Security

Security takes up a big percentage of moving unknowns.  Assessing it, understanding it, trying to get your finger on the pulse of it. Once you figure out where you live, you need to figure out how safe it is. Which can be incredibly difficult when you don't speak the language.

There are several layers to understanding security. It begins with the most personal, the security guards. As an ex-pat hosted by an organization, I am once again under the protection of school provided security. The biggest difference for me this time is that I am no longer living on a glorious spread of jungle rain forest with 30 other houses and an entire school campus. Now I just live in an apartment with one other flat upstairs. It means the security guards are much closer. Outside my kitchen window closer.

I feel watched, rather than protected. There are strange men wandering the periphery of the house at all hours. It's been almost a month and I can at least say they are friendly, but still, I don't know anything about them. Except they are there. Day and night. If I want to leave at any time, it will require disturbing them so I can get out the door. And when I come "home" I must knock, like a visitor. It feels more like their house than mine and I wonder how much time is required to tip the balance. The perpetual guest syndrome.

I don't really understand what kind of security they are providing. They are both on the elderly edge of life, or so it appears.  I admit to thinking them somewhat frail. Or, in the face of terrorists, they would be frail. But then, wouldn't we all?

They are not armed, thankfully. But I am left to wonder how they have prepared and what for. It must be maddening to try and keep a watchful eye day and night- it merges too neatly into routine living.

I see it all around the half built neighborhood we live in. "Security" which really means people living in garages and sitting out front of massive houses, or house shells. They play games on their phones, chat with a neighboring security guard if they are so lucky to have a neighbor, and alternate between sitting inside the border walls alone and catching the few sights of evening foot traffic or goat herders outside.

Our neighborhood doesn't feel insecure or dangerous. But it doesn't necessarily feel safe either. It feels empty and sterile. I guess we have neighbors, but I can't imagine ever meeting them. Friendly is not the first word I would use to describe the few people I've passed in strolls around the neighborhood. The Malians aren't quick to greet me but offer quiet stares that I can't quite read.

In one brusque incident, two men were walking-clearly home dwellers and not home protectors- who overheard my English conversation with a friend. One of the men came up and introduced himself, speaking English and happy to recount his connection to the US. He extended his hand to my (male) friend and completely ignored me. No acknowledgement nod, no quick smile, nothing. I did not exist. Welcome to the neighborhood.

Bamako has that "it's a man's country" feel which isn't exactly comforting for a woman.  Or maybe it's just me. I've been wondering where the sunny, warm Malians are all hiding out and what of the "friendly village atmosphere" everyone talked about. So many people are really enchanted with Bamako, I wonder what I am missing.

Of course, recent attacks around the city have left something of a desolate air (combined with the fact that apparently many restaurants close for vacation during the July-August months.) But comments from business owners are telling. One restaurant/art gallery parent told me that, although the place is well known, even on the international circuit, they've stopped doing openings. "A hundred or more people would be showing up," she said. "So I had to stop that. Now, it's just people coming and going in small groups. Word gets around from friend to friend. Kind of underground."

Most popular gathering places have made security changes. There are plenty of metal detecting wands and new double door entrances- like the bank. I don't really understand how this helps (I get it in the context of a bank-bank robber, but I don't get it in the context of restaurant-terrorist bomber.) You go in the first door which is shut behind you, leaving you enclosed in a small holding space. The second door is then opened and you enter the restaurant or hotel area. Some establishments have tried to add a bit of humor to lighten the mood (cool graffiti guys or little notes on the walls,) but it's a stark reminder of the reality. A night out could quickly turn from festive to fearful.

A few US Embassy representatives came to school to give us an update on the security situation. It was so fascinating I actually took notes. They were very candid, which was a shocking change from my last post, where all the official information from our school sounded vague and incoherent. Incorrect at times, even.

Not so Bamako. The US Embassy reps were straight up real. They told grisly stories of a policeman being chased and set on fire. They explained the phrase  "Article 320" referring to the cost of a liter of gas (300fcfa) and some matches (20fcfa.) People are frustrated. Things get out of control.

They talked about ways to stay in the loop-social media being a prominent source for on the minute info. Whatsapp- suggested for "happy hour groups, attacks, you know, the important things." The security situation was described here as "a dynamic security environment." Things are liable to change any second. There's really no way to predict it and so the best thing to do is be proactive.

Don't go to places with soft security. One new restaurant was noted as having a beautiful glass entrance way- all windows and doors. The only visible security is a guy with beefy arms and tight pants. Better to stick to places that are "hard security targets" with double doors and armed guards.

One of the guys shared his survival pack with us. Things to have on hand at all times. A "Plan of Peril." He related how some of the people at the recent attack in Kangaba (a place students took a field trip to just a week or so before the incident) ran into the bush to hide. Things that came in handy: one of those portable batteries (almost bought one in Paris, but it felt like an impulse buy- now I know it would have been a safety buy.) Nothing more devastating and potentially life threatening than a low-batt signal when trying to call friends to arrange a swift pick up at an alternate rendezvous site.

Other things like a flashlight (for signaling here-I-am help when out in the middle of nowhere and the choppers are searching for you) and a warm, water proof poncho are sort of obviously helpful but not something we generally carry for a night out on the town. Money, of course, in several places, not all grouped together in one spot. And a small first aid assortment. Not just for you, but for others you might find in the field. Mosquito spray too. You might not really understand how fierce mosquitoes can be until you've had to spend an entire night battling them in some swampy undergrowth.

Their frank discussion about the state of things (Malians getting impatient with the French, frustrated with lack of progress on the terrorist front, terrorist possibilities anywhere, anytime- cannot be predicted and cannot be avoided so just always use common sense and proactive awareness skills) came in the first week of getting-to-know-you teacher back to school. It was not entirely new to me, but I was imagining the shock of my colleague who is experiencing his first trip to Africa.

Honestly, I imagine there was a bit of shock from even some of the hardened Africa lovers in the room- and the not so hardened. The most difficult thing about the terrorist attacks is that there is no "why." You cannot protect yourself by not being_____ because it's the very essence of being you that is under attack. You are not them and that is all that matters. It is random and harsh and it cannot be undone.

I have heard of some teachers who just choose not to go out. Ever. No grocery shopping, no pizza lunches, nothing. Inside, all the time. It's a difficult way to live- enshrouded in fear.  But it's real. The topic has already come up in my performance arts class. One group of students put together a powerful piece they imagined would happen at a park or similar public place. One student was sitting in the middle with a mask and 4 others made a circle around him. Some of them were also wearing African masks. Two other students patrolled the area with gun-like props, holding signs saying, "We're not safe," and "Stop terrorism."

I imagined seeing this in a park, as I was strolling with Mbalia, enjoying a sunny care-free day. Yes, it would stop me. I would consider. I would be affected. Security. It's always an issue in Bamako, even when it's not.

Not just the Rich

News reports are full of the recent attack(s). Ankara and Grand Bassam  were hit on the same day, though the resulting news stories read quite differently.  As  seems too often to be the case with Africa, special attention is paid to the foreign victims of the tragedy. Everytime I read about the "French nationals" my mind rebels with images of the local children flipping into the waves and gorgeous young couples holding hands and laughing as they walk the beach.

Grand Bassam, described as a playground of the expatriates, has always struck me more as the "sleepy oceanside town"  with a funky artistic underbeat. It reminds me a lot of places I once considered home. I like it because it exudes an air of reality and humbleness. It is not where the uber rich usually spend their time (they gravitate more to Assine and San Pedro I think, where the undercurrents are said to be calmer and surfing is popular.)

When we head out to Grand Bassam, we often stop by to say hello to a missionary family  who has a sweet little house just across from the beach. While they do have a wall surrounding their home, there is no barbed wire. No sense of danger or unease. It is a beautiful town striving to keep afloat.

The family has a few friends in the neighborhood and we always make time to see them, too. Most often we gather at the beach sometime just after lunch and play in the waves, shovel piles of sand into buckets and listen to the music coming from any one of the little restaurant-bar huts lining the ocean edge. There are often crowds of local kids practicing their acrobatics or playing a game of soccer. There are couples walking and young guys on horseback trying to get you to snap a photo- or, for the more adventurous-hop on the saddle and ride off into the breeze.

It has a family feel. A solid, small town local flair. Definitely not the kind of place one would think as a target for a terrorist group looking to make a statement.  It seems more like terrorists targeting their own fellow Africans. Or like they weren't really targeting anyone at all but everyone in general.

This account, especially vivid and heartwrenching, brings it all together. In the midst of the terror, there is no separation of local or expatriate. Everyone was hiding. Some managed to escape with their lives, others did not. Reuters at least mentions 'Foreign citizens from Burkina Faso, Cameroon, France, Germany and Mali were among the victims' seeming to put them all on the same level. The Washington Post tries to get it right, but what's with including statistics on Americans included in other attacks as if they hold some sort of prestige? BBC is the worst, simply stating "four of the dead were Westerners" as if that is all that really counts. While they go on to mention that nationalities of victims hadn't been released, the pictures clearly show this event affected the local population.

It's anyone's guess where they will strike next. Speculation is on about Senegal and apparently in Guinea they have made some arrests. The only thing that seems certain is they will strike again, it will be unexpected (in the way that no one can really prepare or prevent) and it will affect us all, as humans.

Discouraging. Distressing. Too close to home. For all of  us, not just the rich or the Western.