Malian Independence Day

22 September is Malian Independence Day.  That day, 45 years ago, Mali became independent from French rule.  The day itself has a feel that combines Thanksgiving Day, the Super Bowl, and our own Fourth of July all into one.  Usually people are spending the day with their family and friends at their homes.  Since we were all far away from that, we had our own celebration of sorts.  

The night before Malian Independence Day is the big celebration as far as alcohol and going out is concerned.  Since I was recuperating from my Upper respiratory infection, I was in no mood to go out and so wanted to get the hell out of my house in Bamako that I had just spent the last 4 days recuperating from.  Maiga had called and said that he was heading out to Doneguebougou and that he would talk to me in a couple of days.  I asked him, rather begged him, to take me with him, as I was feeling better and had to get out.  He reluctantly agreed, and he came to pick me up around 8:30 or so.  As always, we had a few errands to run, which included picking up some alcohol for the group back at The Compound.  That turned out to be an hour and a half ordeal as we waited at the bar right before the turn off to Doneguebougou for some friends of the guys.  Well, there was alcohol there, so why not partake.  Usually this bar is dead whenever we stop by to pick up “provisions” for the group.  This night it was far from dead.  There were motos everywhere, every table was full, and there was much merriment.  According to Maiga, many of these people were devout muslims who allow themselves a little merriment once in a while.  There was definitely much merriment to be had.  I laughed a little at what I saw: normally subdued Malians dancing about, enjoying the effects of the evil alcohol; emphatic conversations in Bambara that some could consider to be yelling, but most likely chit chat about the government or football; Malians dancing to their jazz- and blues-infused local music.  After a while, we were finally on our way to The Compound.  Once we arrived, there was already much merriment afoot.  They had a table set up on the mini-porch outside the front door with a boombox playing all sorts of toons.  About 10 of the villagers were there dancing away.  We showed up, and the party really got started.  The beer was flowing, the music kicked into high gear.  I was still feeling a little worn out from the past week, so the Craiger took a back seat much to the dismay of my co-workers there.  I did dance to a few songs, but not with the same fervor that I usually partake.  It was hilarious to watch my co-workers not only drink alcohol, but dance and enjoy the moment.  After being there about an hour, it seemed the entire village showed up.  I think I counted about a hundred people: from kids to adults, dancing, enjoying their Independence day.  At about midnight, I called it a night, but a hard core group of about 20 decided to keep the party going, and keep it going they did.  The stereo for some reason, could only play music at the loudest setting, which permeated into every room in the house.  It was tough to get to sleep.  They kept playing the music until about 6:00 am the next day!!  Talk about hard core huh?  

In the morning, the hard core and the soft core stumbled out of bed and slowly made it to the television which had been set up in a small courtyard with shade.  By the time I showed up, about 75 people were already there watching the festivities that takes place every year in one of the major cities in Mali.  This year, the president and the whole country it seemed was in Sikasso, about 200 miles to the Southeast.  There was a big parade with all of the cultural groups of Mali, musicians, various ethnic groups, etc.  It reminded me a lot of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade that I have watched part of every year as far back as I can remember.  While there were no floats, there was some colorful commentary in West African French, cultural discussions and demonstrations, and of course, the coup de gras, the military parade.  Mali is very proud of its military. It has an Army, small, small Air Force and, well, that is about it.  No Navy (it is landlocked don’t forget), no Marines (I can’t really picture Malian Marines yelling Hoo-Ahhh), no Coast Guard (see the landlocked thing again), and no Office of Homeland Security (Hmmmm).   After the parade, people usually feast for the whole day with their family and friends, trying to nurse their hangovers from the night before.  

Well, after the parade, it is eating time.  We had little food, and we had to wait until that night to have our dinner anyway.  The one big event that night was the Super Bowl of Mali, the final deciding game of the year for the Malian Cup of Football (Soccer).  Literally, I think the entire village showed up to watch the match.  I strolled in a little late, but as always, was able to find a seat right up front, as the Malians insist the Tobaboo gets everything (I am really, REALLY getting used to this treatment here!!).  You could tell by watching that the 2 teams were incredibly talented, but they were not exactly World Cup quality, nor even major European Club football quality.  I was impressed by their play, but they made some mistakes.  It was obviously a rather heated match, as both teams had their staunch supporters who hooted and hollered throughout, wore their teams colors, etc.  It was a hell of a game.  It was 0-0 after the first half, then both teams scored a goal within 5 minutes of each other, and the score was knotted at 1-1 after regulation.  The score remained tied after 2-15 minute overtime periods, which left it all to shoot-out.  Both teams missed at least one, so it was then up to the goalies.  The yellow team goalie scored, but the red team goalie shanked it left, ending his teams hopes for the championship.  Half of the village erupted in thunderous applause, the other half left in disgust.  I could also hear pockets of applause from elsewhere (supposedly there are some folks with power in the nearby area that have black and white TV; ours is the only color).  Some were ecstatic, others felt each others pain and walked away.  I, the only white person out of about 99 other denizens of Doneguebougou, watched with amazement at my little pocket of the world, and couldn’t help but take part in the revelry.