We woke to pouring rain. We had 2 set appointments today, one with the Minister of Religion and Worship, and lunch with an assistant to the American Consulate at the US Embassy American Club. We spent the rest of the day ticking through a list of places Brent wanted to see and photograph. His job in the Africa West Mission ends next week. This is his last trip to Mali and he wanted to make the most of it.
We started with the Grand Mosque in Bamako. We were finally told we couldn’t go in because of an assassination attempt on the acting President in the mosque last on Tuesday–the mosque was closed. The Artisan’s Market next to the mosque wasn’t up and running yet–there was too much rain and it was too early.
Next we drove to the Metal Recycling Market Brent had read about in a guide book. We headed north towards the cliffs where they turn from red to black. This is where they burn tires to get the iron out of the rubber. There was a maze of hovel shacks like a warren of filth but because of the rain, it felt eerie and abandoned.
It was really interesting to walk down the rows of empty hovels where men would sit on low stools working over fires to melt and shape pieces of metal. It was like being in a junk yard turned into little shops. The ground was black and muddy and water was flowing down the hill we were on.
Everywhere we looked, there were piles of scrap metal and junk to be dealt with. Everything from the shells of old refrigerators and freezers to old wheelbarrows. There were piles of old rusty sheets of tin for roofing. There were tangles of rebar. There were car and motorcycle parts and pieces. Anything with metal, once used, was piled here. It was fascinating.
We found 2 men working–the only 2 in sight in this filthy market of black dirt and scrap metal covered with low rusty tin roofs. They were sitting close to the ground, one was fanning a fire with a contraption made from a small bike tire rim with a sort of bellows. The other was pounding a 5″ stylus-like pokey sticks he said women use to hold their hair–like a straight hair pin. One end was pointed, the other he was fashioning into a decorative curl. The hair pins had one end in the fire where it got red hot. He’d take them, one at a time, and pound them flat, then split the flat end into 2. Then the 2 little ends were pounded into a curl while the metal was still hot enough to shape it.
It was fun to imagine this market inferno in full production. Oh, the heat and flames must be incredible! It was interesting to be here on a cool wet day. I wonder if there are ever days like this in hell.
Our Cote d’Ivoire Abidjan East and Bamako, Mali Mission 