Endings, Adventures, Transitions
July 13, 2007
Last Friday was the last day of school. We spent the weekend packing and hanging out with friends. We felt it was our obligation to finish up the booze we had purchased so we enlisted our friends to help us. Our plane left Sadiola on Monday.
We packed all the way up until we had to leave for the airport. We got there with plenty of time as the plane was delayed by three hours. We turned around and went home to catch forty winks before trying again. We had a full load; Anna came along to say goodbye, Stephen needed a ride, Mohammed got to ride the plane with us (he’d never ridden a plane before), and Reg was needed to take the car back. There were several others who showed up to wave us off.
We arrived in Bamako around seven. We were greeted by Shaka, a driver for the school. He took us to the bank and then to the Director’s house. The school director is currently out on leave as the Bamako school has been out of session for a month. We relaxed in his mansion, getting up early to head back to the airport.
Tuesday morning we hugged Mohammed goodbye and climbed back in the van with Shaka. The lady on the phone told us we needed to be there by eight to get our tickets to Timbuktu. We had arranged a tour with a fellow named Halis (Hah-lease), but we had to take care of our own plane tickets. We showed up at eight only to be told that the plane wasn’t leaving until eleven and we wouldn’t be able to do anything until at least nine. We called Shaka and asked him to return for us. As we hung up the phone we were greeted by Halis and were told that we should probably hang around. We called Shaka and told him never mind. We then learned from Halis that we would need about 500,000 fcfa to pay for the tickets and the tour. As I only had 200,000 in cash, he urged us to go get more money. We called Shaka and asked him to return (there are no banks or ATM’s at the Bamako airport). We bought tickets one way with no assurance whatsoever that we would be able to get on a returning flight the next day and then Shaka arrived. I headed out with him to the crowded streets of Bamako. The first two cash machines wouldn’t take my card and the third one was broken. We left downtown and blazed back to the airport with Halis bellowing in my ear to hurry up. We screeched up to the front of the airport where Halis was waiting. We raced inside, following the pilot directly to the plane. We boarded, they shut the door, fired the props and took off for Timbuktu. I had no money and no return ticket. Things didn’t look good.
Timbuktu is home to 35,000 people in the middle of the Sahara Desert. Once there, I was able to get money, no problem. We went to Halis’s restaurant/guest house where we were fed a top notch meal of rice and meat. We loaded back into the car and took a tour of the town. We saw the mosques, the old university, and several museums. We also visited a monument that was built to commemorate the day 15,000 guns were burned on that site. It was the day the Tourags and the Malian government signed a peace treaty and burned their guns as a sign of peace.
The Tourags are the nomads of the desert. They speak Arabic and look Middle Eastern. They ride camels and live in the desert. They live in the villages now only because changing times have forced them to do so. Halis is a Tourag. We ventured off to another spot where there were three camels waiting. We climbed aboard and rode into the desert.
We rode ten excruciating kilometers (our butts will never be the same) to our campsite. The fellows cooked us up a lekker meal, after which the women played great music until we fell asleep under the stars. We were awakened by the wind in the middle of the night. The sand was blowing everywhere. Carrie and I kept hearing the words of Halis, “the rain always follows the wind.” We wrapped ourselves up and waited. One drop fell, then two, then three, then it stopped, the wind died, and the stars came back out. We awoke with the sunrise, cleaning sand out of every orifice and reveling in the beauty of it all. It was magnificent! We journeyed back to the airport by car and flew back to Bamako.
Last Friday was the last day of school. We spent the weekend packing and hanging out with friends. We felt it was our obligation to finish up the booze we had purchased so we enlisted our friends to help us. Our plane left Sadiola on Monday.
We packed all the way up until we had to leave for the airport. We got there with plenty of time as the plane was delayed by three hours. We turned around and went home to catch forty winks before trying again. We had a full load; Anna came along to say goodbye, Stephen needed a ride, Mohammed got to ride the plane with us (he’d never ridden a plane before), and Reg was needed to take the car back. There were several others who showed up to wave us off.
We arrived in Bamako around seven. We were greeted by Shaka, a driver for the school. He took us to the bank and then to the Director’s house. The school director is currently out on leave as the Bamako school has been out of session for a month. We relaxed in his mansion, getting up early to head back to the airport.
Tuesday morning we hugged Mohammed goodbye and climbed back in the van with Shaka. The lady on the phone told us we needed to be there by eight to get our tickets to Timbuktu. We had arranged a tour with a fellow named Halis (Hah-lease), but we had to take care of our own plane tickets. We showed up at eight only to be told that the plane wasn’t leaving until eleven and we wouldn’t be able to do anything until at least nine. We called Shaka and asked him to return for us. As we hung up the phone we were greeted by Halis and were told that we should probably hang around. We called Shaka and told him never mind. We then learned from Halis that we would need about 500,000 fcfa to pay for the tickets and the tour. As I only had 200,000 in cash, he urged us to go get more money. We called Shaka and asked him to return (there are no banks or ATM’s at the Bamako airport). We bought tickets one way with no assurance whatsoever that we would be able to get on a returning flight the next day and then Shaka arrived. I headed out with him to the crowded streets of Bamako. The first two cash machines wouldn’t take my card and the third one was broken. We left downtown and blazed back to the airport with Halis bellowing in my ear to hurry up. We screeched up to the front of the airport where Halis was waiting. We raced inside, following the pilot directly to the plane. We boarded, they shut the door, fired the props and took off for Timbuktu. I had no money and no return ticket. Things didn’t look good.
Timbuktu is home to 35,000 people in the middle of the Sahara Desert. Once there, I was able to get money, no problem. We went to Halis’s restaurant/guest house where we were fed a top notch meal of rice and meat. We loaded back into the car and took a tour of the town. We saw the mosques, the old university, and several museums. We also visited a monument that was built to commemorate the day 15,000 guns were burned on that site. It was the day the Tourags and the Malian government signed a peace treaty and burned their guns as a sign of peace.
The Tourags are the nomads of the desert. They speak Arabic and look Middle Eastern. They ride camels and live in the desert. They live in the villages now only because changing times have forced them to do so. Halis is a Tourag. We ventured off to another spot where there were three camels waiting. We climbed aboard and rode into the desert.
We rode ten excruciating kilometers (our butts will never be the same) to our campsite. The fellows cooked us up a lekker meal, after which the women played great music until we fell asleep under the stars. We were awakened by the wind in the middle of the night. The sand was blowing everywhere. Carrie and I kept hearing the words of Halis, “the rain always follows the wind.” We wrapped ourselves up and waited. One drop fell, then two, then three, then it stopped, the wind died, and the stars came back out. We awoke with the sunrise, cleaning sand out of every orifice and reveling in the beauty of it all. It was magnificent! We journeyed back to the airport by car and flew back to Bamako.
We arranged shipment of our boxes, had a nice swim in the pool, and dozed off to sleep early. We awoke at 1:00 a.m. to go back to the airport for our plane to Casablanca.
So, here we are; in Morocco. We are staying in a town called El Jadida. It’s a pleasant little place, if a trifle worn down. There are some tourists, although we have yet to meet another American. Everyone is friendly and the food is great. French is one of the primary languages so we have one more chance to practice before heading off to South America. We have had some challenges with the hotel we are in, but overall it has been a good experience. I would recommend Morocco as a lekker travel spot.
I am sad to be leaving Sadiola, but I am also happy to be out of Mali. Life on the mine was weird and separated from the reality of the country. The reality of the country is that it is dirt poor. The people are incredible; they are happy, generous, and unfalteringly honest. I believe I shall never meet another people like the Malians.
MJR
I am sad to be leaving Sadiola, but I am also happy to be out of Mali. Life on the mine was weird and separated from the reality of the country. The reality of the country is that it is dirt poor. The people are incredible; they are happy, generous, and unfalteringly honest. I believe I shall never meet another people like the Malians.
MJR
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 10:08 AM
1 Comments:
Dear Mark, Carrie & Zachary,
What a wonderful way to leave Mali -- all the heartbreak and caring and desert and warmth. I am so glad you met yourselves in Timbuktu!
Keep good memories.
Keep safe, and hold in your hearts those you left behind.
Love,
Linda
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