In the country most known for Timbuktu and the best in traditional West African music, I saw a world of contrasts.
A group of Tuareg nomads travelling the Malian desert in the same fashion they’ve done for the past century.
The border from Burkina Faso into Mali is, um, basic.
Crossing a bridge over the Niger River into downtown Bamako, opened the door to a world of urban affluence that was in brutal contrast to the sparse and neglected desert to which I had become accustomed.
My brand new Indian-made, motorcycle-in-a-box inexplicably stopped working for a few weeks.
This skeleton of a car, however, runs as well as the day it was made.
Life is not fair.
One slaughtered goat +
three jugs of homemade honey wine +
two smocks (the woven shirt I’m wearing) +
good friends and colleagues =
one perfect goodbye party.
My new office.
It’s 45 degrees every day and I have air conditioning.
Life is good.
Troy rented a truck and our stuff bounced across the country along the expansive stretch of dirt road.
Now our place looks identical to our old home but with a completely reasonable colour of paint on the walls!
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