stories, from africa: The curdling of milk

In an effort to have more adventure, Mbalia and I accepted (or weaseled our way into) an invitation to visit a farm just outside the city center. Farms are the new African chic retirement system. I remember several of the teachers in Abidjan were busy investing in farms and visiting them on the weekends to try and get something going. Its all the rage in Bamako as well.

Except the farm we visited was not your average past time. Someone had invested a considerable sum of money to start up a cheese and yogurt farm. Apparently it is a partnership between the Dutch woman, who has had 30 plus years making cheese in France, and the Malian who owns the land and purchased the machines and is paying a small salary until the business takes off. I am fascinated by the lives people lead. There is always a story in Africa.

The farm had freshly painted yellow walls- no rules about red barns and white fences here. One building inside was clearly new, also fresh yellow paint and a double roof system which works to keep out dust. Other small buildings on the land included rooms for security and a series of toilets and washrooms.

After a quick tour of the cheese making stations, the kids found their way outside and quickly discovered some chickens. The cows were off grazing somewhere. Our host had prepared for our visit by completing many of her tasks the day before, which freed her up to take us on a little hike to a neighboring animal farm. We got a glimpse of ostrich- alarmingly tall and strong- securely enclosed, though apparently they used to run free within walls but kept escaping. I am thinking one thing I would not want to run into in the wild is a free roaming ostrich. Their reputation has never really lived up to the reality of their height and impressive strength.

We went to visit cows, mostly a group of newborn calves which Mbalia was happy to pet. And we peered into endless rooms of baby chicks or other poultry. The kids were impressed by the large numbers written on little chalkboards hanging above the door. Little Mohamed felt certain the numbers couldn't be right ("How could they know?!") and was determined to count them himself, a task that quickly proved beyond his first grade abilities. Little birds move a lot, especially when frightened by strangers hovering near doorways.

The first time we peeked in, the entire mass of furry feathered babies went scurrying in one direction. "They're gathering," he shouted, except in French it was more like, "Ils fait l'assembly" which it made it seem like they were off to have a meeting about the perceived invasion. There is nothing like children to make an ordinary visit to a farm seem like a wondrous thing.

After our return to the cheese farm, the kids fought with sticks and planted dried hibiscus branches, which they watered with earnest. Little Mohamed decided to take one home and decorate it for his Christmas tree. Mbalia left hers deeply planted and well watered in the sand so it would "grow and grow."

We had a treat of yogurt and I bought a round of cheese, which turned out to be very tasty. It was a nice day away from the bustle and dust of the city. Even though Malian bush just seems dry and harsh to me, the air quality did feel different. A slight breeze and not so much pollution from traffic.

The most impressive part of the day was the path we followed to arrive. While there were no real landmarks, our host did an amazing job of giving us directions. We did not get lost, although we did have to call her several times to get a repeat of crucial details- was it left or right at the mango tree that's been cut? It was a long story to get, "watch for the building with a blue roof, turn right at the Coca Cola-Bavaria stand, take a left at the mango that's been cut, go over a small bridge, every time there's a fork, take a left, look for an aluminum shed, etc, etc." My kind of directions. I couldn't help but marvel at the way she was able to guide us through what might be to some an unremarkable bush, and yet there were people in the city who couldn't give me directions to their home- even with stores and landmarks and street corners to count- they could do no more than say, "I live parallel to the river," which is actually a lot of people, or "It's behind Shopreate." Ok........that covers a good 50 or 100 or a million houses. Do I just go door knocking?

It's a fading art, this giving of directions, this knowing where we are and noticing where we go each day. We paid special attention to the unremarkable bush because we also knew we'd have to get back. We observed a concrete store with an old man sitting out front and wondered if he would still be there on the return (he was, and had been joined by his family who were doing each other's hair and playing in the little mounds of grass and just taking in the evening air.) We noticed a large water tank enclosed by an iron holder that was abstract enough to resemble a sculpture of some sort. This signaled a left on the way back, and it turned out to be a helpful sign.

Our trip to the farm was that level of excitement and interest that still captures the little ones but may have only left Nabih hot and bored. I enjoyed just being out of the city and resolved to find more ways to do so. Bamako is not growing on me really, and the dry vegetation did not make things more appealing. But it was interesting to imagine someone else's life for a minute, timing the curdling of milk in just the right fashion to make a tasty round of cheese or tangy pot of yogurt. She drives out there each day, about an hour for her, and I imagine the mental transition she makes going from city lights to empty farm country.

A group of men, neighbors, it seemed, or maybe fellow farm-retirement investors, passed by to purchase some yogurt. It was a fun surprise, out in the middle of nowhere, to have a sleek, white SUV pull up filled with 5 men all interested in yogurt or small talk.

We left as dusk set in. I couldn't imagine the darkness of the bush or trying to navigate the roads that way, not for the first time back. But I could imagine the sky and I wondered if it would be magical here at night. It feels like so long since I've seen stars.