Floyd

So Julie and I went out last night to explore a little bit of the Hippodrome. We went to BlaBla and then Floyd. Floyd is exactly what it sounds. A balding French guy (who else?)owns the place. It’s a zebra painted building on one of the main roads in the Hippodrome. There’s a pretty nice French restaurant in front, and in the back there’s a hilarious bar where he projects Pink Floyd videos with synchronized laser light shows. I think he's really entertained by the fact that he has laser shows in Bamako so it doesn't really faze him that most of his clientele were his own staff, just hanging out.
Living in a Malian compound is like going to a huge family Thanksgiving at your aunt’s house and then instead of leaving after dinner, everyone just making a mutual decision to move in to the same house permanently. There is absolutely no semblance of privacy. Everyone knows every detail about each other’s business, and can guess who might be calling each person’s cell phone. Whenever you come in or leave the compound you are absolutely required to go through a serious list of greetings to everyone, most importantly the grandmother who I have never actually seen move from her seat in the middle of the courtyard where she can observe EVERYTHING.
Coming back late at night is not just a matter of sneaking in through the basement door, but sneaking through a courtyard where the matron of the house and all of the older women are sleeping outside under mosquito nets. So literally, you can’t make a wrong step or else the two snoring goats will wake up and then the entire household will wake up and start teasing you in Bambara.
Last night when we came back from Floyd, Julie and I crept by all the sleeping grandmothers and children to our room. What I hadn’t realized was that the main house, where the bathroom is, was going to be locked. So not only was there no privacy, there was no access to a bathroom. There was no backyard or any woods next to the house either, because they lived in the middle of a really crowded area. So I had to sneak out of the compound a second time and find a street corner (hopefully out of sight of Ousmane’s brother who was pacing on the other side of the street). So I’m the tubabou who pees on the street now apparently.
Heading out to see Indiana Jones tonight dubbed in French!

Ohhh and breakfast this morning: guinea fowl on top of a few fried plantains.