Only in Africa

There are times when I am reminded that life is a bit different here and if I stop and think about what has just occurred, though it would seem quite odd to an outsider, it somehow makes sense when you live here. In recent months there are three experiences that stick out, unfortunately I only have pictures of two of them.

Our team biked out to the "pig farm" the weekend of Thanksgiving. The pig farm has no pigs, of course, but it does have a stream (depending on the time of the year) and rocks to climb, so our boys and a friend, Joel, wanted to hang out longer than the rest of the group. We assured them we would be fine and they could go on without us. I mean, what could go wrong? We were only three adults with 2 kids on bikes and 2 being pulled behind a bike 13 kilometers from home. Like I said, what culd go wrong? We played for an hour or so and headed out to leave where we found Joel's back tire completely flat.  We tried making him ride it but that didn't work and we feared it would mess up the rim. Because Brett was pulling the youngest two, we felt it best he go on ahead and get them home. We called Joel's mom, Alison to see if she could come get us. She was willing but her husband had the car at a wedding so she had to call him to come home. Meanwhile, Anna and I walked along with Dawson and Joel, all pushing our bikes. We decided this would take too long so we put Dawson on my bike with me, Joel on Dawson's bike and Anna on hers pulling Joel's beside her. Two strides down and we realized that didn't work. Next up: Dawson on his bike, Joel on Anna's and Anna on mine with me while I pulled the bike. Another failure. 

And while I knew help was on the way eventually, being stranded in the middle of nowhere with kids and bikes made me feel a need for a solution. I thought if only I could get the bike down the road a bit that would lighten our load and make our travel possible. So I waved down the next man on a moto I saw. He stopped without hesitation. I explained our situation to which he quickly replied, "Drive my moto." I told him that I couldn't and he didn't believe a white person who could drive a car couldn't drive a moto. I continued to express that it was without a doubt true. Still, his response was, "Drive my moto." Now a mother will do many things for her children, more than she ever thought possible. So in a sense of (unnecessary) desperation, I hopped on the moto. He gave me a quick rundown of how to drive it and jumped on himself, holding the bike above his head. If you've ever learned to ride a moto (motorcycle- really it was a motor scooter) you'll know having a person on the back isn't always the best way to learn, especially when that said person is holding a bike over his head. But I looked back once at Dawson, Anna and Joel and off I went with a man I had just stopped along the road, because, well, I was desperate to get that bike further down the road. We went off, little by little, toward the left, then right. And then the bag of grain that had been between the man's legs that was now between mine fell onto the road because I had no idea how to hold it and drive, as my feet were spread out on both sides as if I were trying to balance the moto with my legs. In reality, I had no idea where to put my feet and since the man trusted me to drive his moto I thought this was a finite point that didn't need to be discussed. But when the bag fell, I realized a change had to be made. So instead of asking where I put my feet, I grabbed the bag with my thighs for dear life and kept driving. Soon those I had left were out of sight and it was just me and this guy on his moto on the road. And good thing, since I swerved all over the road to keep us moving forward. But then, we needed to slow down as there was a bump in the road. Problem was he didn't tell me HOW to brake. I don't know, call me crazy, but this is important to learn BEFORE one is driving a moto. I knew there were hand brakes so that is what I used. He got us off the moto and explained, with hand motions, that if I used the hand brakes to stop us, we would flip head over the bike. Do remember this whole tutorial was in Bambara, which is not my first language, so I was admittedly thankful for the hand motions. :) After this we moved forward and I actually began to feel comfortable driving a moto with a man holding a bike over his head, even when from time to time it hit me on my head. Soon enough our salvation arrived as I saw my friend's car coming down the road. I feared she would miss me and all this effort would be in vain. Luckily, she stopped but to my surprise she was dying with laughter. I feared she have would miss me but as she said, "How would I miss a white woman holding on for dear life as she drives a moto with a Malian man behind her holding a bike over his head?" I guess we were kind of obvious. :)  We got our kids, threw the bikes on the roof and went home.

In January I went to Bamako with a friend to pick up Anna from her visit to the US. We made great time and were only an hour from home when we came to the bridge we needed to cross. There was a line of cars stopped in the road. I, of course, ignored them and continued forward only to find that there was a reason for them being stopped. The bridge was closed. They were working on it and it was going to be closed for a couple of hours. 

Being American, I just could not accept this answer. I needed to get home. I didn't need to sit on a road in the middle of nowhere for two hours. So I walked up to the bridge to talk to the workers, surely I could convince them to let me pass. And this is what I found.

So, there was no hope. They wouldn't let me pass. There was nothing I could do. There was no detour. The water below was too deep. All I could do was wait.

So what do you do when you are stuck on the road waiting for the bridge to be fixed?

You dye hair of course. I mean, the bridge was out. It seems as logical to me as 2 + 2 = 4. 

Bridge out + being stuck on the road = dying hair  Like I said, totally logical. :) As I sat in the middle of the road, having purple hair dye (go bold, or go home, right?) put in, an armed army guy came to talk to us and see what we were doing. I explained and he continued to talk to us, waving his gun as he talked which was at the level of my face. I thought to myself that this had to be one of the weirdest moments of my life.

Where did we wash out the color? In the village beside the road. We walked down and asked if we could use some water from their well. They were happy to help us out as we no doubt provided them entertainment for the day. While we waited for the color to set, I sang songs to the kids that I knew in Bambara and French, only adding to my crazy status. When the time came for us to wash out the color, the amusement continued. We were pouring onto the ground so if I stood upright or even bent over, mud splashed everywhere. It was decided that it was best if I stood in plank position while they washed out the color. Soon the color was out and we noticed that cars were starting to pass on the bridge. Perfect timing. And like that we left the village and continued on our journey.

And yet another hair story because, well, hair is important. :) Anna and I decided to have our hair braided. The temperature was starting to rise here so we decided it was best to go ahead and get it done. We started on Jan 19th and spent the Saturday having our hair braided. To give each other a break, Fatu, the girl doing our hair, would do Anna's for a couple hours and then switch to mine. Anna had made the comment the night before about what if we got evacuated while getting our hair done. Well, you know what happened then. About 4 in the afternoon we got a call that we were to have an emergency meeting to talk about leaving the next day. Since both of us still needed several hours of work, we decided it best to take Fatu with us to the meeting. So as we sat to discuss our plan, Fatu braided. 

Anna got her hair finished, I wasn't so lucky. Since I had to pack up my house to leave for most likely a month I had to stop in the middle of the braiding, very much to Fatu's dislike. So here I am on the way to Burkina with my unfinished hair. At least it gave me something to do while we were sitting in Burkina. :)