Part II

Chapter 9 Ségou

The road spreads out like a slow breath. The ancient capital clings to the right bank of the Niger, languid as a lizard in the sun’s trance — red-earth houses under kapok and mango trees, black marble boatmen slicing the surface, just as in Biton Coulibaly’s era, just as today.

A cluster of women stride the roadside, baskets balanced on their heads, bare from the waist up, their laughter drifting through the dust.

“I wish I could walk around like them,” I say.

Karim affects long theatrical consideration. “Me too.”

We stare at each other, the meaning dawning, and dissolve into helpless laughter — the road around us, for a moment, as free and open as Mali’s endless sky.

Then I watch them a moment longer.

“Most of them would probably trade the freedom to bare their chests for something much deeper. I’m sure they’d rather have their genitalia left in one piece, even if it meant covering their breasts.”

Karim says nothing. He doesn’t need to.

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