A Ride in the Sun
I headed out for a bike ride this morning at about ten. Slathered in SPF 30 sunscreen with my head wrapped to further shield my face from the sun’s rays, I felt prepared. Turns out you really can’t be ‘prepared’ for the Mali sun. Now, everyone knows that I love the sun, that I feel underdressed without a tan. I’m from the land of Zonker and from the time of wearing only baby oil to welcome the sun. This is a different beast! I was only out 45 minutes and I still have distinct tan lines to prove it. Wow. Needless to say, I spend a lot of time in the shade here. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it is the only way to survive. We sit on the porch, we swim in the late afternoons (or with our hats and sunglasses on, and I bike ride fully covered…who would have imagined.
Although the sun was intense, I had a terrific solo ride in the countryside. It’s pretty amazing to be able to leave my concrete house here, hop on a bicycle, ride for twenty minutes, and find myself in a village of mud huts. Yet, that is exactly what I did. Within the first five minutes of my ride, I passed the security gate of the Mine, and found myself surrounded by nothing but tall grasses and the occasional large tree. The sun was bright and many a variety of beautiful bird calls could be heard. The air was thick with the smell of grass and manure. After a while I saw a sign to “Nouveau Farabakouta“ (“Nouveau” meaning the village was relocated to the new spot when the mining began at the original village site). Out of curiosity I followed in the direction indicated. I next rode among random groups (can they be called herds?) of cows, donkeys, goats, and chickens sharing the hard, red dirt road. Finally I saw the low thatched roofs signaling a village ahead, its entrance simply denoted by a weathered steel sign reading “10k.”
The scene was a bit like traveling back in time. Or perhaps traveling to a place that has not been much changed by time. Over one fence, there were two women grinding corn into meal. What a sight to see! Each woman held a long, thick, wooden pole between her hands. As I watched, they each rhythmically lifted up the pole, so that their hands were overhead, and then they forcefully brought it down into the wooden basin where the corn waited to be crushed. This is a large scale mortar and pestle. It was incredible to see the strength these women had. They kept at it, together, sharing the basin, controlling their own pole. Next door two men reclined on simple wooden plank benches under the shade of the thatched roof, chatting and watching the goats eat. They chewed on pieces of sugar cane. A few children took a break from rolling an old tire with a stick, and came out to see the stranger riding by, smiling and calling out pleasantly in Bambara. (I later learned they were saying “white lady”) A simple life these people live. A simple ride I had, just two miles down the rode, a world away.
CSN
Although the sun was intense, I had a terrific solo ride in the countryside. It’s pretty amazing to be able to leave my concrete house here, hop on a bicycle, ride for twenty minutes, and find myself in a village of mud huts. Yet, that is exactly what I did. Within the first five minutes of my ride, I passed the security gate of the Mine, and found myself surrounded by nothing but tall grasses and the occasional large tree. The sun was bright and many a variety of beautiful bird calls could be heard. The air was thick with the smell of grass and manure. After a while I saw a sign to “Nouveau Farabakouta“ (“Nouveau” meaning the village was relocated to the new spot when the mining began at the original village site). Out of curiosity I followed in the direction indicated. I next rode among random groups (can they be called herds?) of cows, donkeys, goats, and chickens sharing the hard, red dirt road. Finally I saw the low thatched roofs signaling a village ahead, its entrance simply denoted by a weathered steel sign reading “10k.”
The scene was a bit like traveling back in time. Or perhaps traveling to a place that has not been much changed by time. Over one fence, there were two women grinding corn into meal. What a sight to see! Each woman held a long, thick, wooden pole between her hands. As I watched, they each rhythmically lifted up the pole, so that their hands were overhead, and then they forcefully brought it down into the wooden basin where the corn waited to be crushed. This is a large scale mortar and pestle. It was incredible to see the strength these women had. They kept at it, together, sharing the basin, controlling their own pole. Next door two men reclined on simple wooden plank benches under the shade of the thatched roof, chatting and watching the goats eat. They chewed on pieces of sugar cane. A few children took a break from rolling an old tire with a stick, and came out to see the stranger riding by, smiling and calling out pleasantly in Bambara. (I later learned they were saying “white lady”) A simple life these people live. A simple ride I had, just two miles down the rode, a world away.
CSN
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 3:55 PM
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