The yalla yalla

In Mali, to "yalla yalla" means to walk about, greet friends, generally travel around with the only purpose being to experience the yalla itself. I call just about every step I make outside this door a yalla. Ian and I both determine the productiveness of our days by being able to accomplish at least 1/4 of what we had hoped at the beginning of the day. Such is the case in Mali where time is a concept that means something different to everyone, and life, well, just tends to take whatever organic course it wishes. Add a baby to the mix and the productivity factor drops by another 50%. This means that when I leave, I can never guarantee it will end in the purpose it begins with. So, its best to take each step out this door as being nothing more than an exploration, or at best, a bit of a walk.
A nice case in point was yesterday. A truly amusing day...I like to think that I am becoming more realistic about my days, so when I left yesterday morning, a full 2 hours after I had hoped to, it was with one seemingly simple purpose: buy 2 chickens. Now, there was some sub-purposes to that main purpose. First, I needed to buy them from someone new as of the two people I had bought them from, one charged me too much, and the other was, well, just unpleasant. I headed to the Medina, not too far away, where there are at least 20 chicken vendors. I was also hoping to find some hens, as they have more meat on them than the roosters that are typically sold, and finally, I needed someone who could break a 10,000 CFA note. The only thing I had in my wallet...Kinda like walking around with 50s or 100s.
Despite all this, I was happy with, buy two chickens. If I came home with that done, I was a success. Note that when I leave, I tend to have 2-3 hours tops to be out, less as the day grows warmer, before Marshall has reached his fill. So the clock is ticking...A few obstacles I encountered on the way to the market:

1. No less than 4 weddings in my path. When there is a wedding here in Bamako, the street in front of the brides parents home is totally blocked with a tent and chairs where the wedding takes place. Re-routed me 4 times.
2. Bumping into my friend Ibrahim. This sweet man accosted me the second week we lived here when I was out for a walk. He said that he needed a Western agency to work with to get some more trees planted in his neighborhood and to clean it up. He wanted to work together on it. I appreciate his drive. But each time I run into him takes about 20 minutes. This time he had a friend and they wanted to learn some English. I taught them to say, "Hello." The lesson was supposedly too fast as they kept telling me so.
3. A VERY large group of children.

About 45 minutes later than I had expected, we arrived at the market. Sunday always brings a new crowd of vendors and so I had a lot of people who hadn't seen us before that I needed to greet and explain myself to. Some sweet old women that had about 50 benedictions for us(if I hadn't explained before, its typically done for new babies, sometimes money is given. Most typical is Allah K'a balu=May Allah bring him a long life...its very sweet). I was still in search of those darn chickpeas, this took us a bit off course. Finally we start heading for the chickens. The chicken guys are, literally, smack dab in the middle of the market. And this is the big market. Getting a chicken is not super fun as, first the guys that sell them, generally, aren't nice guys for some reason. Second, you have to sit and wait while they kill it and let it die(ok, a bit gruesome, but they cut its throat, toss it in a barrel and wait for it to stop moving, then dip it in water and pluck it), meanwhile having every wandering vendor in the market come up to you because you are spending a fair amount of money on chickens so you must have more to buy their plastic bags, cookies, Ferrari T-shirts, highly flammable baby clothes, etc. But fresh chicken is so good! Its the price we pay...
Perhaps Marshall sensed my desire to not deal with the chicken buying that he decided, just as we are in the center of the market, within feet of the chicken cages, to start screaming. Not just crying and fussing, but screaming. This is an embarrassment in Mali as Malian babies, generally, don't cry to much. If they do, they are quickly attached to someone's breast and calmed. This is, in fact, what I am wanting to do with Marshall at the very moment, recognizing that having been out longer than expected he is hot and hungry and just wants to sit for 15 minutes, catch a little bite to eat and cool off.
Everyone is staring at us and I try to maintain composure as I look around for some women with a place to sit where I can stop and feed him. All the women seem to have disappeared and the first ones I happen upon, familiar ones I have bought limes from before, are pleading me to give him a breast, grabbing theirs in unison to emphasize their point, but have no where to sit. I start heading downhill, exit way, and eventually happen upon two women washing clothes and making lunch in a side alley. They, as well, grab their breasts, thinking I don't speak Bambara, and tell me to feed him. I ask if I can sit and do so and they quickly wipe off a bit of stoop for me. As I work to free him from his carrier, the older woman compassionately offers her breast for him, making me move a bit faster to assure her that I will be giving him mine right away.
Marshall takes 15 minutes, feeds and cools off. My new BFFs continue their work in stride as they shoo off the pre-teen boys stopping and staring, trying to catch a glimpse of white boob. The women coo at Marshall, saying, "Thats better...he was just hungry...he is better now." He finishes eating and awards them all with a big fat smile, some laughter and a little dance. A better thank you than I can give.
At this point, I can return to buy chickens, something, I'm honestly, a bit embarrassed to do now, or I can realize that, my task has been interrupted and chock it up to another yalla. Unfortunately, we still need a protein for dinner.
I profusely thank our hosts and decide to go get some avocados and make my way back towards our small neighborhood market. There is one guy I have not bought chickens from who is there.
On my way to do that I encounter the following obstacles:

1. Another run in with Ibrahim. If he wasn't such a nice guy I might think he was following me.
2. The weddings still going on.
3. A very large group of children.

When I arrive at the smaller market, I encounter the following obstacles:
1. The chicken guy isn't there.
2. 3 herds of sheep, one of which has a large ram trying to mount half the females.
3. A man with a turned over push cart full of charcoal.
4. This annoying little teen girl who refuses to talk to me in Bambara and keeps talking about coming to my house to talk about going to France(she knows I'm from the States though...)

Luckily, I find a beef seller with a very nice cut of meat. I buy it and make my way home, laughing all the way at the absurdness of this 2.5 hour adventure. Marshall is dead asleep, bored by this daily saga. We had a fantastic dinner. Unfortunately, I still need to get chicken. But its 10:30 and Marshall is taking a nap...who knows...I'm just trying to enjoy every minute of it. I know there are plenty of you out there reading this saying, "Damn, I wish all I HAD to do today was buy 2 chickens!" And for all of you, I am appreciating my situation. I promise.

Napping Mali Style