First Steps in Mali

Sanankuya

"[translation] Sanankuya is the relationship between "sanankus" (joking cousins). We tease one another, call each other names, make fun of one another and, at times, even insult one another. But it's always in good fun. This relationship is the result of a sacred act of tolerance, of gratitude and solidarity established between the ancestors of many ethnic groups in Mali. Through humour, "joking cousins" are reviving this relationship, which today is an invaluable component of social peace and understanding."

Habib Koité, musician, author-composer-performer

Far from being harassing or unpleasant, sanankuya allows daily life to be wrapped in a sense of frivolity and smoothes over most differences. Sanankuya was a powerful integration tool for me.

The Malians have the marvellous tradition of giving the foreigners they host native names. In this way, it is easy to enter this rich society that asks nothing more than to be discovered. It is an honour for them for a foreigner to have a Malian name. If this foreigner plays the sanankuya game, well, that beats all. The Malians are completely open and the level of satisfaction from the experience in Mali increases tenfold.

Spurred on by King Soundjata Keita in the 13th century, a network of "joking cousins" was formed to relieve tension and create tremendous bonds between clans. Certain families have been linked by this history since that time. Here, belonging to a family, a clan, is a person's true identity. A Malian does not primarily exist through his or her individuality but through belonging to his or her family. A Malian is his or her family and the Malian's personality is greatly shaped by the family's personality and that of his or her ethnic group.

Everyone knows the history of each ethnic group and each family clan, as well as their geographic origin. So, when someone is introduced to someone new, the other person knows who he or she is dealing with. He's a Peul from eastern Mopti, or a Malinké from Koutiala with all the historical baggage and the personality profile that goes with it. Through the griots' songs and sanankuya, all Malians know something of each family's history and everyone is aware of the "joking cousins" relationships between them.

Every day, I used my Malian "alias," Moussa Doumbia, rather than my real name. When being introduced, I would first be asked my family name, and because I had a Malian name, people immediately showed their friendship for me through this form of "kinship."

What's your name?
My name's Doumbia, how about you?
Traoré. Doumbia, that's not good!
No, Doumbia is good!
The Doumbia are bean-eaters! (poor people's food)
No, they aren't!
You're a Traoré!
No, Traoré isn't good. Doumbia is good!

I would be teased, and insulted; people would try to raise themselves up by putting down my clan and trying to convince me to change my name to theirs, which was always much better, obviously. Sometimes they would call me little numu (blacksmith) to emphasize my status in this "caste" to better pigeonhole me. Some even claimed that I was their slave! But the castes don't have hierarchical significance in Mali. Everyone knows his or her role, his or her place, but everyone is connected. Only sanankus families can as happily look down on one another as, for example, the Bozos fishermen and the Dogons, or the Peul ranchers and the blacksmiths. This is genuinely done without malice and defending one's clan is highly appreciated. Sanankus have the right to insult one another and the duty to help one another. That is how sanankuya works.

This may seem unbelievable but these relationships really exist in daily life. A sananku has some problems? It's our duty to help him or her. I even saw an argument stop cold after two passengers in a sotrama (green minibuses used as public transportation in Bamako) I was seated in realized that they were "cousins." That's the way it is, it's not folklore. It's life. Mali is a paradise of peace and everyone believes that it is in large part due to the vitality of sanankuya.

Simply having a Malian name allows us to join this dance of friendship and teasing. They burst out laughing, tap us on the right hand and squeeze it with both their hands to show their delight with a foreigner playing sanankuya and using his Malian name in his daily life.

Greetings

In Mali, as in most sub-Saharan African countries, the human being is more important than anything. When people meet, hands are shaken and held while talking to the person in front of you. Time stands still; nothing is more important than the person whose hand you are holding. A long string of life-giving greetings, wishes, questions and answers follow. We ask about health—our own, our respective fathers', mothers', families', villages' and even Canada's! Canada is, of course, in good health! I receive wishes for a long life and many children and that Allah might be with us and protect us, guide us and allow us to live another day. Our existence is consecrated when we are acknowledged by the hand that greets us. The recluse is a ghost. Here, we become living beings through our own recognition and the recognition of those around us.

The deeper one goes into the back country, the more deferential, emphatic and noble the greetings. A village chief approaches quietly. His hand is strong with calloused, rough fingers. His greeting is long and solemn and he places his left hand on his right forearm during the exchanges. With every word, his hand leaves his forearm and strikes his solar plexus with fingers held tightly together like the point of a lance, as if on a quest for his very essence. Through this gesture, he seems to want to show me all the sincerity and depth of his words. I feel more esteemed than I have ever felt before and a mutual respect naturally arises between us. He keeps his gaze lowered and speaks in a monotone, the words flowing endlessly without stop or pause. His carriage seems submissive but, on the contrary, I feel that he is great, wise and powerful. The wishes and greetings are poured out without waiting for a reply. I do my best to listen very carefully so that I might offer the right replies, at just the right time, quickly interspersing them between two of his wishes. But in order to do that, the basics of the language must be understood.

The Language

"Come here!" "Sit down!" "Eat!" My first days in Mali are a rush of many verbal commands that are unusual in my culture. Nor do I ever hear, "please" or "thank you." This could easily be interpreted as a lack of politeness. But what is politeness?

Politeness. I only know it as seen through my North American social lens. For me, politeness is all the gestures and words that I must make and say, often mechanically, in order to live in harmony with those around me. It is obvious that the Malians live in harmony with one another. Other codes of conduct exist between them that are different from mine, and these do the job of what I call "politeness." In fact, they are clearly very polite with each other and visitors. But politeness is shown in a way that is new to me.

Bamanan is a language with relatively few words that is understood by a great many Malians. Languages are created in heart of their welcoming culture and the language eloquently reflects Malian values. A singing, poetic language emerges from beneath its rough, outward appearance. A fruit, for instance, is called "the tree's child" (djiri din), an egg is "near the hen" (che fè) and my wife is "the woman in my arms" (muso bè n'bolo). Like their profoundly communal culture, the language is eloquently stripped of words of possession. Things must be said differently.

These aspects of life in Mali are fascinating and fairly easy for the foreigner to apply if he or she goes about it with a minimum of willingness. The Malians are respectful, will not annoy the visitor and are as open as the foreigner will allow. As they sum it up so well, "If the foreigner does not see colour, the Malian does not see colour." Easily, gently, "Doni, doni banyagada". Little by little, you build your nest there.

Two years after my return, Mali still calls me and I am certain that I'll go back in the near future, either through a cooperation project or through a personal project.

After his internship, Éric Bertrand (Moussa Doumbia) returned to his job as a water purification technician at the Longueuil complex. He joined an international committee at his daughter's school that held a Malian Day with booths, Malian food and a group of musicians from the country. Through the sale of fair trade products, the students raised over $10,000, which helped build four latrines, furnish six classrooms and plant 240 trees in the "Kéméni club" schools. Mr. Bertrand served his internship in Kéméni.

At this time, Éric is completing a book project that will help future volunteers or travellers experiencing a cultural stay in Mali and enable them to glimpse a number of aspects of daily life in Mali through his narrative.

Two years after his return, Mali still calls him and he is certain that he will go back in the new future, either through a cooperation project or through a personal project.

Additional Learning

Focus on Mali
Petit Lexique Français - Bambara (French only)
International Cooperation, Volunteers and Intercultural Effectiveness
Country Insights: Mali