Hunt for the Red Bobo

We just got back from our first research trip by ourselves! (with the help of another journeygirl, Katie, and a translator). We were researching the Bobo people, and it was really fun! We got to our city on Tuesday, and we started asking people if they knew where Bobo villages were. Wednesday we rode out and started talking visiting the villages. Let me tell you something about African roads. Sometimes (usually not) they're paved. The ones that aren't paved are usually in bad condition and very bumpy, but you can still tell that they are roads. Out in the bush however, it is neither. The only way you can even tell you are on a road is the faint tracks from where donkey carts have been traveling. Other than that, there's no way to know. None. So, we would stop at a village and ask them our questions, then ask them where another Bobo village was. They would say, down this road, so we would go down the road. Pretty soon, we would lose the road, so we would have to stop and look for tracks, then follow them again. Thank goodness for GPS's and helpful Africans. God always provided us with someone to help us. We were able to get a lot of good information. Surprisingly, most of the Bobo people were not Muslim, there were a lot of Christians! We found a lot of little churches and got to talk with church members and pastors, it was a really great experience.
One village we went to, they took us to the chief. Imagine the oldest man you've ever seen in your life and add 50 years. That is how old this man looked. His wife looked even older. They were both sitting on the ground in a t-shirt and absolutely nothing else. Halfway through our conversation with him and about 15 other African men, the chief layed down on his side so that he was mooning all of us. I had to keep telling myself to be mature and not laugh. After we finished our questions, our translator said for us to ask how old the chief was. So we did, and this started a huge discussion. Apparently, it's ok to ask people's ages here, it's not considered rude, they just don't know. Many Africans don't keep track of birthdays. Well after a long discussion (of which the chief had no part) they finally came up with 200. Now, he looked about 200, but obviously he wasn't. They discussed it some more and said maybe not 200, maybe 180. It was so funny. Finally, they said, "he's old."
We're back in Bamako for a couple days, they we're headed out to the village for language training and we come back for Christmas. I hope all of you have a very Merry Christmas!!