Shalom,
This post is past due. I've been meaning to get around to it for a minute but there have been quite a few distractions over the past several weeks. That and I've needed a modicum of perspective to help process this whole, um, Mali meltdown thing. So I suppose I'll start from the beginning. Make yourself a tea and get comfy.
I'm going to assume ya'll know there was a coup d'état in Mali about seven weeks ago. Here's a bit of Malian history to catch you up. There's an ethnic minority, the Tuaregs, that have dwelled in the wastelands/Sahara desert for just about ever. They are Arab rather than Black African, nomadic pastoralists, and like many such groups have a colorful and bellicose history full of violent land seizures, rebellions, and general bad-assedness. Not that I want to generalize them too much. They're certainly not all war-mongers. But let's say when you have a group of people marching their camels and cattle through the Sahara, travelling at times hundreds of kilometers in search of a single well or grazing lands, it's not hard to see how a particular environment can mold such an identity. It also didn't help that last year's rainy season was miserable and their part of the country is now drought and famine stricken, even by their standards. So with that in mind, let's turn our attention to Libya.
Yes Libya. You see, before Mali's dear friend and investor, Col. Gaddafi, was torn to pieces by his people this past October, he had managed to recruit a large number of Malian Tuaregs to fight for his side. So after that fizzled a bunch of them returned, largely unwanted, to a famine and drought stricken country with a shit ton of arms. Trouble ensues. Tuaregs, specifically the MLNA (National Movement for the Liberation of Azawad [or colloquialy referred to as Ass-wad] ), moved south from the Kidal region bordering Algeria and have proceeded to advance town by town, humiliating and allegedly massacring the Malian military along the way. Enter the Coup.
On March 21st, a small faction of the military led by a 39 year old Capt. Amadou Sanogo bloodlessly ousted the sitting President, ATT (Amadou Toumani Touré) and proclaimed himself head of state. The reason being: Sanogo felt ATT was corrupt, incompetent, and purposefully allowing the Tuaregs to advance as a ploy to remain President for an unconstitutional third term. All of which is bullshit. ATT's second term was set to expire barely a month after the coup d'état took place and there was little if any indication he was interested in power grabs or extending his reign. In fact, it was ATT who led a rebellion over two decades ago, ending a dictatorship, leading an interim government, refraining from contesting in the country's first two elections and then winning two fair elections as President in 2002 and 2007. He essentially began the strongest democratic movement in Mali's history and what was a shining example of home grown democracy in West Africa up until now. Which of course makes his ouster that much more infuriating and depressing.
Anyways, imagine my surprise the morning of March 21st when I woke up to the news that the country I've been living in for the past 14 months just kicked out its sitting President and was under the command of a military junta. I immediately ran over to Daoda's house (my counterpart) and asked him if he knew what was up. He rather calmly said, "Oh yeah, ATT is on the run, they cut the radio and tv, and the borders are probably closed... So how was your morning? Did you sleep in peace? How is your family? How was your breakfast? What are we gonna do today? What?! You didn't eat breakfast yet? Oh this is very bad, here have some of mine." Perhaps I shouldn't be too surprised, given the checkered political history of many African states, but it seemed I thought this was a bigger deal than anyone else in my village. For the next four or five days, all volunteers were ordered to stay at their villages and keep a low profile. After that, we were consolidated to our regional capitals indefinitely. I spent the following 11 days sharing a tiny transit house with about 13 or so other volunteers. Amazingly, we didn't kill each other, nor was there any sign of coup activity or anything resembling chaos in my region of Mali. Still, spending every waking minute over-analyzing peace corps emails, embassy texts, and international news updates provided plenty of stress. One day we'd interpret the signs to say we were all going to be evacuated and sent home, then duly tried to get our heads in that mind frame. But then the next day brought seven black crows flying to the west and clearly this meant things would blow over and we'd be able to finish our service in Mali, so we duly put our heads back into that mind frame. Day after day, group think and ridiculous analysis of the most minute and seemingly meaningless updates dominated conversation. After day four or so I did my best to say fuck it, let whatever comes come, but I don't have the energy to try to read tea leaves every five minutes. Although, I will say that for the most part I was of the opinion that our time in Mali was quickly coming to an end. I was right... hooray (or not).
Of course the Tuaregs, being of at least average intelligence and reason, took this opportunity of mayhem and disorder in Bamako to strengthen their position in the North. As we read updates about the coup leadership and threats of sanctions from other West African states, we also noticed that the MNLA had sacked the entire northern half of the country including the 3 major cities of Gao, Kidal, and Timbuktu. Additionally, there were reports of fighting as far south as the Mopti region (central Mali) where volunteers were posted. Great job Capt. Sanogo on restoring pride and honor to Mali and the military! Furthermore an organization known as ECOWAS (Economic Community of West African States) was threatening to freeze Mali out of the community's shared currency, the cfa, as well as cut off all oil imports. Want to see a landlocked member of a monetary union come to a screeching halt? Just cut off the money and the gas. Sanogo was given a few days to step down an peacefully transfer power back to duly elected officials or said sanctions would go into effect. Big surprise, Sanogo didn't abide by any of the terms. With the sanctions going into effect, political instability in Bamako and a burdgeoning civil war in the North, our administration both in Mali and Washington decided it was time to go. I am proud to say we were the last international aid organization out of Mali, even some embassies had already closed before our organization decided to pull out. There really isn't any other development program like Peace Corps. Yeah, we're badasses, and we know it.
Next up, we were all (190 of us) consolidated to our training compound, Tubani So, outside of Bamako to prepare for our evacutaion. I think we were there for four or five days and they were my last in Mali. Surreal for too many reasons. We left Tubani So on April 18th for the Bamako airport and arrived in Ghana that evening. We were flown to Ghana so that we could do our COS (Close of Service) conference in a country that wasn't falling apart. Normally, one does this conference right before COSing, crazy right? Regardless of whether we were going to end our service in Mali, transfer to a new post, or take one of the other options, everybody had to do all of the COS paperwork, medical exams, description of service, close bank accounts, financial rigamarole, exit interviews, etc. The whole process went a lot smoother than I thought it would, at least from the business end. It wasn't much fun, however, saying goodbye to the people who at times got me through the last 14 months. We stay in touch though, still have that network. And of course, I had about 24 hours to decide if I wanted to return home or head straight to The Gambia. There were a slew of seemingly major decisions popping up over those five days, but that one was the cheddar (pretty sure I made the right call though). I spent another five days in Ghana doing a bit of travelling. Got to do some rainforest walks, hiked barefoot to the highest waterfalls in West Africa and paddled up the Volta River. Spent those days with some good friends from Mali to boot. And then it was Air Nigeria to Banjul, The Gambia, smallest country on the African mainland.
Seeing as how I've already written half a novel, I'll skim on The Gambia details for now. Suffice it to say that it's a very likeable place in spite of the circumstances in which I entered it. More to come on that later. I'm still transitioning, probably gonna hit a couple more lows before I really feel like a part of things here, but I am feeling better everyday. I move into my permanent site on Monday and can barely wait. Seven weeks of complete upheaval, watching a country I've come to love crumble, endless mind games as to what tomorrow will bring, losing my Malian family and my Peace Corps family, leaving work unfinished, knowing how much this turmoil is going to hurt everyday Malians, reading about new terrorist organizations entering Mali... It's fucked up, simple as that. Timbuktu, a city with one of the most robust cultural heritages in West Africa has succumbed to sharia law. I don't know. It's certainly not the way I envisioned my time ending in Mali, but it is what it is. In spite of this whole shit storm Mali has suffered, I've met enough of them to know that they will overcome. Unnaturally formed from French colonialism, half in the desert, plagued by drought, famine, and malaria, the gateway from Arab to Black Africa, Mali has always been a hard place and a fascinating one. People here have seen worse and carried on. There's no reason to think they'll give up now. So there it is. My favorite Malian saying goes as such: I taara i ka so, I naana i ka so -- You left your home to come to your home. Nothing could be more true. So many Malians I've met, some of the poorest people on this planet, welcomed me without question and made me a part of their family from day one. It's often been embarrassing and humbling how generous they've been to me. I'm so lucky I got to spend time in this part of the world and I can only hope I'll be able to return some day. But for now, let's see what The Gambia has to offer.
Peace and Love,
Rege
