Madrid to Mali

Sorry that my blog has not been able to keep pace with my adventures!  There is no way I can tell about all I did in Spain; however, I will say that Grenada, Barcelona, Madrid, Toledo, Segovia and the village where I stayed with Bouba and Maria, Cerceda, all added to my knowledge and appreciation of Spanish history- and yes, Catalonia!   Good food, great art, interesting people.  That said, they could smoke less and learn to clean up after their dogs!

Fast forward to Mali-

24 hours - different worlds - I know, I understand, I have been here before, but can one ever be prepared for the contrasts?   Arrival in Bamako after a short, night flight from Madrid via Casablanca.  6 am arrival, streetlights seen through the plane window outline the limits of the city, a bumpy landing, strong braking on a short runway, passport control,  check for yellow fever vaccination ( if you don't have proof, they vaccinate you on the spot), luggage inspection.   My friend, Adama, was waiting at the exit and ran to greet me with the most sincere hug I have ever had.  Tears swelling in his eyes, and in mine,  head pressed tightly against me as he repeated, "Papa, tu es la!  Papa, tu es la!"  5 minutes, 10 minutes?   His dream come true.  Landing in sub-saharan Africa is unlike landing anywhere else I have been.  You are immediately struck by the reality of life in a developing country and it is an emotional experience.  Once again, the kindness of strangers.   Adama had long anticipated my arrival because I had taken an interest in him and his dream of a medical career.  The hug and the greeting was heartrending- an amazing reward for a small gesture whose importance I had perhaps underestimated.   We reflected on our original encounter- three years ago, a long, hot, mostly silent bus ride, seated next to a young medical student taking advantage of his time in the bus to review for his exams, frayed books with loose pages and photocopied texts.  A brief conversation and exchange of email addresses as we arrived at he crossroads where I got out; not even a photo.Three years later, I discover that he did not have enough money for the bus ticket and needed some of what he had for food.   The driver had allowed him to ride for the money he had left, and there happened to be an empty seat next to him when I entered.   This morning, quality time together, breakfast of nescafe and bread, a walk through dirt streets to the river, a detour to visit the neighborhood market that is beyond description, getting lost in unmarked streets on the way back to the hotel.  Voila!   My adventure in Mali begins.  

More to come as we attend ceremonies marking 50 years of independence for Mali tomorrow morning.