KarKar...

Ah, Kar Kar!
Or Boubakar Traoré, the Master of elegant simplicity. Noone can make such heartbreaking lyrics and chords with more economy  and depth. Not even Dylan. I just listened to Dylan and Johnny Cash on You Tube singing

If you're travelin' in the north country fair
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline
Remember me to one who lives there
She once was a true love of mine

how marvellous.

and KarKar only needs to sing:

I Taara Santa Maryia, I ka Mai fo N’ye…If you go to Santa Maria, be sure to greet Mai for me..(in my dodgy Bambara translation.)

to convey the same thing...

And with such minimal means Kar Kar

makes me cry, and I am not the only one...

Let me have a good gripe

I wrote in the beginning of this new journal ( I dislike the word blog, like my friend Gilliane who quite rightly says it sounds like a blocked bog) that this new adventure, my Commuting to Timbuktu, would never have come about if it had not been for one day last February, when I chose to go to Timbuktu for a UNESCO conference rather than jumping on a plane for Sweden to celebrate my beloved step father’s ninetieth birthday. Well, was that the best decision ? From the vantage point of today I am beginning to wonder…
It is just that Mali at the moment feels unbelievably difficult. Every step of the way I am hitting my head against brick walls. One, increasingly higher than the last, instantly soars up beyond the brick wall  I have just painstakingly dismantled. I am carrying out combats on three different fronts: There is of course the Timbuktu Project ; there is also my Quixotic attempt at continuing the Malimali Studio, and there is the dismantling of the last BL project at the Djenné Library, which has proven utterly nightmarish.
Where to start?

Since 2009, there have been 4 consecutive BL projects at the Djenné Manuscript Library. Every time a project was  finished, I have thought that it would be worth trying for another one, for the sake of the 8-10 people who have been finding their livelihood through these projects. It was  also for my own interest and pride  of course : I have thought that just maybe we would find something really worth while, something that would change the way we look at West African history. I felt part of something important. Well, we have not found anthing very extraordinary perhaps, but we have built up an important community library, representing over 130 Djenné families. That is worth something.
There have always been undercurrents of dissatisfaction. The group of 12 Djenné notables  who constitute the library management committee have not been directly involved with the running of the projects. There have been salaried positions of work to fill and those have been filled. There has not been any money allocated to distribute freely among the management committee. I have not undertaken these projects  for any personal gain: I have hardly earned anything from the Djenné projects. I have worked with two representatives from this management committee, and they have had the task of keeping the others informed. I have always provided detailed accounts and reports so that they know what is going on. But they don’t like it. They cannot understand why they can’t get their hands on the money themselves.

 The day before yesterday the disagreeable and semi-illiterate new Dugutige (village chief), a small minded and vindictive person,  got involved. He has always had an unhealthy influence over the library's  IT/digitization room manager. Now he had got wind of the fact that I had arrived and that I was wrapping up the project  and that we were working on the hard-drives for the last touches on the project before I was to take them to London. Our IT manager was essential to this procedure, because although we have told him a dozen times to train someone up to do his work in case he was indisposed he has categorically refused to do so. Now he suddenly developed a ‘bad finger’ and did not turn up for work for the crucial last two days. I said that that bad fingers did  not constitute a reason for not turning up . We sent for him, we called him and we looked for him. He was nowhere to be found, possibly hiding out at the Dugutige's.   This means that I am now forced to leave  for London with incomplete material which has not been checked properly. That of course will be my fault. I have decreed that our IT Manager's  last month's salary entitlement, for the staff's  holiday in September, should be given to the poor, of whom there are many.

Then we were all called for a meeting at the Prefecture. The Dugutige, together with certain factions within the Library management committee, had insisted on calling a meeting. They wanted the library closed down. The pretext was a rumbling old dispute about the statutes and renewals of the management commitee. But the clear sighted Prefect saw behind the smoke screen : « you are all just annoyed that you have not been able to make any money from these projects. But a library is not a money making concern ! » I was given a chance to speak and I told them that I had been honoured to work at the Djenné Library and that I was very proud of what we had achieved and I had hoped they would feel the same. Then one of them, bless him, Monsieur Thera, spoke up for me and although I did not get all of his speech in Bambara, it was clear that he was saying something along the lines that if it hadn't been for me there would probably not be a Djenné library today.

Licking my wounds I returned to my studio in the afternoon where I promptly managed to destroy a piece of hand woven fabric which I was supposed to paint for an order for Australia.

And this morning I get a phone call from Baba Aly Touré, my bright  new local manager in Timbuktu. I had tried to find UN flights for the personnel to get down to Bamako immediately after the feast of Tabaski for their digitization training at SAVAMA. But there are no flights available. I told Baba to break the news to them that they would have to travel by road. Now he called me to say that some have refused because of the insecurity.
 Baba had just travelled up by road. Saadou is on his way up there just now.  There is a situation of insecurity here. We all know that. But we are trying to create something regardless of that fact.
In the end seven have agreed to travel down by car. I will meet them in Bamako. And then, insh'allah, this project will finally be on its way!

Back in Djenné

Sitting in the ruins of my old world in Djenné. There are vestiges of the familiar : Maman is still here and comes and serves me breakfast in the garden. At night fall he brings me my whisky and ice and peanuts on the roof, where I have an even  better view of the Mosque than from the hotel. All this is happening on my land, where my crumbling mud home and studio is still standing, although there was no  crepissage this year…

There is my old friend, the Southern Red Bishop (according to Collin’s book of West African birds). He comes every rainy season and is trundling up and down the land in his somewhat clumsy way, a fire-red disturbance on the retina  settling heavily here and there on a bush or a parapet and singing his song.

Papa has not started his little restaurant yet and is able to cook for me at night and tomorrow he will make some orange and lemon marmalade- our marmalade is very good, I have to say.

I have made inquiries about the attack that happened here in the centre of town a couple of weeks ago on the prison and its guards and  the FAMA of Djenné : (Forces Armés MAliennes). This event was something of a milestone in the recent history of Djenné, because the Marabouts had told me that there were never going to be any attacks here : they had all got together and made magic to protect the town. So it seems that their magic had not quite taken… Therefore  I thought, finally, that I should perhaps go to stay the nights here at the Campement hotel. But as soon as I arrived I changed my mind. The familiarity of my home made me feel safe, although of course that is just sentimentality..

It seems that the recent violence was more of a settling of scores. I have had several reports from
various sources that concur : the chef of the FAMA in Djenné, a Tuareg named M, who I know well and who has sometimes supplied me with soldiers as guards for the hotel when we had guests who wanted more security, had received death threats from a key member of the terrorist organisation which operates around here, loosely going under the name of the Front the Liberation de Macina.  This was the same person that had organized the attack on the Djenné Carrefour in the spring and various other disturbances.  M had been on his trail and there were several of his gang imprisoned in Djenné through the work of M and his soldiers. So far so good.

(Note, later: Since writing the following I have had other information. It appears that M and his soldiers had been in their right to shoot in self defence, because the known terrorist in Mounia they had come to arrest had been the one to shoot the first shot. That version would please me, since I like M, and would like to continue to think of him as a good professional.)

This is where the tale takes a somewhat unorthodox turn : M and his soldiers are supposed to have turned up in the home of this known terrorist in Mounia, about 20km from Djenné, shooting him dead  at point blank in front of his two wives. This is of course unacceptable behaviour  by any standards, and anyway, why shoot him ? He might have been able to offer some useful information  if he were taken captive ? Now, the explanation I was given for this behaviour was bizarre in the extreme: The man they shot had special powers. He could make himself invisible and disappear through walls. That is why it was not possible simply to take him captive, he would walk straight out of the prison through the walls! Now one of the most disturbing parts of this tale is that the person that told me this in perfect seriousness is a highly educated Malian who has just returned from a important conference  in Chicago. African superstition is certainly alive and well …but back to the events in Djenné : the cronies of the dead terrorist came from Mounia in some numbers and made a dawn raid  on the small army head quarters in the centre of Djenné, by the prison, where they liberated several of their gang. M himself was not there it seems. One guard died later from the wounds he sustained in the shooting.
(More, later: Curioser and curioser. Just to show me that I should probably never believe any of the baroque rumours that circulates around a small town like Djenné in the aftermath of an event like this attack at the prison baracks...  My old friend Yelpha, the new Imam of Djenné, just gave me another twist to the story: There WAS no attack at all! The guard that sat at the gate  at 4 am with his loaded gun had taken a little snooze and rested his head on his gun, which promptly went off under his chin and the bullet kindly took the route out by his ear, just missing anything vital. The other guards woke up and ran out, wildly shooting in the air. There was no sign of any terrorists, although all the exits to Djenné were immediately blocked. No prisoners were set free, the guard did not die, and M himself was quietly asleep in his quarters inside. Well, the attack never happened then? Yelpha, being one of the Grand Marabouts of Djenné that took part in the magic that is supposed to save the town, has of course a vested interest in promoting this version of the story, but it does tend to ring true to me...)
And on a more peaceful and ordinary note, I am in a rain sodden and muddy Djenné to wrap up the the very last British Library project here and also to try and sort out the textile studio and salvage what there is : could we somehow continue ? They are working on a few lengths of handwoven cloth for an Australian client. I will take it with me to England and post it from London. I am hesitant- my staff are so desperately wanting it to continue. There is nothing here otherwise…

Complications

The approach of Tabaski , or Eid El Kebir, is always an animal lover's nightmare in Mali with rams  being transported from the country side to the capital in their thousands, tied to the roof racks of buses and cars and shoved into their  baggage compartments  to be sold and slaughtered by the Pater Familias of Bamako (and elsewhere) on the morning of Tabaski in memory Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac. It is perhaps the biggest feast of the Muslim year. I always find it a scary story, and I wonder why it is so important for Muslims? The utter, unquestioning submission to God? Why on earth would God want Abraham to sacrifice Isaac? And why did Abraham not question it? A terrible story, which of course had a happy ending when God provided a sheep instead of Isaac, but nevertheless...
 And Tabaski is providing more complications than my theological questionings: it is slowing the project down. The new recruits are working away at the Imam Ben Essayouti Library already but in a provisional  way before their proper tuition takes place. This will not happen now until after this blessed feast, when the whole crew of six will travel down to Bamako to be taught digitization by the staff at SAVAMA, the hallowed  manuscript centre of Mali, led by the Eminence Grise of the Malian manuscript world, the 'Bad-Ass Librarian', Abdel Kader Haidara.
I went to see Abdel Kader this morning with some trepidation. It had not been the plan to involve SAVAMA in this project. If it had not been for the attack in Timbuktu we would have been on our way already, a totally separate entity, independent of SAVAMA. Now I asked their assistance in the training and after some discussion, Abdel Kader agreed to help us to get going by providing digitization tuition:  a generous  offer that I was glad to accept under these circumstances. So the staff is going down to Bamako but only AFTER the blessed Tabaski...
Meanwhile I am still at Eva's, but will soon leave for Djenné to tie up some loose threads at the library there and also to try and see what can be done at my clothing  and textile studio MaliMali which is still up and running...

Back in Bamako

Writing again from the relative safety of Bamako and the comfort of the Swedish residence . I think I am suffering from a delayed reaction to the events in Timbuktu. I felt unnaturally calm when the explosions and the sustained machine gun fire seemed to be surrounding us in our hotel. Now I feel it is difficult  to concentrate and to forge new plans : I think I am literally suffering from some minor shell shock perhaps…I am glad that Fr Columba and Walid are still here. Together we are picking up the pieces and we will be  making sure the project goes ahead.

Four young Swedish soldiers in full combat gear  turned up after night fall at our hotel room just after I had written  the last message. Two armoured vehicles stood waiting for us outside and we climbed in to what felt like a set of an action movie, or as  Fr. Columba called it afterwards : a boy’s dream . Flashing instrument panel more like an air craft than a vehicle ; hissing and wheezing of communication equipment with incomprehensible instructions ;  standing next to me in the back  was the lower part of a pair of hairy blonde suntanned legs (in shorts for some reason)  belonging to the soldier whose upper body was in the position of look out and gunner of our vehicle as we travelled the short route from the hotel to the UN camp Nobel which houses in the region of 200 Swedes. The soldiers were not very talkative. I wanted to know if they had taken part in the fighting and they replied ‘yes’, in a way that did not invite further investigation. I expect they had other things on their minds than small talk…

It seems that the final number of casualties of the attack,  which continued for more than four hours, was 12 . Five of these were Malian employees of a private security company who stood, unarmed, at the gates of the UN head quarter housed in the old Hendrina Khan hotel. There were five assailants killed and one civilian as well as one UN soldier, apparently Togolese. Une further UN soldier from Burkina Faso was seriously wounded and operated on at the Swedish camp . He regained consciouness and was in a stable condition the following day.

Once we arrived at the Camp Nobel we had to hand in our telephones and our laptops. Then we were shown around : the large canteen ; the bathrooms ;  our air conditioned tent with about ten camp beds, each with a separate mosquito net structure and bedding. Next to our tent was the Chapel tent where Fr. Columba said mass the following morning : it was the Feast of the Assumption and also Walid’s birthday.

We are very grateful to Eva for arranging our evacuation to the Swedish  camp,  and also for  the kindness and hospitality shown to us by the Swedish soldiers. We  were extremely well looked after in the camp.  It soon became quite clear that we were not going to be able to return to the town  of Timbuktu, however.  We had to arrange our flights out of there and there was only one way out of the camp : escorted by the Swedish military to the airport. Nevertheless, we were able to arrange a meeting with Ben Essayouti and his nephew Alpha, who is the archivist in the Imam Ben Essayouti library by the Jingerey Ber Mosque. They were allowed into Camp Nobel for an hour’s meeting in the Church tent where we made emergency plans.  It was decided that the next day they would open up the boxes which have arrived for the project and they will begin the first task together with four of the people I chose  when I came on my recruitment visit last month. They are already  able to prepare the manuscripts for digitization by cleaning  the manuscripts with the special brushes supplied and they can begin the numbering of the pages with pencils.  We are going to try and send up a Malian  digitization expert from Bamako next week, someone already trained by Walid who will be able to carry out the instruction. Walid is trying to arrange this as I am writing . I have been in touch with the young Timbuktu staff I chose in July : they are all well educated but most  have never been able to find work. One has spent two years in a Mauritanian refugee camp. I was so happy and proud that we were able to offer them employment.
The project will go ahead. Of this  we are certain.

Trouble in Timbuktu

I am sitting in my hotel room in Timbuktu with Fr Columba and Walid. Walid is sitting on the floor next to me holding his head in his hands. We have all just said the Lord’s Prayer and a Hail Mary. There are burst of machine gun fire close by to our north, most probably at Hendrina Khan, a hotel which has been taken over by UN forces. Now and then a lone shot (a sniper ?) is heard very close by, it seems almost in the garden of the hotel, where we left hurriedly only some minutes  ago when a sudden, prolonged  series of machine gun fire broke out. Now the air is filled with the sound of helicopters and the close firing is dying down it seems … There are voices in the hotel corridor ; we keep quiet- are they friendly voices ? who are they ? The hotel staff ? Walid is suffering from childhood memories from his country the Lebanon and is taking this harder than Columba and I- he knows where it may be leading.

This may be the death knell of the new Project, even on the day it was supposed to start.

I just called the Governor, my new friend that I met at  the Flandres Hotel last month and who conveniently gave me his card. No reply. But two minutes later he called back. He was in Bamako. He was aware of a disturbance  in Timbuktu he said. « Just stay put where you are » was his advice. And of course there is not much else we can do… Oh dear, there was a bang just on the other side of the wall ! We do not speak any more, we do not know if we can be heard. I feel I should not even keep typing because of the slight sound I am making…More helicopters over head…

A litte later…Eva contacted me this morning. She has spoken to the commander of the Swedish UN forces here. He called me a little later just so we are in contact. We spoke about our security in general and I said I would get back to him when we had figured out whether we were going to take on a couple of guards during our time here. That seems like such a long time ago now but it was only two hours ago… I tried to call him but there was no answer. (I expect he is busy right now!) But I sent him this text : «There is shooting all around us .  We are hidden in my room at the hotel, Sophie ».  No reply yet.

Columba (above) just sent Alice an email thanking her for a lovely evening on Saturday night – he is cool as a cucumber- and she sent one back straight away, hoping we had a pleasant flight and that we are enjoying Timbuktu… so noone knows anything yet in Bamako apart from the Governor.

Just sent an SMS to Eva. And this is what she sent back : «  Hello Sophie.I have just got a message from Timbuktu. You are quite right. It is UN head quarter West which is under attack. The Swedish contingency is on its way from Camp Nobel to relieve them. You should absolutely stay in your room and lock the door and keep quiet. Keep calm. Hugs. We’ll keep in touch. Eva. » 

It seems quieter. But sporadic fire. 

New  message from Eva : « The Swedes have arrived and are securing the head quarters.  I have told them you are at the hotel. Stay put until someone gets in touch. Eva. »

Phone call from the Swedish commander : «  We have been having quite a rough time.  We are now searching the place and securing it. Stay put until you hear from us ».

 Phone call from Edgar, another Swedish commander. He wants a detailed description of each of us. I think they are coming to pick us up as soon as they can.. more soon inshallah...

Remembrance of Things Past

 

There is something symbolic and some even say Freudian about losing diaries and computers : I seem to do so every 10 years or so when  there is a great change in my life. Now, on the Turkish Airways flight back to Mali, between Istanbul and Bamako, I lost my old laptop. The air steward was taking his job seriously. He  told me I couldn’t keep my laptop with me as we landed at Niamey and  he snatched it away before I had time to object. He put it into the overhead compartment. And there it remained and it might even still be there, as far as I know. The next day I went to the Turkish Airways office here and reported the loss : emails were sent in order to try and retrieve it but to no avail.

And of course nothing was backed up. I am starting a new life, yes, but I do not want to wipe out all memories of my old life in Djenné ! But that is what I had more or less done. All my pictures of my ten happy years in Djenné with Keita were gone. Keita too is gone now, and so is my hotel.  I felt bereft once more, as if one layer after another was being stripped from me and there was nothing left.  It is my own fault. I am irresponsible in the extreme about my own life and safety, so everyone tells me. I have no insurance for anything at all ; I have lived for years in Djenné, a place other toubabs feel is out of bounds for safety reasons and now I am going into Timbuktu to run a project which makes everyone nervous apart from myself ; I do not back anything up; I have never paid anyting into any pension schemes: in short, I am hopeless.

When I calmed down from the shock of this most recent calamity of the losing of my laptop with all its precious data, it dawned on me with a great sense of relief, that of course all is not lost : I have my blog (www.djennedjenno.blogspot.com) written for eleven years, recording my life in Djenné in words and pictures. And then I made a wonderful discovery : my friend Nicholas had arranged something called Dropbox to be installed on my computer because we were working on a project together. I normally take no notice of the possibilities such installations give me, but just this once I had transferred a file called ‘My Life with Keita’ onto the Dropbox.  I vaguely recalled this, and once I had gone through the painful process of buying a new laptop, installing everything and ‘moving in’ to it, I made a half- hearted attempt to see if I could find this Dropbox thingy. And YES ! Alhamdilullah ! Unbelievably, there is was, waiting for me out in the ether :  my loveliest memories of happy times which will never return. Here, above is Keita on our holiday in Togo in 2008, still healthy.

And not only that, but my dear friend Eva, the Swedish ambassador to Mali, with whom I always stay when I am in Bamako, tried to comfort me for my loss and looked into her files where she  found pictures of me and Keita that I had never seen before, like the one below from the autumn of 2015 when both Keita and I were very sick but nevertheless enjoying our time staying here in the Swedish residence : good company, good food and always plenty of laughter.

So all is not exactly well, but little but little I am recovering many precious pictures. If you read this and you have archives from the hotel in Djenné, or even from my European visits in the last ten years, please let me know, I would love to recover some more.

And soon, soon I am off to Timbuktu, in the company of Fr Columba the Benedictine Friar and Walid the Lebanese digitization teacher. As I write this they are winging their way into Bamako airport. Our newly recruited staff is waiting for us in Timbuktu where we are starting on the manuscripts of the Imam Ben Essayouti’s library next to the Jingerey Ber Mosque. The air conditioners for the studio  have arrived in Timbuktu  after their long dusty journey from Bamako ; the three boxes of precious cameras and computer equipment have been flown up on the UN cargo flight. All is finally ready, so let the show begin…