Don't Ask Me, I Don't Know
November 1, 2005
It’s an interesting place, Mali. Life here is ancient. People have been living here for a long time. There was a period of several hundred years when it was an incredibly rich kingdom; the center of the Muslim world. There are pictures of kings in the thirteenth century with thrones of gold. The salt mines of the Sahara, along with the gold deposits, and the overland trade route through the desert to the East were all reasons for this high economic plateau. When Europeans discovered that they could sail around the tip of Africa and bring their own goods back from the East, the economy started to falter. Depletion of the gold reserves and the collapse of the slave trade eventually drove the economy off the deep end. Today Mali is one of the poorest nations on Earth. It has one of the highest infant mortality rates and one of the lowest life expectancy levels.
When we came, we both expected to see a desert. You know; no trees to speak of, no fertile ground, just hot, dry and dusty. That’s not the case. In fact the vegetation here is pretty lush. All around us are mangos, papayas, bananas, lemons, peanuts, potatoes, yams, rice, corn, squash, and various other plants I am unfamiliar with. For the most part, however, these food crops are grown only in small quantities. Subsistence farming seems to be the way here.
Indeed we are only about 45 miles from the Senegal River, yet there is no evidence of irrigation systems. Hennie has told me that ground water is a huge issue for the mine. There are several walls they dare not breach as they contain major deposits of water which would flow into the pit and make mining very difficult. Several folks we have spoken to have insisted that that the Malians have been taught how to farm more productively, but ultimately they fall back into their old patterns of life. Having visited several town sites of ancient peoples in North America, I have seen some of the systems they had in place thousands of years ago. It amazes me then that the Malians have not worked to establish the same types of systems.
We have asked more than a few expats about the fate of the mine village. They were all skeptical of its future. The general vibe seems to be that if the village is turned over to the Malian citizenry, they will have the buildings stripped down to nothing within a month. One person suggested that the place be turned into an agricultural school. Full time professors would train villagers in the ways of farming large tracts of land so as to feed more than just one family. He admits however that this will probably never happen. We have been regaled with stories from other locales; Locals in the Congo dug up the copper phone lines after the company left. The wire was transformed into jewelry and trinkets. Villagers in Mali tore down the houses of abandoned camps and built mud huts next to the ruined structures.
I think I could spend a lifetime asking why. It is apparent that those who have traveled throughout Africa from mine to mine are disdainful of the intellect of the indigenous people. Anecdotal evidence would suggest good cause for this disdain. There are always two sides to every situation, though. What’s missing for me is the viewpoint of the local. I want to know what their take is on this. The challenge there is the language. I do not speak Bombara and they generally do not speak English. There are too many unanswered questions, too many things that don’t add up. I think I will be searching for answers long after I leave Mali.
MJR
It’s an interesting place, Mali. Life here is ancient. People have been living here for a long time. There was a period of several hundred years when it was an incredibly rich kingdom; the center of the Muslim world. There are pictures of kings in the thirteenth century with thrones of gold. The salt mines of the Sahara, along with the gold deposits, and the overland trade route through the desert to the East were all reasons for this high economic plateau. When Europeans discovered that they could sail around the tip of Africa and bring their own goods back from the East, the economy started to falter. Depletion of the gold reserves and the collapse of the slave trade eventually drove the economy off the deep end. Today Mali is one of the poorest nations on Earth. It has one of the highest infant mortality rates and one of the lowest life expectancy levels.
When we came, we both expected to see a desert. You know; no trees to speak of, no fertile ground, just hot, dry and dusty. That’s not the case. In fact the vegetation here is pretty lush. All around us are mangos, papayas, bananas, lemons, peanuts, potatoes, yams, rice, corn, squash, and various other plants I am unfamiliar with. For the most part, however, these food crops are grown only in small quantities. Subsistence farming seems to be the way here.
Indeed we are only about 45 miles from the Senegal River, yet there is no evidence of irrigation systems. Hennie has told me that ground water is a huge issue for the mine. There are several walls they dare not breach as they contain major deposits of water which would flow into the pit and make mining very difficult. Several folks we have spoken to have insisted that that the Malians have been taught how to farm more productively, but ultimately they fall back into their old patterns of life. Having visited several town sites of ancient peoples in North America, I have seen some of the systems they had in place thousands of years ago. It amazes me then that the Malians have not worked to establish the same types of systems.
We have asked more than a few expats about the fate of the mine village. They were all skeptical of its future. The general vibe seems to be that if the village is turned over to the Malian citizenry, they will have the buildings stripped down to nothing within a month. One person suggested that the place be turned into an agricultural school. Full time professors would train villagers in the ways of farming large tracts of land so as to feed more than just one family. He admits however that this will probably never happen. We have been regaled with stories from other locales; Locals in the Congo dug up the copper phone lines after the company left. The wire was transformed into jewelry and trinkets. Villagers in Mali tore down the houses of abandoned camps and built mud huts next to the ruined structures.
I think I could spend a lifetime asking why. It is apparent that those who have traveled throughout Africa from mine to mine are disdainful of the intellect of the indigenous people. Anecdotal evidence would suggest good cause for this disdain. There are always two sides to every situation, though. What’s missing for me is the viewpoint of the local. I want to know what their take is on this. The challenge there is the language. I do not speak Bombara and they generally do not speak English. There are too many unanswered questions, too many things that don’t add up. I think I will be searching for answers long after I leave Mali.
MJR
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 8:47 PM
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