Telling Stories
July 1, 2006
I have to relate some stories. They are not my tales, but the tales of a gentleman here at the mine. He is quite the story teller. His stories give a glimpse into the Malian mind.
After the new houses were finished, a man was commissioned to fashion gates for the fences. This was no small task as the new development is quite large. Upon completion, it was recognized that there were no latches on any of the gates. This can be an issue as it can be difficult to keep the gates closed without a latch. When questioned about why there were no latches, the man replied, “You did not ask for latches, only gates.” Now he is busy retrofitting latches.
The miner asked one of his Malian employees to take his car and drive to Diamou to convey a message. This is a trip of about 75 kilometers. It takes two to three hours to complete as the roads are not that great. The Malian was dispatched early in the day. As the afternoon wore on, our miner friend began to expect the man back. Afternoon turned to evening, evening to night. The miner needed to get home, but his car was gone so he found another ride and went home, concerned about his missing employee. The next day, no employee. Three days after leaving, the man arrived back at the mine. When questioned about his absence, he replied, “You told me to hurry there but you didn’t tell me when I needed to be back.”
During our last holiday, this miner friend suffered some chest pains. He was boarded onto a plane and flown to Bamako to see a specialist. There was an ambulance waiting for him, but they would not allow him to ride in back as the chassis was not properly secured to the frame. He rode in front with the driver. Halfway to the hospital they were broadsided by a motorcycle. At last they made it to the hospital. They sought out the heart specialist. They escorted him to a room where they hooked him with IV’s and those little sticky chest things. After a while he asked what was going on. It seems that Mohamar Khadafy had come to town en route to a pilgrimage to Timbuktu. He had invited all of the important folks from Bamako to join him. This list of people included the heart specialist from the hospital. Our friend pulled the IV’s and headed out for a cocktail before flying back to the mine.
These are prime examples of the eccentricities of living in Mali. No Malian really finds these stories all that strange.
MJR
I have to relate some stories. They are not my tales, but the tales of a gentleman here at the mine. He is quite the story teller. His stories give a glimpse into the Malian mind.
After the new houses were finished, a man was commissioned to fashion gates for the fences. This was no small task as the new development is quite large. Upon completion, it was recognized that there were no latches on any of the gates. This can be an issue as it can be difficult to keep the gates closed without a latch. When questioned about why there were no latches, the man replied, “You did not ask for latches, only gates.” Now he is busy retrofitting latches.
The miner asked one of his Malian employees to take his car and drive to Diamou to convey a message. This is a trip of about 75 kilometers. It takes two to three hours to complete as the roads are not that great. The Malian was dispatched early in the day. As the afternoon wore on, our miner friend began to expect the man back. Afternoon turned to evening, evening to night. The miner needed to get home, but his car was gone so he found another ride and went home, concerned about his missing employee. The next day, no employee. Three days after leaving, the man arrived back at the mine. When questioned about his absence, he replied, “You told me to hurry there but you didn’t tell me when I needed to be back.”
During our last holiday, this miner friend suffered some chest pains. He was boarded onto a plane and flown to Bamako to see a specialist. There was an ambulance waiting for him, but they would not allow him to ride in back as the chassis was not properly secured to the frame. He rode in front with the driver. Halfway to the hospital they were broadsided by a motorcycle. At last they made it to the hospital. They sought out the heart specialist. They escorted him to a room where they hooked him with IV’s and those little sticky chest things. After a while he asked what was going on. It seems that Mohamar Khadafy had come to town en route to a pilgrimage to Timbuktu. He had invited all of the important folks from Bamako to join him. This list of people included the heart specialist from the hospital. Our friend pulled the IV’s and headed out for a cocktail before flying back to the mine.
These are prime examples of the eccentricities of living in Mali. No Malian really finds these stories all that strange.
MJR
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 4:40 PM
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