Going from Sydney to anywhere in North Africa is a pain. Not other way to describe it. Sydney – Dubai – Paris – Bamako. 14hours – 6.5 hours – 6 hours. Not fun.
The Lords were shining on me this time though for I got an empty row in a new 777 on the Dubai – Paris leg and a mystery upgrade to business class on Air France on the Paris – Bamako leg. Hah! Little consolation considering the destination I was headed to.
On the way over I got talking to my business class neighbour who was heading over with a European Commission delegation to run a debate about controlling the emigration out of Bamako into Europe. Hmmm, having a debate with Africans about getting out of Africa? Ah, ‘preaching to the converted’? Ok, ok I’ll leave the cynicism and snide comments aside for a moment. Just a short moment though…
The story is that West and North Africans are pouring out of Africa in anyway possible right now partly due to the shambles the current exit system is in. The idea is that they’re going to float, fly, swim or run over anyway so there might as well be a proper system to find out who’s coming over. Whether this is administrated by the local Mali government or should be taken over by the EC is the current debate. As it stands Mali has received 10 million Euros to build such a system.
Hmm, if you gave me 10M Euros to manage an exit program, every bugger leaving this place would be printed, photographed, police checked and tracked with a GPS beacon up their cracker for life. Lol. 10M bloody Euros.
Stepping off the plane, there was that unmistakable waft of Africa to welcome me back. Part sweat, part dust, part rubbish and faeces. Mmmmm good to be home.
It’s always a battle to come to terms with local exchange rates now considering all the places I’ve been. From 4900 Kwacha per US Dollar in Zambia to 3 Pula per USD in Botswana (it’s more like 8 to 1 now), counting zeros and converting it back can get confusing. Confusing to the point where I ended up tipping the airport porter approx $25USD. Not a good start.
I’ve been a lot of places in Africa, and one thing they have in common is how hard/long/expensive it is to get anything done. But I have to say Mali has to take the cake.
What was described to me as the client ‘having everything sorted out’ turned out to be ‘the client hasn’t sorted anything out’ by day two of my 3 month shift.
As I write this, I’ve been here nigh on 3 weeks now, and not been able to do a single days work. You name it, we’re waiting on it. Jet fuel, accommodation at the survey site, lighting for the airstrip, the plane, the gravitometer, the permits … actually there isn’t much that has been sorted out. So it’s been a case and worryingly for the company an increasing one of me sitting around sleeping and eating too much while being paid for the privilege. But it’s not all shits and giggles. Well actually it’s been a lot of the former and none of the latter. Something about the food here doesn’t like my stomach or the other way around as I’ve been pretty ‘Mr Whippy’ since I got here. No amount of antibiotics has been helping much either and I’m getting concerned about my penicillin resistance. One day I’m going to need a magic shot of the stuff and it’s not going to work. Still another reason to f*^&# the get out of here. (sic)
Bamako (capital city) itself though is not too bad to get around as a tourist or someone not trying to get anything done. There’s a variety of questionable food, a smattering of even more questionable bars and night spots but all in all it’s safe to wonder around and people will help if you ask.
Dust off those French 101 tapes though because English doesn’t get you very far here. The French truly have their hold around these parts, ranging right up top in Morocco and Algeria to down past the armpit of Africa itself in Gabon and the Congo. Fortunately the age old method of Charades and Pictionary communication can get you by. Hire a translator for anything more than ‘where’s the dunny and where can I buy toilet paper?’ though.
Oh the other thing it’s hot. Damn hot. And somehow we managed to get one of the few jet black exterior with jet black leather interior cars here are in Mali. Sweat doesn’t even begin to describe it.
We have been out to the camp for an inspection though. My compatriot had done a previous inspection a few months ago and was rather appalled by the standard of the kitchen. ‘Plates of unwashed dishes piled up sitting under the chef who was casually smoking a cigarette’ was what made the initial report. This time however there was a new coat of paint, not a dirty dish in sight and a lot of nervous cooks standing around. Seems like the report got back to the camp managers. Good.
If you want a comparison, scroll down to the Ethiopia job I did. Same heat, same sand just more of it, same middle of nowhere setup. Only difference is we’ll be living in style. Portable trailers with aircon and ensuite. Bliss. Thank you whoever is looking out for me.
So yet again I sit in a non descript hotel room in my undies punching out my life story to those who would care to read. It’s almost a last hurrah for a while for a) I’m going to have to do some work tomorrow as the plane is finally getting here and b) Once I’m finished said work for 2008, I’m getting out and not coming back for a while.
It’s been pretty full on ride. It just started to define who I am which is a good reason and a perfect time to take an extended break. I’ve have fun along the way, learnt a heap and ultimately fulfilled my blurb to the right. Anywhere But Sydney? Hah! Well I couldn’t have picked a more different spot. Cheers to the next chapter.
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