Pancakes Round Two

Spent my last day at Fanta’s and I’m really going to miss my Sundays there. Not because every moment of Fanta’s was a respite from Sikoroni-it wasn’t at all. It was a house filled with screaming babies, and older siblings who reciprocated with their own yelling and striking. It was a house where I never truly had a moment’s peace. When we would pass time in the salon, in front of the massive wide-screen TV Nabu, the chubby second daughter would always have her hand on me, trying to claim my attetion. I couldn’t set down my book without one of the younger kids rifling through it. What stressed me out the most was that not even my water bottle was safe. The baby constantly picked it up and I don’t even know how many times he probably licked the top or sneezed on it when I was out of the room. The kids took every opportunity to parade me to their friend’s houses or to introduce me as their cousin. Even when I spent the night, I would be interrupted starting at five in the morning with a series of Fanta’s children checking on me as I tried to sleep. But even though I continued to be a spectacle at their house, they were truly concerned about me. Even though the overwhelming attention and the pushing of food towards me at every shared dinner was exhausting, they were genuinely excited to see me every Sunday morning when I arrived, and I think their house is the one place in Mali I will truly miss.
We spend yesterday afternoon making pancakes. The kids fought over who could flip them- there was no spatula, but it was still an honor to turn the “beancakes” over. The kids- there’s always a different number of them there- devoured them right off the pan. They claimed that the rice cakes that people sell on the streets of Sikoroni are sort of like pancakes, but I don’t believe them. My amoebas have taken away any faith I had that decent Malian street food exists.
We went to see Nabu, the second daughter, play basketball at a sports celebration. Like most events I’ve been to this summer, it started over an hour late, because someone couldn’t find the microphone. There was an entire procession of the different basketball and karate teams of the town. Karate is a huge deal in Mali- apparently there will be a pretty sizable Malian karate team competing in Bejing next week too. Who knew? The karate demonstrations in the middle of the basketball court under the scorching sun were pretty amazing. The teams were announced, and then a series of twenty-minute games were played.
Fanta convinced me to spend the night, and this morning Yatouré (one of the coonskins, I think..) took me to the Grand Marchée. Yatouré is twenty-eight, but just hangs out at the house with the kids most of the time. She said she works in the dress-making business, but apparently work is difficult to find during the summer. She was amazing to shop with- she took me directly to the center of the artisans market and was already friends with most of the jewelers, so she helped me pick out presents at real prices, not tubabo prices.
Leaving Bamako on Wednesday night.