Bamako...

It almost seems like a city. It’s definitely not a quaint country village of mud-brick houses and women singing as they collectively pound a harvest of millet. There are lots of people, noise and things happening; I notice some goats trying to have sex as I walk down the street.

Given my experiences in Ouagadougou I didn’t think it would be hard to change money. The first time I had wandered around the centre-ville I went to a Western Union who didn’t change money, and another place that didn’t have Euros. Kind people at both establishments directed me to places that didn’t seem to exist; such seems to be the way in West Africa.

Now on my second outing (after having retreated to the less stressful confines of my accommodation with some actual Juicy Fruit) I stumble into an Ecobank which even has Bureau d’Échange written on its exterior. Alas, they are a new bank without any money changing facilities as of yet. They direct me next door... who are closed.

Venturing back to surety again, along the dusty, bumpy thoroughfares known as streets, I am surprised by the relative lack of people trying to forcefully incite me to make a purchase. I pass a beggar whose ailments appear stronger than he. I wonder what he hopes for.

Crossing the road a friendly voice penetrates my insular thoughts. I am reminded that you need to cross quickly as the roads are busy; I am reminded that people still live here.

Skip to the end: Describing a day in the Malian capital.