Mali Mali 5 – Djenne, Mopti, Landies and ganga
I’d had a few chats to Phillip during the course of the day. He was not just a prodigy of GP (this trip seems to be infused with his influence) but a community worker and football coach. After a brief chat with him and GP, I decided that 10 000 CFA to help out the football team was not much more than a gesture, but well within my means and a nice way to express my appreciation for the time Phillip took to show us around. He was genuinely grateful and in return gave me his Malian football jersey – now I just have to find out who Kante is… it would be trite to me to doubt where the money was going – if I can’t visit Mali and give a little money straight into the hands of people who will use it for development and education, then why do it at all? Both Phillip and GP were grateful, so I’m secure in my trust of them.
Rosie and Kathy popped by for a few, so Ruth, Fay and I joined them in some character assassination and mindless speculation about our fellow travellers. Half of the interest in evening reflection and relaxation lies in piecing together the stories of those with whom you are travelling.
Kathy and Rosie are, by now, barely one week into our trip, our reluctant heroes. Although the Drago crew is a great craic, the sight of them and the Land Rover lifts the spirits and brings the idea of an evening chewing the fat to a glorious suggestion. The courage – and lets face it, stupidity – of driving from Spain to Togo has both charm and insanity written all over it. I can’t wait to hear their stories from the road when all our worlds embrace our own reality again.
Speaking of reality, I’ve not been missing Louise nearly as much lately. Maybe the Larium is settling itself into my chemical beaker of a body and the emotions are flattening out a little. I still don’t think this trip would appeal to her, but it occurred to me today that some parts of it she would love – the kids for one thing, and cooking for twenty people, well, that would just be too much for her to keep away from!
We left Djenne the next morning at roughly the same time as the Land Rover, and met them again at the ferry – with any luck, they’ll find us tonight in Bandiagara for New Year’s Ever. The trip today wasn’t quite so far – Djenne to Sevare, then the afternoon in Mopti to wander. For reasons unbeknownst to me, I struck out on my own at Mopti, perhaps expecting someone to follow, perhaps needing my own space – either way, an afternoon to myself wandering around the harbour was certainly as experience – Mopti is mental. Manic. Madness. GP termed it the Venice of Mali – well, comparisons are most certainly odious, but in this case, I can only assume the link lies with both being on the water. Venice is beautiful. Mopti is not.
But thriving, pulsing, bursting with character and energy it most certainly is. The waterfront was overrun with people jostling to and from enormous pinasse boats, designed to ferry people as far as Tombouctou, and bringing in the seemingly endless supply of fish – capitaine the catch of choice.
A few colourful characters made themselves known to me as I wandered – Maribou (a popular name in Mali by the sounds of things…) who carried himself with a Rastafarian air of stoned relaxation and did his best to offer me not only a boat ride to a nearby village, but the best ganga this side of Ghana. (All the top weed comes from Ghana, apparently.) I’m sure he forgot that I don’t smoke – I needed to remind him a dozen times.
Most of the marketeers seemed indifferent to me wandering amongst the stalls. A fondness for smoked fish was obvious at every turn, but also arrays of spices, fruit and countless hawkers of football jerseys. Maribou, determined lad, seemed convinced that I would be tempted to purchase one from him. No such luck buddy. Already got one.
At the end of my horseshoe-like journey – incidentally where Maribou was lurking – was Bar Bobo, a breezy establishment that sat remarkably empty – the only patrons were a handful of (probably American) tourists. In hindsight it was surprising that a town with such energy and hustle didn’t attract more tourists – it is the port of departure for Tombouctou after all.
Ran into Ken and Jayne at Bar Bobo, but also Baba (a very alliterative bar, this one) who was the first guide I’d met with an authentic accreditation around his neck. We had a chat and it came to light (even with us firmly shrouded in a veil of mixed language – for once I had more French than he had English) that I was a pianist and Baba played the kora -well, both of our interests piqued, Baba offered to set off on his bike and return with his kora. I was on a schedule but he insisted and true to his word, he appeared minutes before we had to depart, armed with kora and set about giving an impromptu demonstration, to the impressed delight of locals and tourists alike. I told him I would try to find him again when we returned to Mopti in a few days.
The cook team were dropped off in Sevare before we made our way back to the hotel. Things were fairly quiet on our return. The sun descended as we unpacked the gear, pitched tents (again on the roof – fantastic!) and enjoyed a chance to relax before dinner. Downtime has been at a premium so far, but today the temptation was overridden by a chance to play some football with the local kids on a dusty pitch next to the hotel. Again, language veiled my attempts to communicate properly, but we had a riot! All the younger kids wanted to be on my team, but thankfully the smallest of the boys turned out to be a superstar in the goals. Whether my goal was offside or not (or whether they simply let me score) the 2 – 1 final score seemed to please everyone. One of the boys’ fathers happened by on his bicycle bringing a few fags of wood home and the conversation that ensued was predictable enough – money for a new ball? How could I say no? Luckily I had the foresight (or something) to speak to GP before handing over/buying anything. Will leave a few CFA with the owner of the hotel upon return.
As it grew darker and we were treated to a feast of couscous and salad and an evening pumping out the tunes of Vieux Farka Toure and Habib Koite whilst indulging in a few games of backgammon and cards. A lovely evening.
