Niger Currents
Exploring life and technology along the Niger river

Splat. Another handful of mud. I spread the mud into the gap between the bricks and turn to Issa looking for approval. "C'est bon?" I ask. "C'est bon," he replies, and cracks a grin. We've been working for two hours but I think he is still amused that two white men have volunteered to work for the day. While I'm inside tossing mud at the brick wall, Eli is outside the compound porting armloads of mud and bricks for the hired mason. Today, Eli and I are in the family home of our boatman, Moulaye, helping his father, Issa Troure, build up the outer wall of his compound.

I really enjoy working with Issa. It's because he seems comfortable with the fact that I'm working with him. Eli and I were hoping that coming with Moulaye to Nyamina to meet his family would allow us to immerse ourselves further into the community and be in a situation where we could build somewhat of a relationship of trust. Issa was surprised at first that we wanted to work, but after his initial surprise he enjoyed having two extra sets of hands to help out.

The technique is simple and it seems to me almost identical to brick construction in North America. The first step is to lay down a thick layer of mud mortar and place the bricks in place. Then the mason sets up a string running horizontally along the row of bricks and adjusts the height of each brick. The mason fills in the vertical gap with a trowel and then moves on to the next row of bricks. While we're working I remark to Eli: "Things really don't change do they?" The most novel part of the job for me is doing the plastering after the bricks are laid. Issa and I walk around and throw handfuls of mud into the gaps, making a good splat each time. We then spread the mud to create a fairly uniform surface to the wall.

We may be using similar techniques to those in North America, but the materials are certainly different. To make the bricks here, they use mud with a high clay content found about 100 metres from the house. In some places I've seen people add materials such as straw to strengthen the bricks. Here, it seems the soil has enough natural cohesion on its own. The trick is using the right kind of earth, as not just any soil will do. Similarly, they also know the best kind of mud to use for mortar here.

The work isn't technically difficult, and in the morning we were able to build a significant section of the wall. But it's tiring. Eli was carrying bricks and loads of mud all afternoon and looked exhausted by the time we finished. He says it's tough work, but not quite as difficult as porting loads of wood. I was lucky - tossing mud isn't strenuous and at least for a first-timer it's sort of fun. Although I think it's the kind of job that would go from fun to monotonous with another day of work under my belt.

When we arrived in Nyamina all the bricks were already made. It's a strenuous process that involves shovelling load after load of mud into a metal form, compacting the mud and then setting the bricks out to dry. I would have liked to have helped make the bricks, but given the temperature here it is probably wishful thinking on my part. I doubt I would last more than an hour doing work like that in this heat. People here are able to build proficiently with the materials around them, but the work certainly isn't easy. A lot of sweat went into putting up Issa's walls!

Issa and I work together through the mid-day heat. I laugh at our choice of sun protection, me in a raffia hat I bought during our time in Guinea and Issa wearing a small hat that closely resembles a cowboy hat made of suede or felt. We are certainly an odd pair. We finish the wall and take a break in the early afternoon. After the worst of the heat has passed we continue on to complete his bathroom wall.

Issa has made us feel right at home. During our time here he's been enthusiastic about letting us help out - so much so that I really feel like I'm just another of his son's friends.

After finishing the bathroom wall we sit down for tea and talk at length with Issa. At first we talk about the house and construction techniques, but soon the subject changes to his life and his past. Issa grew up in a small town called Banama about 30 kilometres from Nyamina. His family are from the Bambara tribe and were farmers in the village. Issa fondly remembers the community celebrations of his childhood, dancing to the balaphone with the other children.

We were both surprised Issa was Bambara. Two of his three sons work on the river and from what we had heard he was a boatman as well - from this we had assumed he was a Bozo, the predominant boat people.

As we continue to talk we start to understand more about Issa and his background. At the age of 21 he set out from Banama in search of new opportunities. He followed a neighbour to Tamani, where his friend got him a job working at a large rice processing facility. The work in Tamani was good and he enjoyed having the security of a regular paycheque. He was well settled in Tamani, but after two years the factory owner died and the factory shut down.

He then moved up the river to Nyamina, the largest town in the region. He got himself a piece of land and went back to farming - growing millet, groundnuts, maize and beans. In his first few years in Nyamina the farming was good but seasonal. Like many people, Issa only farmed in the rainy season and he needed to have a source of income for the rest of the year. So he learned how to fish and kept himself occupied with that during the three months after the rainy season, when the river is high. But by January the water level in the Niger dropped back down and the fish stocks had declined. So Issa decided to open a barbecue to sell meat during the market days to keep busy during this dry period before the rainy season started again in June or July.

We had already seen his barbecue, but Eli and I had hopes of going fishing or heading out to the farm. When we asked about joining him on the boat he chuckled slightly and sighed. "I haven't been a fisherman in almost 20 years," he told us, going on to explain that for the first 15 years he had lived in Nyamina the rains were good, but around 20 years ago the rain started to come less. The level of the river stays lower so the fishing isn't as good anymore. "What about the farming?" we asked. "The same problem," he tells us. People still farm, but it is too hard to get anything extra - it all depends on God (for the rain). "I prefer the barbecue," he says. The money comes year-round, and if he needs extra money he can travel to other markets. After the problems with the rains started, he learned how to butcher animals as well. We ask where, and our translator, Ali, just answers, "the school of the street."

We finally get around to asking Issa what he thinks of having two white men work with him. By this point, it seems we share an almost familial comfort level. "The same God made us," he answers. "Our skin is different colours but our blood is the same." He goes on to tell us that he likes having us around. "People think I'm a big padre because the white people have come to work with me," he says. I think I now know the reason for his grin. I would normally feel awkward and angry at being used as a status symbol, but Issa's demeanour tells me that, more than anything, he is having fun with the situation.

Later, we go to visit Issa's friend to have some tea. His house is also being repaired and is in the final steps of plastering. We watch as two young men break chunks of dirt into a small crater-shaped pit and then add water. They then pour a thick black liquid into the pit, mix it up, and then spread the plaster on the wall. I look at Eli and he has the same quizzical look that I do, neither of us know what they are doing. Upon questioning Issa, we find out that the liquid is used motor oil and it is being added to make the mud plaster more water-repellent. I'm interested to find out how people came up with this technique. The mason tells us people have been doing this for around seven years and that using the oil will make the plaster last significantly longer. I worry about the health effects of using motor oil, but at least it's only used on the outside wall. Building this wall has shown great examples of local ingenuity, adapting what is locally available to suit needs.

On the walk back to Issa's house Eli points out another example of making use of what's readily available. He holds the baguette we are carrying up against a corrugated steel roofing sheet - the same size. We later check it out at the boulangerie, and they do in fact use roofing sheets as baking trays!

As we pack and go to say goodbye to Issa, I can't help but wonder what he thinks after our few days together. I ask Issa what he will tell people about us after we go. He simply says, "I'll tell them we are family." I think he's exaggerating a bit, but I still feel touched by his response.

Issa comes across as an ordinary man in his community; he doesn't stand out among his neighbours. Yet Issa's ability to adapt in the face of often difficult circumstances is commendable. Like most of the people here, he doesn't complain about the hand life has dealt him, he just does all he can to make the best of his situation.

During my two years in West Africa I've met many inspiring leaders - people who have started non-governmental organizations and people who have driven amazing positive change in their communities. As much as these people inspire me, I am equally inspired by "ordinary" people like Issa Traore, who strive successfully to provide for themselves and their families. There are so many like Issa around and they are very much the reason I choose to do development work.

We met Issa in Nyamina, the town that marks the half-way point along the 250 km journey between Koulikoro, Bamako's eastern port, and Segou, the first major city we will meet along the river. His home was the first one on this journey in which I felt treated more like a family member than like a guest.