Sitting on a sofa in what passes for the officers' mess is Colonel Didier Dako. Speaking in clear, well articulated English, he extends his hands and invites us to sit down.

Gently stroking his well-tended moustache, our host smiles warmly and says, "Wherever you go here, my special forces will ensure your safety."

After thanking him for this generous offer, I ask what distinguishes his "special forces" from the rest of his men? "Ah," he whispers with a gentle shake of the head, "that is sensitive information".

[…]

As promised, we are being tailed by a pick-up truck full of heavily armed soldiers and these, it seems, are not any old squaddies. They are wearing light brown instead of green uniforms, as well as fancy knee pads and black T-shirts. Are these the Mali Army's special forces? It appears so.
during which hours of nothing was discussed but prior to which great effort was expended in the procurement of stackable white plastic chairs and refreshments I must compliment the author on his fine balance of cheek and tact in this piece.
The next morning – after a night of intermittent power cuts, clouds of ravenous mosquitoes and thunderous downpours – we pile into an old Landrover, before speeding off to join an army patrol hunting for insurgents.
As someone who has spent a rainy season lodging in a household set up with the assumption of the presence of electricity, I count the realization that daily life would actually have been less hassle for all of us if things were set up to run without electricity altogether as one of the more important insights I have had about the state of the modern world.