One (kelen). Today I spent a few hours with my friend and Malian professor Lamine. Lamine loves teaching his two little boys about manhood, proving to people that Malian men can cook, saying things are funny without laughing, laughing at things that aren’t funny, and reciting Malian proverbs. I decided to shoot a few videos of him saying and explaining his favorite proverbs – which I would include here if the internet connection was better. One proverb Lamine told me was “Tegedenw goni kelen te se ka bele ta” meaning “One finger can’t lift a stone.” The words translated literally are “hand children one no can stone lift” – and this reminded me of one of my favorite things about Bambara – the use of the word “denw”.
Two (fila). “Denw” (pronounced day-oon) means “children”. It’s the plural of “den” (child) which kind of sounds like “dang” if you take off the ‘g’. “Denw” is used all over the place to describe the “children” of something. “Tegedenw” (from the proverb) literally means “hand children”… fingers. “Kalandenw” means “learn children”… students. “Yiridenw” means “tree children”… fruit! Pretty cool, no? Beyond making the language a bit easier to decode, the frequent integration of “children” is one of the things I find really beautiful about Malian culture.
Three (saba). This goes hand in hand with the idea (here) that every child is the child of everyone. Chez nous, our families are separate. I have my mom and you have yours. Here, any adult can yell at, pick up, hold, feed, or even slap any child (and they do this a lot). On the Sotrama (the Malian minibus), a woman entering with three children will hold one on her own lap, while two complete strangers will pick up the other two children so they don’t get tossed around during the ride. It’s pretty incredible.
Four (naani). I have learned that Malian children will either shriek with excitement or run for their lives at the sight of a white person. This makes walking down the street in Bamako a pretty eventful experience. Beyond stares, kids here will not rest until they have done at least one of the following: (1) screamed “tubabu!” (literally meaning “French person!”) at the top of their lungs, (2) run up to you and cautiously touched your skin (usually your hand), or (3) run away in fear to the closest thing they can hide behind.
Five (duuru). As I walk down the red dirt roads in my rubber flip flops and ankle length “pagne” (wrap skirt) – my thoughts linger between adoration and frustration at the children chanting in my direction. The fact that I can make them laugh and jump up and down just by waving at them or greeting them in Bambara is pretty great. But when it’s about 10,000 degrees out and you’re hot, dirty, and fed up with the constant marriage proposals from random men you’ve never met (really), the last thing you want to do is draw attention to yourself. At times like this, the screaming and chanting feels like someone has just picked up a handful of dirt off the ground and rubbed it into your face. Bah!
Six (wooro). Many people would gape at the sight of a 4 year old girl carrying a baby on her back, a bowl of mangos on her head, barefoot, crossing a busy street – but this is a common sight here in Mali-ba. It is hard to see. The children here are amazing.
Seven (wolonwola). Despite the endless and inevitable chanting of “Tubabu! Tubabu! Tubabu ye tubabu!” in the streets of Bamako, I find solace in the evolution of the chant when I turn the corner to my neighborhood in Hamdallaye. Almost instantly the “Tubabu” fades and I begin to hear “Biiiiintou!” (my Malian name). I hear it more and more as I get closer to the house. On my block, the faces I see are my little friends. They are full of life, energy, and spirit. We share handshakes, songs, dances and games. We communicate without a lot of talking. They have the capacity to turn my frustration into joy like no one else.
Eight (segin). When I sit down in the courtyard at my house, the neighbor children surround me and show off their favorite songs and dances. I wish you all could see them. Their dances are really hilarious and adorable and entertaining and actually really really good (you should see the way these seven year old girls move!). Mamadou (my five year old host brother) has discovered that when he dances I laugh uncontrollably, so he has been doing it more and more often (I have an amazing video that I will share when I get home). Mamadou has also started a joke with his friends where he comes up to me and says “Cherie n b’I fe!” (my dear I love you) and then he gives me a kiss on the cheek. I think this makes him look cool to his friends. It’s a win win.
Nine (kononton). Malidenw are the heartbeat of this city.
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