Another Last Time..

And this time, really the last. That is to say, when I sat on my hotel roof on the last day of June, 2017, looking at the familiar sunset view of the great mosque, sipping my last sunset cocktail, that was also the Last Time- but that was for my hotel. I have now sat on the roof of my house, which offers the same sunset view over Djenne, glass of whisky in my hand, for the very last time. I have had my dinner of Tineni  ( Djenne whitebait) in the garden, cooked by Papa and Maman has served it me for the last time. I have walked around MY land for the last time- have stood by the grave of Maobi where a Jacaranda tree now grows- probably the first in Mali.

I have sold my land to a rich local merchant- he will take possession at the end of the year. If I understand correctly he will put one wife in the house and the other in the bogolan studio- having made it a little more habitable I expect- and then migrate between the two as is the Muslim tradition.  

Maman and I burned all the papers of my 12 years of Malian life this afternoon: there were the  lovely but impossible  barman Beigna’s several official warnings- Beigna is long since gone, buried in a collapsing gold mine towards the Guinea border; there was Ali the ‘chambermaid’s’ dismissal;  the contract for the lovely Fatou our sou-chef; the drawings for the house in which I am now sitting  for the last time: “ La Maison de Keita et Sophie”; letters and cards from happy hotel guests with invitations to visit ( I did visit some); reports on trachoma campaigns deep into the bush with Keita and Barry- both buried now... Keita's X-rays and Laboratory results- I had  kept them with an idea I might make a piece of art with them somehow but now know I never will- too dark. Hotel accounts- long hand written lists under the headings ‘logement, resto, bar’; reservations sheets: goodness! we were popular before the troubles struck late 2011: I always count the beginning of the end from the day in November when my friend Karen who ran a successful local travel company called me and announced breathlessly that three tourists had just been kidnapped and one killed in a restaurant in Timbuktu...

I have walked around touching things- the tired and warped wood veneer  of the bogolan tables where I have spent so many days, months and years painting with Dembele  and the others; the mud on the rooftop parapets where the mosquito net was placed for Keita and me when we slept on the roof during the Great Heat of April and May: I have looked down into the garden where we sat in defiance under the stars on that night of Ramadan when the Angel of Destiny crosses the sky and counts those that he will take with him in the coming year...I have looked at the empty stable and thought of my lovely Maobi and Petit Bandit- also gone now. 

A melancholy day when many visitors  filed past to greet me- the last ones I did not recognize at first but they were from the manuscript library. They wanted to thank me for the work I have done there and wanted to make me promise not to abandon them now: I must be courageous they said.  I think they came  to show me their support and appreciation because of the recent behaviour of the village chief: in any case I was touched.

                                                                              

Well, it was a day in two halves…

The first very stressful and the second blissfully relaxed.  If the day were a  play it might be described as a a first act punctuated with a series of planned events resolved one by one not without  a high sense of mounting anxiety ; culminating  in an unplanned, highly dramatic central event, which once it had erupted cleared the air to leave the way open for the second act: a cathartic, languorous and memorable afternoon…

The stress was supplied by the fact that Madou, my IT  friend from Djenne who was going to set up the ‘Djenne Experience’ 3 D viewing was supposed to pick me up at 7am, but he was ONE HOUR late. I should have taken a taxi, but I was gullible enough to believe him every time I called him and he said ‘I am only just around the corner !’ (a terrible Malian habit- don’t ever believe anyone here who tells you that !)  So I started the morning in a frightful stew and when he finally turned up I did not deign to speak to him, but just hissed ‘shut up and let’s get the hell over there’ in my most murderous tenor. 

Once at the Archives I was immediately face to face with some of the first arrivals, among whom I found the Dugutige, or the Djenne Village Chief, who you might recall if you look in on this journal now and then- he is the one who has been trying to get the Djenne Manuscript Library shut down for years, and has done all in his might to ruin everything for us, including turning up at the Ministry of Culture and UNESCO to put his complaints forward. Finally the Minister of Culture- bless her- sent him a letter which was leaked to everyone concerned. The letter said that the digitization of manuscripts is a legal act if the participating manuscript owners have given their consent (which they all have) and that the Ministry of Culture was warmly endorsing the Project etc. That did not stop him. He continued regardless on his incomprehensible quest to destroy us.

So there he was. Uninvited. It was clear to me that he was intending to cause some sort of trouble. And he did- after all the speeches : by Cat the British Ambassador, by Hasseye the President of the Library, by me etc ; after all the symbolic handing over of the hard drives  (the supposed high point of of the ceremony  which was invisible because all the photographers and the local TV News team was crowding in and hiding the view) ; there he was, insisting that he wanted to speak.  Malians are very respectful of age and of position. He is old and he is the Village Chief- of course he was given the opportunity to speak. So off he went again, complaining (in Bambara) that he had never been consulted about the Project ( the late Village chief had been though) etc. People were shifting uneasily in their seats. An  increasing murmur of embarrassed discontent became audible. Samake, the MC had not translated any of his intervention yet. Madame Sanogo Le Secretaire Generale du Gouvernement with the rank of Minister  and the highest official present now sent off a flunkey to whisper in Samake’s ear to shut it up. So Samake did. And in an incomparably cool manoevre he went up to the podium and spoke : ‘ For the Ambassadors present ( the British, Swedish and South African)  and those who may  not understand Bambara I would like to translate the Village Chief’s intervention. He is congratulating the Library on its important work, and he is expressing  how very  happy he is to be here today’ etc…

After this cliff hanger it was the end of the ceremony and people dispersed little by little but not before having had a good  look at the exhibition of course, and having tried out the 3D viewers- a great success. Here we see Banzoumana from SAVAMA trying them out: 

 I had been invited for lunch by Mark Saade the Malian Honorary Consul to the UK in a venerable old Bamako restaurant- formerly called the Campagnard. Cat, the ambassador was also invited, as well as Mark’s brother and a most charming Malian-the ex Minister of Defense and most recently the Foreign Minister:  Tieman Hubert Coulibaly, a direct descendant of the Bambara Kings of Kaarta, and formerly the member of a Reggae band who had the distinguished position of warm- up group for Burning Spear  in the eighties… (Not many people know this I should imagine.) Well it was a most fabulous lunch that went on for four hours…

Febrile activity...

                                     

At the Archives Nationales in Bamako, in preparation for the EVENT tomorrow morning. And that event is of course the Bamako version of the British Library’s exhibition from Djenné as well as the closing ceremony for the Projects.

The Director of the Archives, M. Diabaté, was supposed to go on holiday, but has postponed it in favour of staying to be part of this ceremony, which has gathered a sort of momentum and promises to be well attended : mostly because a rumour has circulated that Mme Keita, The First Lady of Mali would be present. Therefore the National Archives has been receiving a hurried, long needed touch of paint ; the gardens have suddenly seen some long awaited care and even the flooring has been repaired- so as not have the First Lady trip over the broken tiles. Yesterday I found out from the Britsih Embassy that the rumour was in fact false- she was otherwise engaged… However, I kept quiet about it, in order for the face lift of the National Archives to go ahead. We lesser mortals will be benefitting after all… and among us will be plenty of luminaries, including Diankounda Traoré, the ex-president during the transition period after the coup. He is a personal friend of Mark Saade, the Malian Consul to the UK who has flown out especially, bearing exciting IT paraphenalia from my old friend Nicholas Mellor who is setting up a ‘Google Expedition’ at the exhibition, which will enable the guests to  visit Djenne and the library in a 3-D virtual reality tour tomorrow morning…

More of this later of course…

Later:

We have lost an Ex- President but gained an Ambassador:

Diankounda Traore has had to rush off on important business in Accra, but Jessica Svardstrom, the new Swedish ambassador will be there, and that is nice!

This and that...

Life is neither particularly exciting or great, nor disastrous or grandly and interestingly tragic. Life is just trundling along, which is why I have been  quiet. But of course I am a spoilt brat too- for really, I should be happy about my up-coming trip  to Mali again on Monday; about the fact that the Djenne exhibition at the British Library will be duplicated in Bamako soon;  about the new commission for another canvas floor I have had- in Cambridge this time in  a lovely little late 19^th century working man’s cottage which is being turned into a museum- The David Parr House. He was a painter and decorator that worked in a Cambridge paint factory, and his work inspired him to paint every surface of his house, which is is decorated  from top to bottom in lovely Arts and Crafts style, untouched for over a century. I am recreating a couple of floor canvases and have been working at home to prepare some samples.

      I  needed a stencil so I went to an engraving studio in Hatton Garden and had a stencil laser cut: what an exciting machine to watch and how beautiful to see the pattern emerging!

                                                                      

Then  a wonderful weekend in the north Oxfordshire countryside at the big lovely farmhouse of Imogen and Jasper- 

                                                                                                               

and finally on  to Mallorca to see dear Eva Emneus, who has now retired as ambassador to Mali- we spent five lovely days exploring that  beautiful island. So all is well... no, more than well really.

                                                                                

                                                                                

The Happy Girl

                                                                     

Jeremiah thought I ought to keep a a happy little girl handy as a counter weight to the disgruntled  tot below (given to me by Malick Sidibe in 2007) that I use to illustrate assorted  hardships or frustrations I am experiencing.

And here she is at the top, the lovely little girl Jeremiah gave me for that very purpose. She is from upper Cape Town, South Africa 1973, and the picture is taken by Juhn Kuus. Let's hope we have reason to see plenty of her in the coming months!

Today she introduces some good news: MaliMali is still operational in Djenne, and apart from our textiles  we are an agent /middlehand for some local women who make necklaces from recycled flip flops. When I arrived in Djenne in October I was able to give them an unusually large new order from Zingy B, a South African shop that has  been a good client for many years. Below is a small part of the finished products, ready to ship.

Niaber is a Bozo woman who has a little team of her friends making the necklaces in their back yards in between the household chores. They were thrilled to have some work again- the first in many months. 

I was able to give her an advance to  start the work when I was there. Since we have a long

 standing relationship with the South African client, I was not worried about payment. 

Niaber was so happy about it that she sent over a whole tubful of the delicious little whitebait style fish that she had just deep fried that evening- the lovely little fishes are called Tineni and it is one of the best things of this time of the year in Djenne..here below with Baba, my ex-waiter, who joined me for the feast.

A few days ago Dembele and Maman, the remaining Malimali staff in Djenne told me that Niaber had delivered the finished goods . I contacted the South African client and sent her the invoice which was supposed to be paid in full at this stage: a sum of about  £800 pounds which should be sent by Western Union directly to Dembele. I heard nothing. I sent more emails. More nothing. Finally I sent this:

"Good morning Leana,

I am very concerned that I have not heard from you. I hope you are well? Perhaps you are travelling somewhere out of internet reach?

Are you experiencing problems accessing the money? Please do let me know what is going on and we will try and find a solution.

Because we are dealing with people that are extremely poor in Djenne, - much poorer than you can possibly imagine- I now find myself forced to send out sufficient money to pay  Niaber and her workers unless you can pay today or at least let me know that you are sending the money Monday at the very latest.

looking forward to hearing from you today

Best wishes,

Sophie"

More of nothing followed....I believed I would have to step in and pay, I told Dembele and Maman to reassure Niaber they would be paid on Monday whatever happened. I even said a  prayer about this- because I can't really afford to pay for it all...

and then finally  last night I got this back:
"Hey Sophie Gosh!

Your mails went to my Spam Folder for some or other goodness knows why reason!

I just came upon them now by accident.

I will pay as soon as Western Union opens on Monday morning.

I will never not reply or not pay.

I have no idea why mails went to spam. I never look in the spam folder.

Regards

Leana"
                                                                         

The Honorary Consul.

Mark Saade is the Honorary Malian Consul in London. Born in Segou of Lebanese parents, he is a third generation Malian and runs an ambitious and very thorough Consulate it seems to me: certainly not much  resemblance to Graham Greene’s  whisky-soaked and wistful character here...

 I visited the Consulate yesterday: only a pleasant short walk through the lovely autumnal Notting Hill streets.                                                              

The Consulate doubles up as Mark’s architectural practice.  I was very pleased to find out that it is possible to get visas for Mali there. That is it then. No more queuing up at the dreary old Surete in Bamako, with the grumpy Madame Maiga whom my Keita always quarreled with when he used to accompany me to the visa place.

Mark is helping me to try and find sponsors for the Djenne Manuscript Library, so it can at least stay open. He will be going out to Mali at the beginning of December and will be present at the ceremony that marks the opening of the Bamako version of the exhibition which is now at the British Library.

He seems hopeful and has great contacts- here and in Bamako- so hopefully...

                                                                          

And last night our little Dante reading group finally  finished the  Inferno! It has taken us nearly a year to reach  the final line of the  final stanza  as Dante and Virgil emerge from the deep:

'to look once more upon the stars'.

We celebrated by seeing a beautiful film, the very first feature length movie ever made: the Italian 'Inferno' from 1911, with some lovely 'special effects': here the unfortunate lovers are swept around eternally by a great wind in the Circle of the Lustful. In the New Year we will begin to climb 'Purgatorio',  the sequel in Dante's epic poem.

Hyde Park

on a sunny autumn Saturday.

The light is bright and hard- the white of the birds on the blue of the water seem like exaggerated technicolour from the days of early colour films. Almost all the people that are walking here and passing me are talking other languages- Italian, French, German mostly. They are still here, but what crowds will walk these paths next year?  
 Everyone does look very happy as they are walking their dogs and children,  marvelling at the Peter Pan statue, taking selfies. A large flock of birds fly up between the trees and then change direction in perfect unison, how do they all know when to move? It must be nice to understand one’s place in the whole picture so clearly.

I read a very good article by Max Hastings  in the Times this morning about the Great War

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/edition/news/sacrifice-of-the-great-war-was-far-from-futile-97nj8v7mm

but it may not be possible to reach it, behind a paywall, alas. It inspired me to try and find a poppy- not very easy to find the Poppy selling points!