Our last couple days in Mali flew by. I left one day open, and the morning of that day I decided to take a long walk across town with my camera. I walked out of the Cite du Niger, by the Russian Embassy where I used to teach English to Andrei and Dmitri and Kate, through Niarela, past the old bridge to the Palais du Congres. I said hello to anyone and everyone I met on the street, and many people stopped me along the way and asked me to take their photo. Before I even left the Cite du Niger neighborhood, I stopped to chat with these guards:

They were making tea, but didn't offer me any.

The next place I stopped was the car wash -- well, just a motorcycle wash, really.

They asked me how they would get to see the photo. I said if they gave me an address, I would mail them a copy. We wound up exchanging email addresses.

In Niarela I passed this girl and her father (?) on the sidewalk. This is a common sight -- children escorting blind or disabled relatives, asking for change or something to eat. Unfortunately I had neither change nor food on me. She then asked, with gestures, for me to take their photo.

The main street of the Niarela quartier is full of shops. People were a little less friendly the closer I got to the commercial center of town, but still nice enough.

I met this phone card salesman in the Niarela neighborhood. He asked for "a pose" -- to have his picture taken -- and I obliged.

Then he said some rude things to me that I won't translate here. (I wish I knew some strong words in French so I could put these obnoxious young men in their place when they do things like that.)

These guys were nicer.

They asked for a copy of their photo too. I asked for their address and they gave me a scrap of paper that said "Mahmadou Kone, Bamako, MALI." I thought about asking him for a better address but he didn't really speak any French.

This man, selling watches, was one of the last people I met on my walk, and one of the nicest. He had moved to Bamako from Mopti for le commerce, to make a living. He asked to have his picture taken, then paused and asked if I were French. I said I was American. He laughed, relieved, and said, "Well, then, it's OK, you can take my picture!"

The final stop was along the riverside. These men were digging ditches, maybe for a drainage system. It was near midday and the sun was fierce.

One thing you might notice about these pictures is that they are all of men. That's because only men asked me to stop and take their photo. Women were out on the street too, but instead of sitting in the shade and tending shops, they were carrying their wares in heavy buckets on their heads, tending to children. They also seem more reserved around me. Many smiled and some said hello, but except for the little girl with her father, none asked for "a pose."