God Bless P.J. Harvey

Sitting here in my self isolation. Being a good girl. Well, not QUITE. I do go for walks but don’t talk to anyone. Not even on park benches.

But there is no doubt that now, on the 6^th day of quarantine it is getting to me.

So, thank God for PJ Harvey! I had forgotten about real music- the sort of music that makes one feel alive, capable of jumping over little houses and Wild at Heart. As if there is still Life to be lived. And that it up to me to go and Get It.

So All Hail Polly Jane!

"Meet Ze Monsta! "

“This is Love This is Love This is Love that I’m Feelin..!”

 

Farewell to General Moussa Traore

 

 

General Moussa Traoré  who ruled Mali  for more than 22 years died in Bamako yesterday at the age of 83. I have a picture of him on my wall in London.  This causes some raised eyebrows, since he was a dictator who ousted the first Malian president Modibo Keita in a coup in 1968. He was himself removed by a coup masterminded by Amadou ToumaniToure  in 1991. (The latter was of course also eventually removed by a coup in 2012...and so it goes on.)

Now, there are dictators and dictators. Let's be clear: Moussa was no Idi Amin. Many in Mali feel that the time during Moussa was  a stable time and  that the country has not improved since. A golden shimmer has gradually settled upon Moussa over time, helped along by gentle forgetfulness and the Malian people's ability to forgive almost anything. 

My Keita's father, Colonel Abdoulaye Keita was a personal friend of Moussa's and when Keita was a baby he bounced on Moussa's lap. That is the explanation for his picture on my wall, which I appropriated from Keita's wall after his death and therefore my soft feelings towards Moussa, dictator or not...

Alpha Oumar Konare, the civilian president who followed Moussa, pardoned him and had his death sentence removed.   Since 2002 Moussa was  able to  live in peaceful, genteel retirement, enjoying a status as an elder statesman, being visited by politicians and elite military including Colonel Assimi Goita, the leader of  the current  junta who sought his advice only a few days ago to outline a transition to civilian rule. 

RIP Moussa Traore.

 

It feels like a privilege to be here at this important moment for Mali. As always I wanted to see Dr. Guida Landoure, an intimate friend of my Keita's and an eminent neurologist.  He is right in the thick of things- in fact is is part of the M5-RFP, the coalition of various civilians and opposition politicians who orchestrated the uprisings this summer which culminated in the coup d'etat.

 Guida came to see me at Hotel Badala last night, straight from a meeting with some high powered other members of the group:  Cheick Oumar Sissoko, the film maker and former Minister of Culture is one of them. I was excited to hear that because I sat next to him for a dinner once at the Danish Ambassador's place (yes, yes, I know I am name dropping..)and he was a delight. I found out that he had never seen Babette's Feast, and I told him that it was a catastrophy for a celebrated film maker like him never to have seen it. The next time I went to Bamako I brought him the DVD which I delivered at the Malian film institute. But I digress... According to Guida the Western diplomats are wary of Sissoko who they think is too left wing. But Guida and some are proposing him for interim president.

 Guida told me that Dicko, the powerful cleric with Wahabist leanings who was instrumental in organising the uprisings and who has made out that his job is now  done and that he is  withdrawing is not telling the truth- he is still highly active in and around  M5-RFP. Now this might be a worrying thing- it would of course be best to keep religion out of it as much as possible.... But Guida is not worried about Dicko. Guida is very upbeat about it all and  still thinks it is possible to carve out a better Mali from the present  situation, although they are experiencing some trouble with the junta, whose recent 'roadmap' for the transition period was not acceptable to them because it stated that the president during the transition period could be either a civilian or from the military, although in earlier consultations it had been decided that the interim president must be a civilian. This U-turn made the group announce that

"M5-RFP distances itself from the ... document which does not reflect the views and decisions of the Malian people". 

So, let's see...the embargo continues and the neighboring ECOWAS (Economic Community of West African State) has given the ruling junta one week to chose an interim government.

And otherwise... my morning hikes with Karen continues in the green hills of Bamako!

Life goes on...

 

Life goes on in Mali for most of its people as if there hadn’t been any coup d’etat. And I suppose for most people it won’t make any difference. For the poor- by far the greatest part of the population- who struggle to put enough food on the table for their families every day life exists from day to day and nothing changes, only the clemency or the severity of the seasons. Above is one of the many enterprising market gardeners who attempt to make a living on the side of the road in Bamako.

 The Djennenke  (the population of Djenne) are suffering the severity of a particularly abundant rainy season just now. There has been unprecedented rainfall and many houses have fallen. However much I sympathize with the Djennenke in their plight, I can’t help feeling selfishly relieved that I am no longer in charge of a mud hotel… The rainy season was always a nightmare, because in happier times the beginning of the rainy season used to coincide with the ‘Spanish Season’, when southern Europeans tend to take their holidays. My guests would be slipping and sliding on the forecourt of Hotel Djenne Djenno trying – often unsuccessfully-to reach their rooms or the bar without falling over in the slurry descending from my mud walls which were disintegrating in the onslaught of the Mali tempests. 

                                                                                   

The picture above  illustrates quite graphically what happens on mud walls if they are not cared for- the Museum is falling apart. It was one of those gifts from Western coffers- the EU. Noone here actually wanted a Museum I believe. It is a very European idea. The locals said 'yes, thanks, sure we want a Museum if that is what you want to do.' It has been there for about ten years now. There has never been any exhibitions there and it is virtually unused. It is now a problem because it is huge and it needs to be looked after with a yearly mud plastering but since no one is really interested in a Museum it will now stand there and disintegrate. The gate below is the entrance to the area which houses the Campement hotel and the Mairie. This is falling apart because since the disappearance of the tourists all the impetus has gone out of maintaining any of the beauty of Djenne’s  architecture. 

                                                                          

  

More or less all the communal buildings are neglected - this the Post Office in a sorry state of repair:

                                                                               

The Mosque and the Library are the only ones that are receiving that all important  yearly mud plastering.                                                       

The problem about the rainy season here is that no one goes out. I am sitting here alone in my ‘suite’ at the venerable Campement Hotel. I have had my dinner, brought to me by Papa, my old chef at Hotel Djenne Djenno who knows what I like to eat- this evening he brought the  coleslaw I taught him to make with some grilled chicken and tomorrow he will bring me ‘GadoGado’ a Dutch Indonesian inspired dish that my  Dutch friend Birgit taught him to prepare. It is lovely to be able to see ‘my’ old staff. I am not about to go slipping and sliding around town so this will be an unusually ‘stay in’ visit to Djenne.

The local people I speak to are mostly the people I work with at the library or old friends of Keita’s. They are nearly all in favour of the coup d’etat and  the removal of IBK, even the members of his own party. Tomorrow I will try and venture down the slippery alley where my old friend Yelpha the Imam lives to see what he thinks about it all…

 

The Fall of IBK

    Scenes of Deja Vu yesterday in Mali, as a new coup ends IBK's reign. The same message that was seen in 2012 on the Malian TV screens announces  'soon a message from the military' for several long nail biting hours, until finally a line- up of army officers read out a prepared message to the Malian people:  they have been 'liberated' from the mismanagement of  the government and a new dawn has broken.                                                                         

                

But first the resignation speech by IBK- with a mask muffling his farewell words to the people: 'I am stepping down- what choice do I have? I do not wish blood to be spilled in my name.'

And when the  military finally did appear on screen about midnight (the new CNSP - Comite National pour le Salut du Peuple) they were made up of higher grades than Captain Sanogo and his Comrades in Arms in 2012. They were also more coherent and their 'spokesman' Colonel Ismael Wague delivered a well prepared and stirring address to the Malian people about their intentions to wipe out corruption and restore confidence in the faltering Malian institutions- the schools, the military and its response to the continuing crisis in the North and Centre of the country etc.  Their goals would be reached through the staging of elections and the democratic process would be upheld. (Ahem?)

It has all be said before of course. IBK promised these things to the people at his landslide victory over Soumaila Cisse in August 2013.

It was indeed a bloodless coup so far, after months of demonstrations in the streets of Bamako. The city is calm now says my friend Karen. 

There are of course differences between 2012 and 2020 which could work in favour of peace: since 2012 the UN peacekeeping mission MINUSMA are already present in the country in the form of  a vast network of troops deployed in key areas of the county. There is also the Barkhane mission, the French Sahel force of over 5000 soldiers with offensive mandate which will be joined by British and Swedish troops this year in the fight against the growing anti terrorism threat in the area. 

And what about my trip to Mali, booked on the 1st of September and much longed for and necessary for the continuing of the projects in Timbuktu and Djenne, I selfishly wonder... Please, please! let it all remain calm.

 

Torekov

                                                                 

                                                        

 is the name of the little fishing village on the west coast of southern Sweden where I return whenever I can to spend time with my cousins and friends from my teenage years.

'Fishing Village' is of course rather a misnomer- there is not much fishing going on, the little harbour is full of pleasure boats and well-healed summer guests.

The walk by the beach is an  olfactory treat as roses mix with the seaweed and salt water to create a heady happy scent.

My cousins regaled me with a garden barbecue  on the night of my arrival:

                                                     and I finally handed over to Pelle, my oldest cousin, the leather briefcase which was a present from Dr. Faira and the cataract team that come to Djenne every year. It is Pelle and his wife Nanni who have sponsored these free operations in Djenne for many years now. 

The briefcase also contained an official letter from the Djenne Mayor, extravagantly stamped and conveyed in a ceremonial eighteenth century French with Islamic touches which expressed gratefulness and wished happiness and the eventual safe conduct for them both into Paradise and the bosom of Abraham.

                                                                     

There were boating trips and there were picnics and cycling trips- there were memories of endless childhood days spent on the jetty crab fishing:

 

And yesterday I crossed Skane- the southern tip of Sweden to reach the Baltic eastern coast  and my big pal Eva the former Swedish ambassador to Mali in her ravishing coastal village of Brantevik!

                                                                     

 Not a cloud in the sky today. Picnic by the sea tonight- picnics seems to have become the preferred means of having fun all this summer- even here, although the Swedes never shut down their restaurants..!

                                                                     

Crossroads.

Crossroads.

Or taking stock. Or treading water. What next? What makes one decide on something? Some people are methodical and sit down and do lists of pros and cons, add them up and go for the option with the overwhelming pros. Some do the list, then look at it, tear it up and do the cons. 

Some never decide anything at all but ‘go with the flow’. Mother used to call that ‘choosing the path of least resistance’. She said that with a lot of disdain, although that is what she mostly did herself. Some listen to the advice of friends even if they then discard the advice.  

My new park bench friend David says that I must be careful that the Fez idea is not some sort of symptom of post lock down cabin fever. My old friend Clare says that he clearly doesn’t know me. My other old friend Sanjay says I should scrap Fez and go for Italy, as previously dreamed about and planned for.

Some pray for guidance. But therein lay further obstacles- how to know if the ‘feeling’ of being guided in one direction is not just a temptation to go down some garden path to some looming catastrophe?

How did I decide to go to live in Djenne? It now feels as if that decision was so crystal clear that it was hardly a decision at all. My two month trip there in April/May 2006 ‘to get the feel of the place’ did not present any soul searching decision making - even before I arrived there it was a clinched deal somehow. So what to do with this new one? Of course there is only one way: I will have to go and at the end of September. But tonight the nice man from the finance brokers will call (Sanjay says don't trust him, theyr'e all crooks) - will they lend me the money? My flat lies above commercial properties which is a problem, apparently…

But like all things, it will eventually all be clear. And first I go to Sweden on Thursday!

Bamako unrest and Fez

           

                             

Bamako has been shaken by three days of murderous uprisings. The former head of the Haute Conseil Islamic, the powerful Wahabist leaning Imam Dicko is widely accused of orchestrating the anti government demonstrations which aims to topple IBK- some say in order for himself  to try and grab power.  The entire country has been put on alert and even  in Timbuktu this morning the banks were closed. 

My Air France ticket has been booked for my long overdue return to Mali on the first of September-  who knows whether this will happen.

Everything now seems unstable in so many ways. It feels as if the very earth we stand on is  moving somehow, criss-crossed by fault lines of diverse origins- epidemics and other disasters pulling in different directions and threatening to make everything crumble...

Not perhaps the time to start dreaming and planning a risky new venture... but the other day some mysterious impulse made me look up properties for sale in Morocco and I landed immediately on this 18th century Riad in Fez with a roof terrace with 360 degree views over the medina and an outside space for a little garden and swimmingpool...

 

 

 

It needs complete refurbishment, but what a project! 6 bedrooms and 6 bathrooms! Thickly encrusted  with original glorious tiles and wood fret work! And I have a friend in Fez already, Gigi a vet who works in an American 'horse hospital' and knows all expats and has all necessary contacts of 'doing things up' in the medina. 

I was wondering why I have been learning Arabic- I thought that it was mainly in order to give Youssouf in Timbuktu some extra cash - and of course since I am involved in Arabic manuscripts it can be viewed as 'staff development'... but maybe there was another reason for it? Some sort of divine guidance with an ulterior motive? 

Hmmm.... what shall I call it? Riad Djenne? Riad Keita perhaps? 

I think I might just be serious about this...London life is just not quite enough. Let's see...

And there are enormous deposits of ancient Arabic manuscripts in Morocco of course, which my Benedictine friend and boss Father Columba would most certainly be interested in,  at least I should imagine so...