French Studies in Mali

Earlier this week, we had a few hours between classes, so a couple of us stopped by Kyle's house to pass the time on his front patio. We showed up coated in a red sludge that is the particular result of Bamako's rusty soil mixed with our own sweat - temperatures reached the mid 90's here this week, with not a gasp of breeze in the air. We were met on the patio by three or four guys who pulled up more chairs and invited us to join them in the shade. Introductions were exchanged, which is always an in-depth process involving a melange of French, Bambara, English, family ties, places of origin, and joking insults. And then, as if on cue, one of the Malian guys held up a small glass and asked the whole assembly, "Anybody have time for a cup of tea?"

"Anybody have time for a cup of tea?" is rapidly becoming my favorite sentence here in Bamako. I want to take some time to describe the process - you could easily call it the phenomenon - of taking tea on Mali time. At home in the U.S., tea is a weak infusion from a dangly cloth bag that I gulp down before my morning classes to keep myself awake. Or it comes in a big comfy mug from behind the counter at Blue Monday's, dressed up in an exotic name like "oolong" and robbing me of three dollars. In my mind, tea has always been associated with fussy English manor houses or quiet temples in the Far East. But here in Bamako, tea is none of these things: not hurried or fancy or stuffy or particularly peaceful. Like so many aspects of this society, tea works here like it could nowhere else on Earth. My sources tell me that the practice of taking tea came to Mali with a wave of Chinese immigrants in the early 1960's. My sources also proudly note that Malians soon hijacked this ritual from the Commie Chinese and transposed it into Bamako time. "My sources," granted, are a clan of unemployed marabouts who hang out on the corner near my house, so they might not be so credible. Then again, every time I pass by, they're in the process of making a cup of tea, so who's to say they're not as expert as anybody else.

And tea here really is a ritual. No matter where I am in the city, and even in many of the outlying villages we've visited on our weekend excursions, the same cup of tea comes out of the same precise process using the same materials. This is how it always goes: a small metal teapot rests on a bed of coals that slowly, slowly brings the water inside to a boil. Only after the water has been really boiling for at least 5 minutes do you add the loose green tea leaves and maybe some dried mint. Back to the coals then for another ten minutes to make sure the tea is good and steeped. The next, and arguably the most important step, is to measure out the right amount of sugar. Here I gather the general rule is "too much is never enough" - three, four, five, six tablespoons of sugar are heaped into a second waiting teapot, into which the tea itself is finally poured. Now the impressive part: the whole mixture is poured in and out, back and forth, between the two teapots and a pair of waiting cups. The real art here is how fast you can pour the tea from one cup to another, from how high, without spilling a drop. I tried and emptied half a pot of tea into my lap when I missed the cup entirely. My sources say the pouring thing is to cool the tea off and make sure it's fully mixed, but I suspect its mostly for showing off. Anyway, finally, easily 20 minutes later, the tea is ready to drink. What you get for all your effort is a shot glass of murky liquid, thick as syrup and about as sweet, offset by a strong bitter flavor from the leaves. You're supposed to suck it down in as few gulps as possible, slurping loudly all the while. And it's not called "gunpowder tea" for nothing - my hosts always get a kick out of the face I make when I finish the cup. They grin proudly and slap me on the back, saying "C'est fort, non?" And that's just round one. I think you're supposed to repeat the process three times. If you think you're tough enough.

I've come to appreciate tea time in Bamako because it's such an obvious expression of what's important in Malian society. Here there's a high priority on taking the time to receive guests or just to sit back and shoot the breeze as the afternoon shadows grow long. In every patch of shade on every block of the streets of Bamako, you can find a small cluster of guys arranged around a tea set. At the same time, I suspect that the social and economic climate here is such that men have the time to take tea for hours because their wives, daughters, and sisters are probably inside the house watching the kids, cooking, and cleaning, most days after working full-time. You never can find a group of Malian girls around a teapot.