Just you try buying 500 stamps at the main post office in Bamako….

You would think that buying a large number of postage stamps at the main post office in a capital city would not be a major problem. Dream on.

When I was involved with the private jet programs, one of the little perks the punters received were two already stamped postcards, waiting in their rooms, so they could hopefully tell the rellies what a fabulous time they were having. There was one exception to this rule. When we visited Mali, it was just to give them the bragging rights that they had been to Timbuktu. And of course they all would need to send more than two postcards from the celebrated end-of-the-world. Thus, before they arrived, I had the task of not only buying 500 postcards, but also the stamps to be affixed to them.

Buying the postcards was easy. Getting the stamps was not. Obviously if you are going to buy 500, then you need the main post office. I had calculated just how many Central African Francs I would need and my mate Amadou changed hundreds of dollars on the black market, so I was set.

The post office was one of those huge, bleak and battered looking places, found all over the poorer parts of the world. There were vague lines straggling off around corners, but I did find a window that advertised ‘timbres-postes’, so I rehearsed the simplest way to say in French “I want 500 stamps for postcards to the USA”. Not a difficult phrase.

Madame on the other side, swathed in an enormous and colorful pagne, with a matching piece tied around her head, stared at me with complete incredulity. Her mouth opened and then shut, but nothing came out. So I repeated my request. This had the effect of moving things along a bit. All she could say was “Cinq cents”…. then repeated even louder “CINQ CENTS???” At this point she started to hyperventilate and her mates came running. It looked like she was going to hit the floor, but was quickly propped up from behind. She was being fanned by large much used manila envelopes.

I just stood there. Eventually the next word out of her mouth was “IMPOSSIBLE”. Hmmm…. well we are in the main post office and you do sell stamps and this was just a few more than usual. I could see sheets of stamps right there in front of her. She then staggered off to recover from this ordeal, but I was no nearer possessing these precious items. Another woman, who was not quite so overcome, advised me that they could NEVER sell 500 stamps to one person. If I wanted to buy them wholesale, then I had to go to La Philatalie. Okay, I says, is that upstairs or round the corner? Mais non, it’s on the other side of town.

A taxi ride brought me to a large and scruffy garden, filled with eucalyptus trees, in the middle of which stood a beaten up building, which had definitely seem better days. The big metal shades, so beloved of French colonial buildings, were all hanging off and ready to hit the ground. There was no indication as to what happened inside, so I approached somewhat tentatively. Oh Joy … it IS La Philatalie, as there are some dog-eared posters of stamps on the wall. The counter is manned by two more middle aged ladies, who were sitting there doing absolutely nothing.

I thought it best if I didn’t make the same direct request that had caused such grief elsewhere, so we exchanged the usual pleasanteries in French and agreed it was very hot. Then I slipped in that I wanted to buy a LOT of stamps. This did not cause any upset, so I threw my request for 500 at them, direct and stood back. Fortunately it did nor phase them at all.

BUT … for the USA, each stamp is 375CFA and we do not have stamps of 375. They seemed to be unable to cope with the idea that perhaps you have a 300 and a 75 or a 200 and a 175 ? They each had many sheets of stamps in front of them. It appeared they operated quite independently of each other. I assured them I had the money (stinking wads of much used CFA’s, which were probably carrying every known germ in the world). Then the fun and games started. Each would try to compose some sets of 375. This was certainly going to be two stamps and may even have gone to three. Big problem here. Malian stamps in general are large, (my own theory has always been: the smaller the country, the larger the stamp) thus three stamps would just about obliterate the writing space, so I put in a request to make them duets.

Piles of stamps started to form and then one of them decided that she needed some of the other woman’s cache and they only way she could so this was to BUY them from here. I had put the money squarely between them and they both had started to raid as needed. I am watching this with mute amazement and then, oh shit, it all derailed. One of them couldn’t remember if she had paid for a stamp transfer and the more they thought the more confused they both became. The only way out was for them to return the stamps and cash to each other and WE STARTED ALL OVER AGAIN. This was to happen twice more. I felt I had fallen into an unknown Samuel Beckett play and Godot would finally turn up.

In the end they worked it out. At their insistence, I had to count the stamps all over again and make sure all was in order and they did some long hand math on the back of an envelope to make sure the cash was right and I had to count that and they had to count it too.

If you are ever bored in Bamako and have a couple of hours to kill, then I can recommend buying 500 stamps at La Philatalie as a life-enriching experience. The following year I did it all over again and things were looking up. They DID have a 375CFA stamp, but of course did not have 500, so the stamps musical chairs started all over again. The third time I went there, it was just like meeting old friends. I was known as ‘the man who buys 500 stamps’.

I hope my original lady at the post office has recovered from the ordeal.