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
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
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 10:19 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home