Revisiting Mali

by Athina Koumarela (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find USA

Revisiting Mali The down side of traveling is I no longer accept a thirty seconds news bite and not wonder how whats really going on and how it affects the people that I met in countries I visited. I didn't expect to find my wonder, love and concern of Mali continuing today. The Sahara Desert follows me to Greece: April 17 – April 25, 2012 At Kaye's house in Lesvos, I noticed the beige haze in the sky. Later that day the man that tilling Kaye's garden mentioned the dust in the air was coming from Africa. An early morning drizzle left small brown mud spots on my rental car and which I had to clean before I could drive. The red dust of the Sahara also settled on the white rock patio at my Aunt and Uncle's house in Levidi. Thea Eleni complained how hard she worked to return the white rock patio to its pristine condition after yesterday's rain. Walking down to the square, the remains of the brownish red dried powder on the roads liquified with the rain and created a red stream as it made its way down to the gutters on main street. The winds brought the Sahara dust to Greece and with it my memories of West Africa. The Harmattan Wind is the trade wind that begins in the Sahara Desert and spreads dust south to the Gulf of Guinea with particles hovering three miles into the sky. The dust cloud can stretch for thousands of miles to far off places like Central Europe, South America and Florida. When mild it looks like beige smog. At its worst, it dims the sun often for days creating a drop in temperature and very cool nights. It grounds aircraft with visibility less than 400 meters. Its fine dust, reeks havoc on electronic equipment as it enters every nook and cranny. Meningitis cases surge as microbes are carried in the air. The fine layer of dust on crops dry them out until they wither and die. Although Harmattan Winds appear seasonally from November through March, 2012 was one of the worst seasons in years. One evening in Dakar, Kiah and I walked to the point. The Harmattan Haze dimmed the setting sun and created an eery sepia glow to everything. Earlier that morning, we noticed drivers in Dakar turned on their lights for visibility. The Haze again became apparent in Mali, making Bamako look dirty and uninviting as we struggled to breath. A dry brown mist surrounded the countryside as we drove the back roads to Segou with Luke and Shelley. Luke had several unexplained nose bleeds and Kiah began coughing. I became concerned that she didn't have her inhaler. We wrapped scarfs around our nose and mouth as the dust seeped into the car. I licked my finger and wrote my name in the new thin dust covering my arm. People at the check points were now dressed in warm jackets and hats. Moms dressed their children in hats and jackets and only the tops babies' heads were visible wrapped in colorful cloth carriers on their mothers' back. At first seemed like a welcomed relief to have the temperature drop a little. But we soon found ourselves huddled together as we slept outside on the roof tops in Dogan Country. Looking back at a picture from our three day float from Mopti to Segou on the Niger River, I couldn't tell if the picture was the full moon or the sun blurred by the dust. The word Harmattan is thought to come from the Twi language of Ghana, Haramata meaning 'the evil thing', or the Arabic word 'haram' which means 'forbidden or prohibit'. It is said that the Harmattan Winds brings bad tempers and poor decision making as people grow irritated with days on end of the dry and dusty wind. March 2012, brought both bad tempers and poor decision making to Mali. It began with the military coup and the radical Ansar Dine led by Lyad ag Ghaly, draping northern Mali with black flags, as 40,000 people fled. My dream of traveling to Timbuktu, also, became forbidden that March.