Mali Mali 4 – Segou & Djenne
Tuesday 30 December 2008
9.36a.m.
Djenne ferry
No-one seems to rush in Mali – well, except the bus drivers. Madge is pretty much King of the Road here, and only the psychotic bus and lorry drivers are game to pass. The road is littered with countless (well, actually, highly countable, but you know) burnt out wrecks and chassis, the reckless remnants of potholed highways and high speeds.
We were in Segou after about four hours to find a rather dusty campsite and an opportunity to take a boat ride down to a potter nearby. Alas, not all of us could take that option, hamstrung both by financial problems, and the need to shop for dinner!
31 December 2008
2.57p.m.
New Years’ Eve
Bandiagara
*Sigh* – am already several days behind in my journalistic quest. See how we go today…
The purpose imbued in us, cooking team no.2 gave a very different perspective on Malian markets. Ably assisted by a team of GP’s go-fers, we joined forces with cooking team no.1 to scour the (meagre) offerings that remained at 4.00p.m. – Ken managed a side of pretty rough beef/mutton/something, and the rest of us bartered for eggs, pasta, vegies and various other gourmet ingredients. We had been entrusted with 45 000 CFA for each team, and for a while it was looking like we might feed the crew for the rest of the trip – however, a last minute splurge on perhaps the only chopping board in Segou for a very shady 12.000 CFA (no doubt most of that was exorbitantly calculated commission for the lad who found it for us) meant we returned to camp with only 10 000 CFA change. Was the good? Bad? Still don’t know.
The CFA is fixed to the Euro, so fluctuations are largely ineffective here. My mental gymnastics ain’t what they used to be, so we round the exchange rate off to about €1.50 = 1000 CFA. May as well be £1.50 at the moment.
Maribou, one of GP’s offsiders (there seem to be thousands of them in every town) helped us wonderfully in the market. Although some of the children are firmly indoctrinated in the finer arts of persuasion (bon-bons, cadeaux and bici are local favourites) we have remained firm and I have found that underneath the superficial grab for cash that seems endemic in most poorer countries, Malian people have so far been very welcoming and happy to struggle through conversations with me in pigeon-English-French-Bambara-Italian, just to make a connection and share a smile. Maribou was no exception – he patiently answered my questions, showed us the best (probably only) places to shop and without him, things could have been very tricky! One old woman refused to offer us a discount for multiple cucumbers. We waved her away and went to find a better deal, only to return later, tails between legs, to indulge her price. She gave no indication of either surprise nor satisfaction at our return. Anyway, she KNEW she had the best cucumbers!
After waiting a considerable time for GP to pick us up (drinking at the bar no doubt) we were back to set up camp. I gave Louise a quick buzz to send my love, hear about her lonely Christmas Day and organise a Western Union transfer to counter my loss of VISA card. By all reports it would be a painless process, so we agreed to give it a go.
Sleep wasn’t quite as sound tonight. Robert and I found ourselves in the vicinity of Janelle who has quickly developed a reputation as a snorer of profound talent. Mental note.
Daybreak in Segou was greeted with coffee and hard-boiled egg sambos – not to be sniffed at – and the longer journey to Djenne.
The drive itself was pretty uneventful, save for the Malian army driving past at a road security point. (”Not nice guys” according to GP.) and obliterated roadkill that has been scattered by coach drivers afraid of the brakes. The roads in Mali (not that there are many of them) are narrow but generally tarmac-ed in a decent manner. Accompanying warning signs on the approach to towns and villages are speed bumps that do a great job of either slowing you down or damaging your suspension. More likely both – we’re talking McDonald’s drive-through here. Not much fun at 50.
The ferry to Djenne was an experience – two small barges trafficked the traffic back and across to the town – basically on an island in the middle of the inland Niger delta, a vast floodplain that is essentially submerged in the wet season. We were later to learn that the men take the livestock north to the desert or mountains (didn’t realise there were any in Mali!) before the wet season – otherwise it is simply too hot and everything in the fields gets washed away!
Djenne was manic. Mad. Packed full of both local tribes and villagers for the Monday market, as well as us whities – hordes, some would say, reminiscent of Krakow or Lucca rather than the middle of West Africa. After unpacking, we joined the fun and it was time for cook team no.2 to shine – admittedly, buying and cooking for 20 or so in Malian markets is challenging, but so far all and sundry have come through with flying colours. Our pasta was no exception – the downer being that we had nowhere to store any meat, so we made do with a vegetarian extravaganza. Kudos to Ruth, Kate and Janelle for putting up with me and having such a blast doing the cooking!
Robert had very generously erected our tent in my absence, and after dinner we made our way down to Chez Baba, a rather tourist-oriented bar complete with demonstrative Malian drumming and authentic atmosphere. I didn’t enjoy this evening as much as our djembe encounter in Bamako – maybe it was the touristic atmosphere, or maybe the impending solution to my financial problems. Either way, I only stayed for a coke before trying to find Lisa to finalise the Western Union transfer. Eventually found her in the bar (her birthday mind you!) and called the lifesaving wonderful amazing Louise who had already organised the transfer. I’m a lucky boy.
Far more intriguing – again, maybe due to the financial remedy I had just enjoyed – was the kora and drum trio that was playing over the fence from the hotel (we were staying on the roof incidentally) and entertaining the crowd at the youth hostel. The stars glistening through the flyscreen only added to the magic of our first night in Djenne.
The small glimpse of the sunrise I caught the next morning was no less impressive – rich, vivid colours on the horizon giving way to bright, almost painfully bright mornings with weighty shadows dragging you further and further into the earth as the day goes on. Come midday, the sun bathes everything in light from all sides – an alien, non-worldly light in which nothing is hidden and everything seems to glow – intensely transparent. Shit for photos to be honest. Too much light.
Although the heat hangs around for much of the afternoon, the returning shadows that were mysteriously absent during high noon arrive again, this time releasing all from the earthly binds and a feeling of lightness feathers everything. The air seems free to move and even the colours seem to have a more playful hue. Everyone stirs from their midday rest to seek out commotion and welcome the cool, crisp evening. Most welcome indeed.
Today began with a walking tour of Djenne by either Phillip or Omar, two more of GP’s battalion. Rumour is we were lucky to be in Phillip’s group, who was as helpful and patient (well, most of the time) as any guide we have had so far. He led us through the bustling markets, thronged with locals and tourists alike (never seem so many before according to Lisa) as well as the amazing mud mosque, largest mud structure in the world, and a definite highlight in a town drenched in atmosphere and character. Phillip took us on the obligatory bogadon and fabric demonstration, where Ruth and I succumbed to temptation and came away with a relative bargain of four lovely clay-print bogadon for €40. Not bad.
It was during this tour that we were first really exposed to just how intrigued Malians are with us. The kids around town were enamoured, no doubt, praying for pens and sweets, but when they realised we had nothing to give but company and a good time, they thrived at looking at photos and spending time with us.
We somehow managed to lose Robert and Natasha at the textiles shop, but eventually returned to the hotel for lunch and to escape the heat of the day. Phillip helped me out with my Western Union engagement – it felt good to be cashed up – and after meeting a few more locals – including Hamid, apparently the Imam’s grandson – we jumped in a horse-drawn cart or three to head for the nearby Fulani village of Senusa.
I must admit I was completely unprepared for this little journey, and am still in several minds about it. Although intriguing to catch a glimpse of everyday life for a large proportion of Malians, and no doubt a breadwinner for the village, I found it disconcerting to be traipsing around in a steady stream of snap happy tourists essentially marching through homes and daily lives. I got the impression that the villagers were in two minds also – most were welcoming to a fault, but others were very sceptical at our presence – and entirely justified at being so.
The highlight of this little bum-numbing journey, however, was the constant swarming hive of children that coated our steps like they were laying out the yellow brick road beneath our feet. Again, the vast majority seemed only to present a token of disappointment when they discovered cadeaux were not forthcoming (there must be some people who still bring pens and sweets) again, the comfort of a chat, a few photos and connecting with these strange pale skinned visitors was reward in itself. For me too – we all got to practice our French and they got a buzz when I let them take photos of me.
The sun was sinking lower as we boarded the cart to return to Djenne. The steady stream of scooter/horse/bicycle mounted villagers returning home after market day gradually dwindled and the amount of dust embedding itself permanently in my camera exponentially increased as we neared the hotel. Lo and behold, our buddies Rosie and Kathy had made it to Djenne in one piece and were keen to catch up for a brew later.
