The power of social media

No matter how hard I try I don’t manage to open either Facebook or Twitter. It’s not really an uncommon thing that I cannot access these sites from my phone. Especially at home the connection speed is often too slow. Over the past few days I couldn’t access the sites from my computer in the office either. Internet has been horribly slow there too lately, so at first I thought that was the reason. I’d probably still have believed it if I would have had trouble accessing other sites as well, but those work.

A few days ago a very popular local radio host and singer, known as Ras Bath, was arrested. I’ve never listened to any of his talk shows, but apparently he’s a huge fan of the freedom of press, using it to be critical and putting a finger on many a delicate issue, including corruption, the political powers and the army. In the eyes of certain people he must have crossed a line.

Ras Bath seems to have incredible numbers of followers, mainly amongst the Malian youth and he has made good use of social media to connect with them. Following his arrest youngsters flooded the streets of Bamako protesting and asking for his immediate release. At least one of them was killed by gunfire, several others were wounded. Security measures in Bamako were instantly taken to a higher level.

Is the Malian government afraid of a revolution like Burkina Faso has seen in previous years? There definitely seem to be similarities as the Burkina Faso revolution was powered by two popular local rappers, who got impressive crowds flooding the streets across the country. And they too used social media to communicate with their followers.

So, no there was no particular internet connection problem causing the inaccessibility of Facebook and Twitter. Both platforms were shut down on government order.
Even though Ras Bath has been liberated yesterday – awaiting his trial – there is still no access to either of the two social media platforms.

Quite a bummer since I personally use Facebook to keep up to date with the well-being of my friends around the world and to share bits of my life in Mali with them. We also use Facebook and Twitter as a business communication tool. And we agree, social media is an incredibly helpful and powerful tool for sharing information.

Like with many other things you only truly realize the value of things when they are not available. Besides a situation like this clearly shows what happens when a government uses its power: an entire nation can be – temporarily – silenced…

The truth about stories

A friend living in Bamako told me about a young man from Ségou she had encountered multiple times over the past month or so. He had traveled to the capital to sell necklaces to gather the money needed to repair the motor of his boat.
She told him for weeks on a row that she had already bought so many necklaces that she really didn’t want to add any more. Yet, she felt sorry for his problems and finally decided to gift him a small sum.
‘I know everyone says it’s better to buy things or to have people work for the money, but honestly I didn’t want any more necklaces, even though they are beautiful’, she told me. She was very happy she had still been able to help the young man, who had been courageous enough to travel to Bamako to earn the much needed money.

Over the years I’ve become reluctant to giving money. I’ve heard so many stories about ill family members, about collapsed rooftops, about upcoming weddings and so much more. When people whole heartidly try to help someome in such a ‘dire’ situation it often leaves me with mixed feelings.
I’ve buyed in to multiple stories feeling so sorry for people about their situation. I too have whole heartidly tried to help people, providing them with the money that would meet their urgent needs. Needs that often turned out to be quite different: a bar visit, a new phone et cetera.
I’ve learned my lessons.

Nevertheless I felt (very) bad about feeling so reluctant when she told her story.
Especially when she explained to me what the young man and his boat looked like. He’s one of the people taking his work seriously and taking good care of his boat as well as of his family.
I felt sorry for him for the badluck with his motor. He had bought it only a couple of months ago. A Chinese mark. Maybe it wasn’t as good as he thought it would have been.
I hadn’t noticed his absence; his time in the capital surely had coincided with my recent trip.

Knowing this young man well, I stepped by on my way back home, to ask how he was doing and to inquire about the motor of his boat.
‘Monique, I’m still so happy that I changed the motor earlier this year. It’s click and start!’, he stated with a big happy smile on his face.
‘But you recently had it repaired, didn’t you?’, I asked him in surprise.
He hadn’t.
‘You weren’t in Bamako?’, I asked him.
He had been, only a few hours though, visiting an ill family member.

It sure wasn’t him, telling stories about a broken-down motor of his boat.
Nor was it our captain or the captain of the only other tourist boat in town…

Timbuktu can wait – part 2

The Djinguereber mosque in Timbuktu was built in 1327 and served throughout the centuries as a learning centre for the Islam.

I recently posted a blog titled Timbuktu can wait on why we do not currently take clients to the fabled city of the 333 saints. Following on that blog I’d like to share the story of one of our close friends, a Timbuktu resident, on what happened on a recent trip back home.

Like I wrote in my 9 April blog we took the decision to not take travelers to Timbuktu at present for good reason. Only a few weeks after I published the post, our good friend A. traveled back from Bamako to Timbuktu. He had tried to get a seat on a UN flight, but unfortunately hadn’t been granted one. Finally he decided to travel overland and share a ride with friends. Precautions were taken: only a small amount of cash in his pocket and only little money in his mobile account.

The trip went well, just until all in a sudden they were forced to stop the car by armed men. The driver stopped the car. There seemed to be only two bandits, but they were ruthless and started shooting immediately. Two of the men in the car were wounded by the bullets. It was clear to everyone: obeying was their only chance they might live to tell their story.

Within minutes the five Malian men were robbed of all their belongings, including clothes and all the water and food in the car. They were lucky though, they were all alive and the car was still there.
They made it back to Timbuktu, where the two wounded men were instantly brought to the hospital, where they spent multiple days recovering from their injuries.

It took A. a few days to get the practical stuff taken care of: new sim cards, demands for new debit cards et cetera.
Getting over the experience will take much longer.

You shouldn’t!

‘Monique, you shouldn’t treat me like this, there are other ways to deal with me’, Mr. X said.
‘I shouldn’t treat you like this? You shouldn’t treat me like this! You’re not taking me serious, but I’ll make sure you’re going to!’, I added with a fierce and clear voice. ‘I’ve paid you all of your money, and I’ve paid a very fair price.’
An uncomfortable grin appeared on his face. He knew he wasn’t right and soon realised I wouldn’t let him get away with it this time. I was done being the good and patient girl.

It’s hard to get me upset or angry, but sometimes people cross a line. A salesman in Ségou had the doubtful honor. Late February 2014 I had ordered seven hand-made items from him. A week should be enough to get the job done he had assured me. Since he was at that time working on another order, I would have my seven items by the latest in a month.
One month went by, another month went by and by early June he had managed to deliver… six. I had been promised time and time again that all seven would be ready before I’d travel to The Netherlands. He had even blamed me several times for not having given him the right travel dates (…) and sure enough nr. 7 wasn’t ready before I left.
I didn’t need to worry though, it would be waiting for me upon return. He seemed to have forgotten that I had ordered the items to take them to The Netherlands. And of course it wasn’t waiting for me upon return (you’re back already?). Also I had to return one that hadn’t been properly made, which brought the number of delivered back to five.

‘You’ll have them tomorrow.’
‘I promise you, both of them will be ready before the end of this week.’
‘Really, did I tell you they would be ready today? You must be mistaken. Come back the day after tomorrow. They’ll be waiting for you.’
And on it went and again weeks became months.
Late November I decided that enough was enough. I would get my ordered and paid for items!
So, I went to his shop again, exactly at the day he had said they would really really really be ready!

‘Monique, good evening, what brings you here?’ he said looking the other way.
‘I have come to collect my items.’
‘Today? I told you tomorrow.’
‘No you said today, so today it is.’
‘I promise you, one will be ready tomorrow, the other one on Sunday.’
‘You’ve told me that once too often and it’s been nine months now. I’ll give you a reason to take me serious!’ Not giving him the chance to interrupt me, I stepped forward and took two items from a shelf, that had at least the same value as the ones ordered.
‘I’m taking these two as a security. Please note that I do not want these, I’ll just guard them for you till the others are being delivered.’
‘You’re not going to do that. I’ve given you my promise. You’re making a mistake. You should not be treating me like this.’
‘So far your promises were worthless. Do you realize that everyone will sooner or later face the consequences of their behaviour and that you will be no exception?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I won’t take you to the police, but someday someone else might do so.’ He had a bit of a fright. Only a week before someone had taken another salesman to the police for abuse of confidence. He was still in jail awaiting his lawsuit.
‘Ok, take whatever you want, you can take even more than two.’
‘You owe me two, I’ll take two.’

Without any doubt people within earshot had closely followed the conversation. They all know him and his attitude towards his clients. When leaving the shop with the two items I was praised on my good choice. I told them they were gifts of Mr. X. They looked at me in surprise.

The next day the first item was being delivered. And only two days later the second arrived too. When I thanked Mr. X, he thanked me with a big smile, stating I had done the right thing.

Unfortunately he had soon forgotten about the lesson learned. He lost a well-paying client. This time for good.

First times

Carpentry teacher Chaka shows the children of Fanga School how to work with a wood carving machine during a visit at his workshop in Ségou.

Do you remember the first time you saw an asphalt road? Or the first time you saw a multiple story building? Probably not, since you were raised in an environment where these were so common that you have known them all of your life. Imagine that day you visited something quite different from what you were used too – maybe a rural area with lots of farming, cows walking in the streets, long-drop toilets and dust roads – and what it meant to you.

Last month a group of 21 children – group 5 of Fanga School* – had the honor to set out on a school trip (their very first ever!) to Ségou. It may not sound very appealing to kids in many a place to go to a city and to visit handicraft workshops on a school trip. The kids in Fintiguila however were beyond eager to step out of their comfort zones and into that whole new world.

One Sunday afternoon in April a minibus arrived in the village to pick up the children and the accompanying teachers and mothers. I wasn’t there to witness it, but I can imagine the kids pushing one another aside to get into the bus, all excited and probably not having much attention anymore for their parents and siblings waving them goodbye.
Their first night out quickly turned into a real adventure. Not even halfway the village and the city a flat tire occurred. The driver quickly replaced it and they were back on the road. Not for long though. Another flat tire and no more spare one to replace it. Night started falling and they were in an area without cell phone reach. Trying to stop one of the rare passing motorcyclists turned out to be a real challenge, but finally one did stop and they negotiated a ride for one of the adults to the nearest village, where they were able to contact someone in Ségou. A spare tire was arranged and brought to the minibus.
Finally at 10:30pm the minibus arrived in Ségou and the kids had a first chance to see a city by night. They were blown away by all the lights. When arriving at Centre Soroblé – where they spend the nights – they were very ready for their dinner. Still a bit modest – and maybe overwhelmed by all the experiences – they didn’t eat that much. Yet in the morning all the food was gone, so we guess there were a few nightly ‘snack tours’ 😉

When daylight arrived they were finally able to see more of their new surroundings. They didn’t stop taking it all in. Their heads turned from left to right and back when walking along the river to the town centre, where the week market was in full swing. Stops were made to greet people from the pottery villages, and at Archinard’s statue and the Faboulon Tunnel to explain about the history of Ségou. The kids were invited to visit souvenir shops, corner stores and one of the rare supermarkets in town. The afternoon was spent visiting mud-cloth workshop N’Domo, two carpentry workshops, a metal workshop, a carpet knotting women’s association and last but not least the soccer stadium.
On top of that they set out on a Ségou by night tour. That night they slept like babies!

Their last day in Ségou arrived all too soon. The kids couldn’t get enough of it. They were munching away the tasty rice and spaghetti meals (something they rarely eat in the village) and the bread and milk breakfasts. They were taking in every visit, some of them even taking notes.
Many of the villagers from Fintiguila have their family roots in the historical village of Segoukoro – in former times the capital of the Bambara Kingdom – so they visited the village and met the chief. Ibrahim guided them and explained about the history of their great-great-grandfathers.
Once more into town to visit our office and some of the nearby hotels, before time arrived to return to the village. A smooth ride got them back home before dinner time. They were warmly welcomed by their families. That night it took a long time before it was finally quiet in the village. The children just couldn’t stop talking about all that they had seen and done and answering all the questions of their parents, brothers, sisters and friends.

About a week later I visited them in the village and was of course very curious to hear, what had most impressed them. Asphalt roads, multi story buildings, electricity, the soccer stadium, Segoukoro, the supermarket (who treated them on drinks!), the hotel’s swimming pool and the Niger river were mentioned. All of the kids’ eyes lightened up when talking about their school trip.
Even though only one of them mentioned the workshops they had visited, I’m sure that part of the trip will surface sooner or later and the stories of the workshop owners – who make a good living working with their hands – will definitely inspire some of them at some point.
Also for one of the accompanying mom’s it was the first time in the village. She was truly inspired by the workshops – especially the bogolan – and asked Souleymane if she could learn it too.

‘Monique, Ibrahim promised us we can come back next year!’, some of the kids happily told me.
He may have been a bit over enthusiastic when promising that, but we’ll see… Next year it’ll be the next group 5’s turn. There’s much more to see and do, like visiting Comatex, the textile plant and setting out on a boat trip to visit one of the pottery villages and what to think about the rice fields or the calabash hamlet… So yes, if there’s enough money in the funds, we may invite this year’s group 5 back to Ségou too.
Fingers crossed!
* Fanga School is being supported by the Papillon Project Fund. The school – which was founded by our good friend Souleymane Coulibaly, owner of mud-cloth Centre Soroblé – combines theoretical and practical classes, which is a rare combination in Mali. Also children are invited to think for themselves rather than to just copy the teacher.

Post office challenges

The Ségou post office employee trying to fix the scale.

Heaving a deep sigh, she bends her head over the scale. It is rather worn out and it’s probably not her first challenge with the oh so necessary piece of post office equipment. It’s not the first time I’m witnessing these kind of inconveniences and it’s also not the first blog I am writing on the postal services in Mali. It may not be the last one either.

Post office visits are never really high on my want-to-do-list.
They usually come with challenges and they in general take a lot of time.

In general I prepare to avoid the most common challenges:
– I carry plenty of small bills and coins so they don’t need to set out on a search for change (or else I’m willing to take stamps as change).
– I already write my own receipt at home, which I complete with the prices at the post office, so they just have to stamp it.
– I make sure to not collect too many parcels to avoid facing a lack of stamps.
– I make sure I have about an hour available.

On Monday it was time again for a post office visit:
– small bills & coins – check!
– pre-written receipt – check!
– only two packages, one for Benin and one for Burkina Faso – check!
– time available: 1 hour – check!
Pretty straight forward, nothing special. Let’s see if we can beat Murphy’s law!

The post office clerk grabs the scale after having greeted me and sure enough the battery falls out. Now this is not the type of AA or AAA battery, but the one where you need to click on the + and – connectors.
She clicks on the connectors, puts the battery back in place and turns the scale around.
The battery falls out.
She puts it back in place and turns the scale around.
The battery falls out.
She puts it back in place and turns the scale around…

By now I feel like I’m watching Groundhog day.

Due to the lack of a battery cover – which probably got lost a long time ago – the battery falls out again and again and again.
And sure enough the moment arrives when one of the connecting cables disconnects.
A pair of scissors and scotch enter the stage to tape things back together.
They fall apart.
Are being taped back together…
They fall apart…
One disconnected cable.
Two disconnected cables.
She definitely wasn’t aiming at quitting the efforts, yet all efforts contributed to more pieces falling of the scale and a solution was not expected to happen miraculously.
The sighs get heavier.

‘I’ll be back in a minute’, I told the lady and went straight back home to grab the kitchen scale.
I admit it almost fell apart on the way to the post office (the extreme Malian climate wears stuff out – even the good quality stuff!), but luckily we could get the weighing done.
Challenge tackled!

It then turned out that the lady – who usually sorts out the packages and was now replacing a colleague – had no clue which price list she needed to use. Phone credit had to be ordered and a colleague was called for information.
Another challenge tackled!

Now we get to the hardest point. That is: for me. I’m kind of a number freak and the lady at the post office isn’t – nor are most of her colleagues. She had a real hard time to figure out how many stamps of 1,500 were needed for a package requiring 13,300 in total.
I gave her a hint, which she ignored.
With her phone serving as a calculator, she started narrowing down the options:
‘6 x 1,500 = 9,000, 9,000 that’s not enough.’
‘10 x 1,500 = 15,000, ah, that’s too much’ she whispered.
‘7 x 1,500 = 10,500’
‘You may want to try 8’, I suggested one more time. No response.
Breathe in, breathe out…
’10 x 1,500 = 15,000’
‘9 x 1,500 = 13,500’
‘So, now we just need to add 300’, she happily said.
Even though I felt like saying yes, to save a lot of time, I didn’t want her to end up with a deficit at the end of the day, so I suggested she might want to double check the amount.

In the end it all worked out. She managed to find out how many stamps 0f 1,500, 1,000, 300 and 100 were needed for any of the two packages and yes, even the stamps and change were available.
45 minutes after having entered the post office for the first time that day I walked back home again, feeling very grateful for the kitchen scale and… for having been patient enough to not grab the stamp booklet to get the job done in a fraction of the time.
It was probably not her choice to be poorly educated!

Timbuktu can wait

The fabled and mysterious desert city of the 333 saints, Timbuktu, has inspired explorers, writers and travelers

‘Look, that’s the travel agency, who refused to organize our trip to Timbuktu’, Ibrahim recently overheard a traveler say to his travel companion when walking past our office in Ségou.

Quite regularly people contact us to inquire about the possibilities to travel to Timbuktu. The fabled and mysterious desert city of the 333 saints is on many a traveler’s bucket list. Apparantly these travelers were amongst the people who had contacted us for a trip to Timbuktu.

True, we do not take people to Timbuktu at present. And for good reason.
Don’t get me wrong, we would love to (and we would love to travel there ourselves too), but it’s simply not the right time.

One swallow does not make a summer!
Even though these travelers went to Timbuktu and returned, the situation in the city is far from safe and the risks of incidents both in the city and on the road to Timbuktu are high.

Our good friends and guides in Timbuktu share their stories with us and provide us with up-to-date inside information and they are absolutely clear about it:
‘Do not take anyone to Timbuktu yet! Monique, you too will have to wait!’
Keep in mind that they used to make their living by guiding tourists and you may realize the value of their advise!

Banditry abounds in the North. Incidents happen almost daily and don’t even make it to the news. When a car is being ambushed, being robbed from valuables and money  is only the best case scenario.
Gunmen have no mercy.

Give it a few thoughts:
What would happen if you’d be kidnapped or murdered on a trip to Timbuktu?
You may be ready to take the risk. But it’s not just about you!
It’s also about your family and friends, about the people who organized your trip, about the people representing your country in Mali and about the consequences for the entire nation of Mali.

We’re not willing to expose our clients to this level of risks.
Neither do we fancy losing our license over a premature trip to Timbuktu or contributing to another set-back for Mali.

Be assured that we’ll let you know when we’re ready to add Timbuktu to the itinerairies again. Till then, we warmly welcome you to experience Mali’s beautiful South.

Most posts on this blog are based on experiences in my personal life. Every now and then – like in this case – I’m writing as the owner / founder of Papillon Reizen as well.

Dogon Country and Djenné road trip

Ibrahim’s grandmother enjoying our visit

‘That’s mine’, she stated with naughty twinkling eyes, snatching another piece of chicken. I can’t help laughing out loud. There’s no doubt about it, Ibrahim’s grand mother is clearly enjoying the macaroni and chicken dinner.

Time flies, and even though it didn’t feel that long ago, it had been almost a year since visiting the family in Dogon Country and even longer since I had set foot in Djenné. For Ibrahim it’s different. He sees family and friends in Dogon and Djenné on a regular basis when traveling with clients.

Taking a few days off and setting out on a road trip was just what I needed. It not only offered the chance to see family and friends, to renew my visa and to relax, but also to enjoy our recently bought car.
I like the adventure of public transport, but honestly it can take a loooooooooot of time in Mali and a sweaty and dusty trip is guaranteed this time of year. Traveling by car was a very pleasant change. No rush to leave the house in the morning, stops along the way and still arriving in Dogon Country the same day.
We ended up traveling with a private escort, stumbling upon a corporal needing a lift to Sévaré. A humble man, a gentle soul and equally a very clear and brave man willing to do what needs to be done for a better future of his country. He shared some stories about the past few years and expressed his sadness about the locals in the North being too fearful to share information with the army.
‘If only they would help us, we could do so much more for them and for our country’, the corporal told us. He has no doubts about the strength of the Malian army. ‘We can do the job, if only we were allowed to. Malian solders are the best’, he proudly added, ‘we can do up till 72 hours without food, we can work on little water, no matter what quality and we have the courage to fight for our country.’
It is great to know he’s out there in the North, planting the seeds of change.

I loved being in Dogon Country again, to sleep under the stars and to see Ibrahim’s family. Most of all his grandmothers of course. Both of them are over 80 and still going strong.  They stem from times when the day of birth wasn’t registered, so it’s guessing about their true age.
Last year one of them had asked for a solar powered torch, and we had decided to buy a few more for other family members as well. Such a joy to see they are enjoying using their Waka Wakas!
Umbere and Angelie have always lived in Dogon Country, leading a traditional village life, including the traditional Dogon food, based on locally grown millet. We were warmly invited to share some tô (traditional Dogon dish), but decided to treat them on a macaroni and chicken meal instead. The old ladies instantly turned into young girls giggling from joy. Ibrahim’s worry that they would not be able to eat chicken without teeth, proved to be absolutely unnecessary.

After a few days with friends, family and lots of sleep, we got back in the car, destination Djenné. One of our good friends had recently gotten married. We hadn’t been able to join the festivities, but had promised to step by and share a meal. Tion Tion of course, a regional dish!
It was great catching up with all of our friends and guides in Djenné, and of course we grabbed the chance to gather information about upcoming events. Djenné is preparing its first festival. It is said to become a mix of music, culture and tradition, such as mask dances. Can’t wait to hear more about it!
And… the village elders are discussing dates for the annual plastering. Nothing confirmed yet, but most certainly in April!

Our arrival in Ségou was blessed with rain.
Hello Niger River, home sweet home!

8 March

Women podding beans in a Malian village ——- © Papillon Reizen – http://www.papillonreizen.com

‘You will be taking the day off tomorrow, won’t you?”, Ibrahim asked me on Monday.
‘Why would I be taking the day off tomorrow?”, I asked him in surprise. “I’m having a day off today.”

The 8th of March always has been a day like other days to me. To be honest I wasn’t even aware of the existence of International Women’s Day until 8 March 2006 when I was presented a rose by a friend originating from the Balkans.

In Mali International Women’s Day is ‘a big thing’. Cloth sellers start promoting the 8 March fabric weeks in advance. Men who have the means buy 3 pieces for their wives and present it to them timely, so they’ll have a chance to (proudly) show up in the proper clothes on 8 March.
All around the country meetings are held for women. Often with some kind of educational or sensitizing value.
The women enjoy their special day.

The ladies in our lunch restaurant all had the day off on March 8th and two of them were served a meal by their husbands. They felt sorry for me that I had been working and cooking meals and were telling Ibrahim he’d better prepare me a meal next year on March 8th.

I’m amongst the lucky few in Mali, who has a partner, doing a fair share of daily tasks both at home and in the office. I’m pretty sure that if the ladies would have a choice between the 8th March advantages and having a husband, who contributes some of his time and energy to the household on a daily basis, they’d opt for the latter.

May International Women’s Day add to a better understanding between the sexes about contributing to the daily needs, sharing (financial means, emotions and what’s important to each individual) and supporting one another*.

I count my daily blessings!

* I’ve noticed that this is more likely to happen in relationships based on love.

Time is a funny thing

All in a sudden this week I realized, that it’s been a loooooooooong time since the last time I have posted a blog post. Over three years…
Wow, time flies, when you’re having fun 😉

The past couple of years have been interesting at least, and indeed they have flown by.
It’s not that there was nothing to write about, on the contrary. Living and working in Mali and traveling in West Africa there’s always a story to tell.
There were times that I was tired of writing. In between I did write some blogs, that were never posted due to power cuts, extremely slow internet (thanks Orange Mali…), the thought of a lack of time and being too tired. Finally these blogs were even forgotten about.

Time is a funny thing. Not in the last place our thoughts about time.
A well-known saying in Africa is: ‘You’ve got watches, we’ve got time.’
And I have to admit, that even though I have not been wearing a watch for at least a decade, I have had the idea of not having enough time. When I wasn’t sleeping, I was working. The more work I got done, the more I still had to do.

My perception of (a lack of) time had become a believe, a truth and a self-fulfilling prophecy. By the end of last year I was not only lacking time, I was lacking energy and sleep. And by the time one of my closest friends travelled to Mali to visit me… I fell ill.
It was about time for a change!

I tapped into my inner knowing, allowed myself the time to attend some eye-opening webinars and took some firm decisions:
– I allow myself two days off each week
– I have plenty of time to get my work done
– I have energy left for fun things

It’s not the first time in my life that I took a leap of faith and it actually felt great and a reward towards myself.

Several months have passed since.
I got my health back, have much more energy and indeed get my work done in five days a week, leaving time to relax, read, cook and enjoy.

I love having time!