Mali Mali 11 – Under the skin of Sikasso
15 January 2009
10.22a.m.
Serengue (?)
We’ve arrived at another slightly surreal place after a couple of days traversing the road less travelled (by tourists at least). We left ‘Mali-land’ at Teriya Bugu and made tracks for what we hoped would be a worthwhile detour – the town of Sikasso. By all reports (from the guidebooks anyway) Sikasso gave some interesting perspective on the more frequented parts of the country. In the south, it is in a greener more vibrant slice of Mali, home to many plantations (cotton, tree regeneration) and perhaps most interestingly, almost devoid of tourists.
The hotel that was recommended for camping turned out to be a dud – we had actually been lucky to stumble across it – so we set out to find a nearby waterfall and set up camp there for the night. Sikasso had turned out to be a bit more than just an industrial (term used loosely) town, but a sprawling collection of dusty roads, shacks and shopfronts.
The waterfall was, well, wet. At three metres it was hardly awe-inspiring, but a nice enough spot to camp the night. By now the cooking rota had gone full circle, so it was my groups’ turn to put on a feast – we’d stopped on route at a town intriguingly called Bla to attempt to shop, and found ourselves in the right place at the right time – so we decided that lots of greens were on the menu. Having Naphi cook for us since we’d been on the boat was indeed a treat but EVERYTHING was deep(ish) fried (we’d been greeted by two deep bowls of prawn crackers for breakfast that morning…) so I genuinely believe everyone when they were singing our praises for potato salad, beetroot salad and a simple lamb stir-fry. Good food.
We had a chance to explore Sikasso the next day – an eye-opening experience. Eventually we located the markets in the centre of town and the remaining cook teams were off – I took a stroll around the markets and shacks and was not harassed once – barely was I even acknowledged, let alone interrogated for cadeaux or bici. Free to wander leisurely, it was very interesting to get an idea of how life ticked over in Mali. People here go about life without concern for impressions – although how Malian women keep their clothes so clean in such a dustbowl is beyond me.
I took the opportunity to pop into a cyber café and check that the world was still functioning in my absence – a seemed OK. Tony and Lisa had discovered a hotel we would stay at for the night (a relief for some, though I must admit a fondness for bush camps) and we enjoyed an afternoon exploring a nearby grotto of caves (name to be remembered…) that held some significance for the local Muslim population. Some of the caves were tiny, and one in particular involved burrowing down into a tiny chamber barely big enough to squat in – it was to this chamber the faithful would come to tell their problems to the guardian of the caves. after offering a sacrifice – usually a chicken – the problem would be solved. not sure how. Reminded me of the problem solving capabilities of the fox at Sanga near Dogon country. I may have forgotten to mention that – must make a note of it. Later.
We climbed to the top of the rocky outcrop that encased the grottoes, and (ungracefully) descended to return to the truck – rewarded only with a glimpse of a monkeys’ tail as it scampered across the rock face – and the bumpy drive back to Sikasso.
I struggled with the mosquito net as the lack of ventilation in the room brought things to a stuffy head. I was becoming more and more congested of an evening – no doubt the dust – and being unable to roll over in bed without fear of that dastardly malaria-infected mosquito perched on the net, waiting to pounce should I brush against it (I was improvising as there was nowhere to hang the net) combined with Michael’s talent as a snorer par excellence made for a rather tumultuous night. But I lived to tell the tale.
We were off fairly early the next day – one more stop on our way back to Bamako – and whilst T&L negotiated some water for the tank, the rest of us made tracks for a patisserie cum coffee shop that Rupert had found the previous day. I didn’t indulge – although they had an espresso machine. I would save myself for the return home.
A long drive today punctuated by wee stops and lunch (mmm, love those greens!) before finally arriving at our destination – a reservoir not too far from Bamako, where we hoped to find somewhere to camp. After a lengthy discussion with the Gendarme entrusted with the security of the barrage over the dam (suffering delusions of grandeur), we were eventually escorted across the barrage to an intriguing little hotel – which we could, of course, have found ourselves, but no doubt chief constable was hoping to make a buck out of us – and did – where we would stay, on the banks of the lake. It is worth noting that when referring to hotels in Mali, rarely does that indicate a single building with rooms contained within – instead, a Malian hotel is usually a collection of huts, sometimes well kept, often not, with a bar or reception or both in one of them. The hotel on the lake was in fact one of these – exactly as we had hoped, there was copious room to camp and a lovely open air bar to kick back and chew the fat in. Some chewed considerably more than others. A few games of shithead (just call me loser) and time for beddie byes.
A late start today. Only a few hours to Bamako this afternoon, so the morning to relax, take a walk and write in my journal. Tony received a message from Kate last night – they were in Segou and were going to head for Bamako today, so with luck we will all reunite for a meal tonight that GP (haven’t seen him for awhile!) has organised.
