What the hell is a wassoulou?

I don't know and no one else seems to have any better idea. Mali, in Bambara, means hippo. Bamako means the crocodile's back. Yanfolila, coincidentally enough, means music is here. So what does wassoulou mean? I know it's a river, but the only answer I got other than that no one knows, was from Asseita, who's pictured somewhere below, who comes from Menaca, a small sandy village near Gao in northern Mali, who married Ancien Coulibaly, then a stunning military man, when she was 15, becoming his third wife, and they eventually moved to Yanfolila to begin their family.

Welcome to Yanfolila, capital of wassoulou:




Yanfolila is in the greater region of Sikasso in the forests of southern Mali, but it's little corner is generally referred to as Wassoulou. That distinction is known all throughout Mali, regardless if anyone knows where Yanfolila actually is. 12 villages surround Yanfolila. Until October, the paved road stopped at Bougouni, and three hundred miles later picked up again in Guinee. The busses sped through, covering the mango trees in red dust.

According to Asseita, Wassoulou signifies the Fula who don't understand Fula. Papa Sidibe is a Fula, and all the other Diakite's, Diallo's, and Sangare's are Fula as well. The story goes that a mother gave birth to four sons, Diallo, Sangare, Sidibe, and Diakite (I think in that order) and started the Kingdom of Wassoulou, which was eventually destroyed by wars, I think from the Bambara (Traore, Diarra, Coulibaly, and some others). It's not uncommon to refer to people only by those names, though now they're like last names. So Wassoulou is full of Fula who don't understand Fula. Then where do they understand Fula? North of Bamako in Mopti and Djenne are the "real" Fula, I'm told. History says that the Fula were cattle herders that came from Ethiopia, and only becuase of similarities in current pop-music, I'd like to say southern Ethiopia, in Oromo. Anyway, I guess that's what Wassoulou means.

The only physical change to Yanfolila was the paved road that cuts through the village en route to Guinee.


Before it was just red dust.

Otherwise there were lots of personnel changes, so to speak. When I get home I'll post pictures of the old family so that this will make more sense. Miney is married and in Bamako. Adja took Fanta to her father's house in Burkina Faso, but left Bijou.


When I left last time, Bijou could barely walk and would only say her mom's name inbetween tears. Now she's adorable, is always strutting around lost in her own world, and claims to remember me.

Kadja is sadly married and off to some village to start a family. Sekou is somewhere in Bamako. That is very upsetting, because I spent the last three months hating Bamako (not the people, but the city), and Sekou was here the whole time, doing who-knows-what. After ATT came to inaugurate the new paved road Sekou hit that road to Bamako, leaving his ngoni and speakers behind at his house, so who knows what he's doing. His wife and brother told me that since he left in October he hasn't called and he never gave a number for contact. His friend Solo Sidibe, who plays the grenye, the metal tube to keep rhythm much like a hi-hat, said he doesn't have any contact either. A few weeks ago I had my parents send me my brothers old guitar amp, a guitar cord, and a pick-up to give to Sekou (I'll post a picture of his old set up, which was amazing, but just weak volume. With the new amp and pick-up he'll be able to rock the village. Sorry Michael, your amp is gone, but gone to a good cause). Anyway, I left all of that and the cassette I recorded my last night in Yanfolila last time, for Sekou's return. I'm upset I couldn't see him this time...next time.

I suppose my point in all of this is that Yanfolila is an amazing place. I realized it the first time I randomly decided to go there, and I remembered it this time that I meant to go there. I randomly decided to go there the first time because I just liked the sound of the instrument that I heard blaring out of the cassette player in a taxi my first day in Bamako, and when I asked who it was and where he was from and the answer was Yoro Sidibe from Wassoulou. Where's Wassoulou? Oh, down by Yanfolila. Luck had it that my Beninoise friend introduced me to another friend who lived with someone who had moved to Bamako from wassoulou, and when I told her I liked the donso ngoni she called her friend Papa in Yanfolila. His initial response was, "yeah, sure he can come, but I don't know what white people like to eat." She told him to kill a chicken for me and it would be fine. He didn't kill a chicken but it was fine. So the next day I hopped on the bus


to go meet this mystery family of Papa Sidibe, which actually turned into two families: that of Papa and that of Ancien Coulibaly. I ended up staying for a few months that time and I just recently returned from a few weeks' visit, during which was the Tobaski holiday, where, if you have the means, every muslim should buy and slaughter a sheep. That explains the fancy clothing you'll see. Here they are today, in no particular order:

Papa is holding the new addition to the family, Abitou. She cries everytime she looks at me. Aisseita is the fireball from the north, kneeling in the carmel color.

L to R: Asseita, Aminata (the second wife), Ancien is seated, and Papa's daugther La.


Ancien and his youngest, Abdoule. They're really not that serious in person.


Abitou and La.


Alou, me, Baba.


Papa and Ali.


Baba and Minata.


Minata, in her finest bazin.


Me and La.


Mai, Bintou (my favorite), Assetou, Asseita, Na, and La in front.



Assetou, Papa's wife, making breakfast.


The Sidibe's: Abi, Assetou, Papa, La, Bintou, Na. Papa said he's going to take a second wife that will hopefully give him a boy.



Abdoule.


The house, with two sleeping dogs.


Ancien taking his son to school in checkers, the day of the party.


The path from the back of the house to Arimatou's house, and a nice mango tree.


Me and ne ka djatigui, Papa, an incredible mechanic who just left his old garage and opened his own.



Brhama and Papa at the garage. I spend the morning's here. The same people are always coming and going everyday. Last year, Papa worked at a garage on the main market street, so it was a pretty lively place. I'd spend the mornings there waiting for Sekou and we'd walk to Ancien's house (next to Papa's) to play ngoni for a few hours. Not too shabby.

I had to do a little sight-seeing. It feels like what I imagine Graceland to be like in wassoulou, or maybe at least like visiting the old streets and studios where Motown was happening. So I went to the radio station. It's coverage is only about 50 miles, reaching all the villages in the circle of Yanfolila, but not beyond.



The locked cabinet is of local musicians who played at parties, or ceremonies of some sort, such as the opening of the new paved road. They keep it locked because that's the good stuff. It's just straight kamele ngoni, vocals and djembe, or donso ngoni. No synthesizers, no drum machines, and no electronics beyond the gritty speakers that the musicians rig-up. I got the director to spin me a few tapes of ngoni players. Now I need to start practicing for the next time when Sekou will be back. Solo said he'd come back, he left his ngoni afterall.

Like I briefly mentioned, Yanfolila is incredible. It and the Olympic mountains are the only two places to which I felt an immediate and unwavering draw, scheming my next return while I'm still there. Maybe one of these days timing will work out that I'll stay for a good chunk of time. I want to tour the villages recording musicians--they don't call the wassoulou capital "music is here" for nothing. There's music and it's good. I also want to play with Sekou again and get really good at ngoni so I can challenge Yoro Diallo. Timing is funny.

Here's another picture of Bijou becuase she's so cute.


She held that pose, gently twisting from side-to-side, until I told her to stop and put the camera away.