and proverbs painted, stencilled, or stuck onto the sotramas (public transport mini-busses) and tractor-trailers. I'll keep updating with more pictures in the future (I get a couple good ones every week) but for now, I'll just put in this one:
 |
| "Who knows the future?" Particularly ominous when written just over the "Inflammable liquid" warning on a tanker truck (not that it keeps people from tailgating). |
Questions and comments; waraden.diabate [at] gmail.com.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
The Cool Season
Bamako is finally cooling down. I've bene sleeping without A.C. for the last few weeks, and the last two days I've even managed without a fan. I'm savoring the respite before the hot season starts in February and it never gets below 90, even in the middle of the night.
It's been over 2 months since I arrived in Mali. Things are going well; both faster and slower than I imagined, in typical Malian fashion. I've been playing more kora than n'goni lately, but that looks like it should change next week, as my primary n'goni teacher will be returning to Bamako from his home village, Kita, where he's been for the traditional 40-day mourning period for his older brother.
I've been going to see music at least once a week at the clubs since I've gotten here. The results have been decidedly mixed. I've seen a couple of great shows (Vieux Farka Touré at the Centre Culturel Français, Boubacar "Kar Kar" Traoré at Blonbla 2) and a whole lot of mediocre ones. Partially this has to do with Malian sound systems (often bad) and club audio aesthetics, which tend to favor volume above everything else, like a mix that permits each instrument to be heard, or minimizing feedback. However, I've also seen a fair amount of bands which probably won't ever make it past the club circuit here in Bamako. Mali is blessed with an abundance of musical styles and traditions, not to mention musicians. However, most of Mali's A-list musicians are aging; Salif Keita and Boubacar Traoré are both in their late sixties at least, as is guitar superstar Djelimady Tounkara. Oumou Sangaré and Habib Koité are now in their forties, as is Bassekou Kouyaté. There have also been significant losses in the last five years, including Ali Farka Touré (a multiple Grammy-award winner and mainstay of the Malian musical community), the Bambara rocker Lobi Traoré (on the eve of an international tour), and Mamadou "Mangala" Camara.
There are plenty of young Malian musicians coming on, getting their songs played on ORTM here in Bamako and bringing in the crowds in the Hippodrome club neighborhood, but the vast majority of them are rappers. Rap is hugely popular among young people in Mali, to the exclusion of other, traditional musics. Two of the most popular artists here are Iba One (backed by the lightning-quick kora loops of Toumani Diabaté's son, Sidiki) and Master Soumi, whose thoughtful, pun-laden tracks often deal with social issues. I'm not a huge fan of rap, even in a language I can understand, but I can see why it's so popular here in Mali. It's a way of articulating social problems and constructing an identity musically that hasn't been available in Mali prior to this. There have been plenty of griot or Wassulu songs about social issues (polygamy, public health, infant mortality), but none of them has had the immediacy of Master Soumi's "Sonsoribougou," about a young farmer coming to Bamako and becoming a Malian hustler. Everyone, even my teachers (who are definitely NOT in their twenties!) knows this song. In many ways, rap is a natural evolution for Mali, where everyone sings along with the radio, and listens carefully to lyrics so as to understand their deeper and multiple meanings. Instead of the ancient Bambara proverbs of Bazoumana Sissoko, the legendary blind bard whose occasional broadcasts on ORTM could bring the city to a halt, Malian rap deals in the plain truths and aspirations of youth. It's a different form for different times.
I just hope that rap doesn't take a fatal bite out of traditional Malian music. What with the spread of radio and non-Malian music, as well as the tremendous influx of Malians to the capital, Bamako, traditional music is already being put to the test. Griot music has managed to find a new niche in the weddings, baptisms, and street-parties (sumu, pl. sumuw) that take place every weekend in Bamako, but there have to be other, less dynamic traditions that are being swept away. For every griot, or hunter, or Wasulu musician who adapts, there is a water-ceremony, or full-moon song which is forgotten...
Or not. I was chatting with the father of my host-family the other day, and he said that he had come full circle to liking the music of his childhood again. As a young man, he listened to the great Cuban-influenced Malian orchestras of the 1970's, like Mopti's Kanaga Orchestra and Ségou's Super Biton. While a student in the U.S.S.R., he switched to Western music, classical guitar and jazz. However, he told me that he had recently begun listening to his old favorites again, as their lyrics were more meaningful to him. Besides, "traditional" music has always adapted with the times, and nowhere more so than in Mali. Bands from Orchestra Baobab to Les Ambassadeurs du Motel, from Habib Koite to Amadou and Mariam have played the classic ballad "Diarabi," a song that has been around for at least decades, and quite possibly centuries. I'm sure that the Malian musical aesthetic will survive in some form or another, though hopefully not solely as backing loops for rappers...
I've been going to see music at least once a week at the clubs since I've gotten here. The results have been decidedly mixed. I've seen a couple of great shows (Vieux Farka Touré at the Centre Culturel Français, Boubacar "Kar Kar" Traoré at Blonbla 2) and a whole lot of mediocre ones. Partially this has to do with Malian sound systems (often bad) and club audio aesthetics, which tend to favor volume above everything else, like a mix that permits each instrument to be heard, or minimizing feedback. However, I've also seen a fair amount of bands which probably won't ever make it past the club circuit here in Bamako. Mali is blessed with an abundance of musical styles and traditions, not to mention musicians. However, most of Mali's A-list musicians are aging; Salif Keita and Boubacar Traoré are both in their late sixties at least, as is guitar superstar Djelimady Tounkara. Oumou Sangaré and Habib Koité are now in their forties, as is Bassekou Kouyaté. There have also been significant losses in the last five years, including Ali Farka Touré (a multiple Grammy-award winner and mainstay of the Malian musical community), the Bambara rocker Lobi Traoré (on the eve of an international tour), and Mamadou "Mangala" Camara.
There are plenty of young Malian musicians coming on, getting their songs played on ORTM here in Bamako and bringing in the crowds in the Hippodrome club neighborhood, but the vast majority of them are rappers. Rap is hugely popular among young people in Mali, to the exclusion of other, traditional musics. Two of the most popular artists here are Iba One (backed by the lightning-quick kora loops of Toumani Diabaté's son, Sidiki) and Master Soumi, whose thoughtful, pun-laden tracks often deal with social issues. I'm not a huge fan of rap, even in a language I can understand, but I can see why it's so popular here in Mali. It's a way of articulating social problems and constructing an identity musically that hasn't been available in Mali prior to this. There have been plenty of griot or Wassulu songs about social issues (polygamy, public health, infant mortality), but none of them has had the immediacy of Master Soumi's "Sonsoribougou," about a young farmer coming to Bamako and becoming a Malian hustler. Everyone, even my teachers (who are definitely NOT in their twenties!) knows this song. In many ways, rap is a natural evolution for Mali, where everyone sings along with the radio, and listens carefully to lyrics so as to understand their deeper and multiple meanings. Instead of the ancient Bambara proverbs of Bazoumana Sissoko, the legendary blind bard whose occasional broadcasts on ORTM could bring the city to a halt, Malian rap deals in the plain truths and aspirations of youth. It's a different form for different times.
I just hope that rap doesn't take a fatal bite out of traditional Malian music. What with the spread of radio and non-Malian music, as well as the tremendous influx of Malians to the capital, Bamako, traditional music is already being put to the test. Griot music has managed to find a new niche in the weddings, baptisms, and street-parties (sumu, pl. sumuw) that take place every weekend in Bamako, but there have to be other, less dynamic traditions that are being swept away. For every griot, or hunter, or Wasulu musician who adapts, there is a water-ceremony, or full-moon song which is forgotten...
Or not. I was chatting with the father of my host-family the other day, and he said that he had come full circle to liking the music of his childhood again. As a young man, he listened to the great Cuban-influenced Malian orchestras of the 1970's, like Mopti's Kanaga Orchestra and Ségou's Super Biton. While a student in the U.S.S.R., he switched to Western music, classical guitar and jazz. However, he told me that he had recently begun listening to his old favorites again, as their lyrics were more meaningful to him. Besides, "traditional" music has always adapted with the times, and nowhere more so than in Mali. Bands from Orchestra Baobab to Les Ambassadeurs du Motel, from Habib Koite to Amadou and Mariam have played the classic ballad "Diarabi," a song that has been around for at least decades, and quite possibly centuries. I'm sure that the Malian musical aesthetic will survive in some form or another, though hopefully not solely as backing loops for rappers...
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