Addendum to Djenne

December 12, 2005

A trek across Mali is a journey through time. It is as I would picture the Native Americans living their lives long before the white man made his presence known. Days slip slowly by under the hot Sahara sun. Fulani herders watch their cows, sheep, or goats, riding their bicycles to the fields, sleeping in the shade, walking their herds to market. Women wash clothes and themselves in the river, oblivious to the eyes of the Toubab zooming by in cars. Sleeping in mud huts, picking rice, fishing, gathering fire wood, scratching the Earth for whatever it will yield, and pausing for a jaw under the shade of the Acacia tree; this is the life of the Malian family.

Cars are few and far between. Many folks ride motorcycles. Many more ride ancient bicycles with rods for pedals and half the spokes missing. Still more walk or ride the donkey carts. No one is ever in much of a hurry. It is as if time has stood still here for eons.
I admire the donkey. A strong animal, they assume their tasks with quiet resolve. They wander the streets searching for bits of food or lean against cool walls to rest. They work only as hard as necessary. The Malians, in turn, whip them mercilessly. They pile the carts high with cargo and then smack the hindquarters of their load bearer with a stick. The crack is loud and sharp and the donkey responds minimally, giving in little bit by little bit until the driver grows weary or the desired speed is attained, whichever comes first.

Many of the people I have met want nothing more then to come to America. They are sure that they will find their fortune there. Having seen it in movies and rap videos, they know that prosperity is waiting for them at the gates of New York. It would be fascinating to pluck a villager from his hut and place him in the Bronx. I can’t imagine a more overwhelming experience then that.
MJR

Djenne

December 12, 2005

We’re driving through Utah! Not the beautiful southern part, but the really ugly northern part. It is dry and barren and you can see for miles. It is completely different from the lushness of Sadiola, although it is much cooler here. We left Mopti yesterday and arrived in Djenne several hours and a ferry ride later.
Djenne is a town made entirely of mud. UNESCO has declared it and the mosque inside as world heritage sites. The mosque is the largest mud structure in the world. We arrived on Sunday and spent the night so as to be here for the market day today. The market is huge and well known throughout the country. We are finishing breakfast and preparing for our day.
Last night we bore witness to a first time ever event in Djenne; a wrestling match. It pitted Dogon men against Bombara men. It was quite exciting. The young men entered wearing western style clothes with leather skirts over their shorts. The skirts were adorned with metal beads. They started by dancing; shaking their beads, kicking their feet, strutting their stuff. All the men danced around a ring to the rhythm of several drums and a Dogon flute. Everyone was introduced and then the match began. Two at a time, men would step into the middle of the sand pit, dancing to the beat, circling until just the right moment, and then they would strike. As the round continued the drum beat would intensify and the flute would play a little faster, the men getting more aggressive, picking each other up and finally pinning one to the ground. The winner would dance around the circle waving a feather, celebrating his victory, the musicians following him back to his side to praise his skill. It was quite a spectacle. It was clear that most of the town had shown up and they were there only to watch as no one accosted us to buy anything. We stayed for an hour and a half before stumbling back to our room. We could hear the music from our hotel; it went far into the night. Very Lekker!
The scourge of Djenne is the open sewer system. The town itself is beautiful; the mud buildings are very supple with no sharp corners anywhere. The “streets” are too narrow for cars; even sometimes too narrow to walk side by side. They wind and twist between the buildings, never running in a straight line for long. Without a guide we would wander the streets forever and never find our way out. There are shops on rooftops and inside homes. There are, of course, goats, sheep, donkeys, chickens, and small children everywhere. Down the center of each lane is a cement trough or merely an oozing river of slime. The stench is, at times, overwhelming. One must be very careful where they step. Since the dirt is never even, it would be easy to slip and take that fatal step.
The market is incredible. Where last night there was an open courtyard, this morning there are a thousand stalls. It is as if the stands have sprouted forth from the Earth. This is not a tourist market. There are no masks or trinkets for sale. There are fruits, vegetables, fabric, batteries, goats, chickens, fish, wrenches, radios, and any other common household item. People come from miles around to do their weekly shopping. School does not happen on Mondays in Djenne so that children can help at the market. It is all at once chaotic and ordered; an exquisite dance that plays itself out every Monday evening only to be reborn again a week later.



















Everywhere we are greeted by Toubab! Toubab! (too-bob) and asked for gifts. Pictures must be paid for and all prices are negotiable. Two boys we met last night followed us most of the day, leading us here and swindling us there. We finally sent them on their way. We meandered through the market, purchasing little, but observing a lot. It was a beautiful scene of daily life in Mali.
MJR

Mopti

December 10, 2005

Mopti is a much smaller town then Segou. We are still on the Niger so there are many fishermen here as well as several thriving markets. Our hotel is totally western. I was surprised at the quality when we arrived.

This morning we took a tour of the city including a guided tour (in French) of the Catholic Church. Upon leaving the hotel, we were immediately accosted by street vendors. They were mostly boys and men. It was overwhelming. There are so many of them and they all want you to buy something. They are also extremely interested in Zachary. The children all wish to touch him. This drives him nuts so we end up carrying him most of the time.

Zman is definitely three years old. He is becoming practiced in the art of the tantrum. He is also an expert on sticking out his lip, crossing his arms, and saying “NO!” This is a test for momma and me as we grow weary of constantly asking him to be nice. His newest trick is to tell us he is hungry and needs a snack. When we stop for meals, he chooses food and then refuses to eat. The frustration level with this behavior is rather high. We are both thankful that Grandma and Grandpa are here to relieve the burden.

We noticed on our tour this morning that Mopti is a pretty clean town. This is especially true in the area inhabited by the Fulani people. Garbage there seems to be deposited in a common spot, rather then wherever it lands. We stopped to inquire about watching the cattle crossing, but it is becoming increasingly clear that we will probably not be able to see this event.

At the indoor market we inspected work by all sorts of artisans. There were Dogon masks, stools, statues, and jewelry, along with Tuareg knives, leather goods, cushions, and boxes, as well as a myriad of other items. Everyone pulled us several directions at once. It was overwhelming and exhausting, but fun nonetheless. Downstairs at that market were women selling produce, spices, and meat. The place was packed with folks of all ages.


Next we ventured into the fish market. The smell was unbelievable! There was any number of baskets over flowing with dried fish and smoked fish. We were accosted at every turn to buy something. We pushed our way through with Z on our shoulders until we arrived at the boat building plant. This plant is run by The Bozo people. They are the fishermen and they build their own boats out of wood. They are essentially really long (~30 ft) canoes. The process is amazing. There are a dozen guys taking old scraps of steel and forging them into nails. Their forges are wood or coal inside a small pocket of cement. There is a boy at each station whose job it is to turn a bicycle wheel which in turn powers a fan that forces air through a small tube and onto the fire. A child of no more then two scurries around picking up stray nails and deposits them into the baskets. There are others in the shop working to shape and assemble the wood into a finished product. Each boat retails for about 500,000 cfa (~$1,000). Amongst the factory workers, there were goats, small children, and one old man fast asleep.























We ate at a small upstairs café overlooking the harbor. Unfortunately the vendors followed us in so we got no peace while we ate. Only after I bought a shirt did Kone inform me that I spent too much. He also told me that he is not allowed to step into the middle of a deal. Once I engage a merchant I am on my own. He did give me some pointers that I tried to exercise later, but I was a little annoyed that he hadn’t been more up front. Oh well, someone once told me that the price I pay for an item is irrelevant, so long as I walk away feeling like I got a good deal. I need to keep that in mind. I also need to remember that these folks desperately need the money.




One of the most interesting things that happened involved our mentioning Sadiola. Every Malian we mention the village to immediately connects it with gold. One particularly astute gentleman said, “Oh, you work for AngloGold!”

We have seen many tourists here. Yesterday we met a group from Spain. I struck up a conversation in Spanish and told them that I lived here. They were astonished. They couldn’t believe that anyone would choose to live here. Then again, they haven’t been to Sadiola. The more we travel around the country, the more I miss the beauty of that village. I am beginning to think that we will be anxious to get there at the end of our journey. I also believe that we will be more appreciative of our surroundings upon our arrival. Regardless, I am enjoying our trip. Mali is very diverse and very similar all at the same time. It is good to get some perspective.

Later that evening…

Ah to live in a place with half naked people. The lack of inhibition is refreshing. We went on a sunset pinasse (pee-nass) ride this evening. We embarked on this trip at the harbor where the fish market is. It is a crowded spot. There are vendors, tourists, and just about everyone else. As we rounded the point to get to our boat, we were confronted by two rather large naked men. Their work was done for the day and they were preparing to jump in the river and bathe. It is not a river I would bathe in and my standards are fairly low. The population of Mali seems to disagree however. They were beautiful men with sinuous arms and strong backs. Carrie was not displeased. I appreciate the lack of modesty, although I am not going to volunteer to get naked at the main harbor of Mopti anytime soon.

Segou, Here We Come

December 8, 2005

We flew out of Sadiola on Tuesday. It occurred to us that this is the first time we have traveled from Sadiola. When we head home, we will be heading back there. I guess that makes it our home. I wonder if we will be ready to go back there when the time arrives. Traveling is always stressful as you run around trying to make sure that you have forgotten nothing, but knowing full well that you have forgotten something. The trip to the airport is then such a relief because it is too late to retrieve that one last item.

We were met at the Bamako airport by the AISB driver, Somano. He is the same gentleman who drove us to the airport when we first arrived. We stayed at the Hotel Salam, a beautiful establishment that was hosting a West African Development Conference. There were lots of people in suits running around looking important. The pool was beautiful and the staff was great. We sat around yesterday doing nothing until Somano showed up again to take us to AISB for Carrie’s meeting with the boss. We got to see all of the folks we met in August. It was a fun reunion.

Our friend Rusty, a resident of Bamako for about ten years, came by around ten and took us out to see some clubs along the Hippodrome. We were amazed by what we saw. The clubs were very Western. There were a lot of French people there. We listened to Jazz, drank expensive cocktails, and caught up on the latest gossip. Rusty has a unique insight into Malian life as he is also married to a Malian woman. We had some intense conversations which I must mull over before attempting to put them on paper.

Today we met our driver and tour guide for the next eight days. I needed to get some cash to finish paying for the trip so we spent about an hour running around town trying to find a bank that would take a draw on the credit card. Bamako is a crowded, dirty city. The drivers are crazy and the atmosphere is nothing short of chaotic. At one point we pulled up to a stop light and the tour operator ordered me out of the car. We dipped and dodged through the Class V rapid that is traffic and finally arrived at the bank. During our wait I struck up a conversation with a man in line. He was Malian and I speak almost no French, so we had our chat in Spanish; very amusing.

PHOTO: GUIDE KONE AND DRIVER BOUBA
At last we escaped from the turmoil of Bamako and hit the open road. We drove for about four hours, arriving in the second largest city in Mali; Segou. It is the birthplace of the Bombara people and therefore has a rich history. It is early afternoon. We have just checked into a wonderful little hotel where we will rest for a few hours and then head out on a tour of the area. We are all tired and hungry and happy that we are no longer riding in a car. Although the road is in surprisingly good shape and the trip was shorter then we thought it would be, six adults and a three year old crammed into a Land Rover tends to wear a person out.

Now it is evening. We have just returned from a tour of the village of Sekoro. Three thousand people crammed into not enough crumbling mud brick buildings. As always there were tons of kids. They followed us everywhere and insisted on touching Zachary. They are very persistent, these African children. They all want gifts, handouts, etc.


The first place we visited was the Chief’s house. The Chief is an ancient man with three wives and the only turkeys for miles. We exchanged some money for him, toured his compound and headed for the rest of the village. There is not much there. Many of the houses are falling apart and there is garbage and livestock at every turn. The best part is the beach. They have direct access to the Niger River. They are fishers and have many boats. The women were washing, the men were tending nets, and some boys were rescuing stranded goats from an island. The mosque was also beautiful. It has several ostrich eggs placed prominently around the top as a symbol of luck and prosperity.














Unfortunately, I packed mostly sleeveless shirts. It would seem that many folks around these parts are not familiar with tattoos. I got stares from grown-ups and kids alike, with some of the kids being bold enough to ask me about them. When I attempted to show them up close, they usually ran away. It was entertaining, but a little uncomfortable. Tomorrow we head off to Mopti and an evening cruise on the river. The drive will be at least as long as it was today. At least now we know what to expect.
MJR

TTFN

December 6, 2005

We leave for our holiday today. We will board the company plane at 3:30 and land in Bamako around 4:30. After two nights there we will climb into a Land Rover and begin our tour of Mali. We are excited to see many new things including; the world’s largest mud Mosque, the market at Djenne, the arts and dances of the Dogon people on the Bandiagara Escarpment, and the annual cattle crossing festival in Mopti. Upon our arrival back in Bamako, the Niebancks will go home and the three of us will continue on to Senegal.

We will be in Saint Louis for a week over Christmas. This is in the heart of the Barbary Coast, home of the pirates of yore. We will depart from there and head for other parts of Senegal. We want to visit some of the National Parks, the city of Dakar (second largest port of Africa and the westernmost point), and the beaches of the south. We have been told that the seafood is fantastic and the people are very friendly. We hope to see the island that was the exit point for most of the African slave trade as well as the club run by Youssof N’Dour(sp?).

Through all of this it may be very difficult to obtain internet access. I shall be vigilant in keeping a journal and I will endeavor in earnest to remember my camera wherever we go. If you don’t hear from us for a while, don’t despair as there will be a plethora of reading material upon our return.
MJR

Monkeys and Mongoose and Snakes, Oh My!

December 5, 2005

We finally made it to the escarpment yesterday. Wimpie picked us up around nine. We drove for about a half hour and there we were. What a beautiful place. The landscape is completely different from what we have down here in the flat lands. It reminded us of a zoo habitat.
Right off the bat we saw two river eagles perched high in a tree. They hung out for a while and then flew away to parts unknown. We decided to hike down the rocks to the river valley below. As we started down, Wimpie and I saw a family of monkeys scurry across the rocks and into the brush. Next we scared up a family of mongoose. There must have been twenty – five of them diving into the bushes for cover. There were adults, juveniles and little babies as well. They skittered across the rocks and crashed into the bushes head long. They were so unnerved that they ended up splitting up. Half went forward and half turned back. As we crossed the rocks, the half that had turned back kept attempting to run in front of us. They finally gave up and cowered in the bushes until we were gone.















At the bottom of the ravine is a river bed with isolated pools of water. I came to understand that during the rainy season it is quite the drainage. We sat on the dry river bed, dangling our feet over the falls, watching the fish bite, listening to the wind rustle the palm tree nearby, and passed the time. Wimpie explained that there are three troops of baboons that call this area home. They can be seen and heard around dusk when they return to sleep.

We headed to our picnic spot and fired up the braai. We cooked up some steaks, ate banana bread and chips, and listened to the birds. Eventually several others arrived. We all sat and talked and snoozed and explored. Carrie found a spot with three monkey skulls. They had apparently been killed and eaten. We also spotted a snake on the cliff wall. It was clinging to a giant anthill that had been built into the hillside. As we approached, it slithered in and out of the holes, playing hide and seek until it seized the opportunity to get away.




Such a wonderful day. We bumped back down the road and headed home. Once there, Carrie and I headed to the club for a quick swim while the grandparents watched Zman. Mohammed joined us for a dinner of fish cakes after which everybody fell over and went to sleep. The escarpment is an unbelievable place. Now that we know how to get there we will definitely be going back. I have to see the baboons!
MJR

Vicarious Examinations

December 3, 2005

WooHoo we’re done! Five weeks of holiday!

We were supposed to have a pool party yesterday for the kids, but when we learned that there would only be five in school, we changed our minds. We had a half day instead. This was good as it gave us some time to button up our classrooms and relax before jetting off to the airport to pick up the parents.

The plane schedule was all messed up because of this huge West African conference that’s happening in Bamako right now. We got to the airport before I figured out that I forgot my camera. Oh well, there will be other photographic opportunities I’m sure.

Mohammed insisted on going. He was dressed in his finest and was, of course, the perfect gentleman. It was really obvious to us while at the airport how much he cares for the little man. He is ever attentive to him, following him without interfering, but always right there to help. The man is phenomenal.

The plane arrived, the Niebancks disembarked, and we gathered up their luggage. We collected all eight bags, or so we thought, loaded into In Sha Allah and headed home with Mohammed at the wheel (I love to drive, but he gets upset when I don’t let him). It is almost surreal that they are here. As we approached the guard gate, I joked that they should be prepared to be searched. It’s a joke because the guards here are so lax; we wonder what good they do. Well, not this time partner; that guard had never seen these two white folks before and he wasn’t about to let them inside. God only knew what they were carrying in their bags, they could be terrorists! Mohammed was mad. He told the guard again and again, “these are the teachers and their parents; it is very hot, let us go!” That guard was not to be convinced. We sat and sweated and wondered what to do, then finally called a friend in a high place. She couldn’t believe that we were being detained. She had a quick conversation with the guard and we were finally allowed through.

Carrie made a great cucumber soup which would have been enjoyed more had Linda not discovered that the bag with her toiletries was missing. Needless to say there was a little consternation and much frustration over the fact that the thing had been hauled twelve thousand miles so it could be left on the airstrip at Sadiola. A search of the car proved fruitless. We could only hope that the bag had been brought to the mine office. Since we had to go there the next morning, we would have a look and see. Grandma and Grandpa took our bed while we shared Zachary’s room with him.

This morning we had pancakes for breakfast and then loaded up in the car to go to the office. Linda’s bag was right there in the receptionist’s area. The gentleman in charge of badges was waiting for us. Everything went smooth as silk and we were rolling to Sadiola Village in no time. It wasn’t until we arrived there that I realized I forgot my friggin camera…AGAIN! Dammit that pisses me off! It’s going to be really hard to take a bunch of pictures if I keep leaving the damn thing at home…

We cruised the mall, toured the pharmacy, checked out fabric, bought some produce, and ogled the meat and fish. Next we headed over to Collie’s Bar. We idled away an hour or so over cold drinks, chatting about this and that. Back in the car for a tour of the back roads of the village and off to the picnic overlook, with a quick detour to give some kids a ride. So far a lekker day. It is most odd to have the Niebancks here; two worlds colliding in a good way. It’s fun to be able to see everything fresh once more, if only vicariously. I look forward to everything this week shall bring.


After naps we headed for a tour of the mine pit; always an awesome sight and particularly so with like minded people. It is remarkable the amount of earth turned aside for such miniscule amounts of gold. We are tired, but happy. Now it’s cocktails, baths, dinner, and reflection.
MJR