Mali Mali 9 – Call me Cinderella

8 January 2009
2.14p.m.
Tombouctou

And then the guts of the trip poured out in bucket-loads.  Talk about a change of pace, fortune, whatever you want to call it.

Having arrived in Tombouctou – or at least the port on the river closest to it – we waited patiently for the truck as we’d arrived considerably earlier than expected.

Madge and Tony arrived and we did the shuffle or gear from boat to truck – we were pretty excited not just to be getting off the boat, but also to finally be in Tombouctou, gateway to the Sahara and only a day away from the festival.

So you can imagine the indescribable disappointment that descended upon us when Lisa gave us the news – due to some threats against travellers from western countries, Madge would not be going to Essakane, as per advice from the British Foreign Office.  Shit.  The whole reason for this trip now looked like it wasn’t going to happen.

I’m still devastated about it really.  I know I should just get over it and try to enjoy the rest of the trip…

So we arrived in Tombouctou, a splinter group formed and before long there were eight takers who had conspired to get to the festival by themselves.  The swaying emotions of the trip over had returned.  Now I was torn between jumping onboard for the adventure or listening to my head.  Its funny how things look in hindsight as opposed to when you are confronted by them.  I suppose the main reason I didn’t go was Louise – if something did happen, I couldn’t bear to think  how she would feel – especially if I could have elected to put myself out of harm’s way.  Having taken the time to scan my feelings over the last twenty four hours, however, I must admit that feat of threat, attack or otherwise isn’t really involved – its the trivial things that have swung me to the side of, well, what feels like a sort of cowardice – how will we get water? Food? Get back? The insurance certainly wouldn’t cover travel against the advice of the BFO.  *Sigh* – so I’ve justified it a thousand times in my mind – I suppose the main reason for still feeling so empty is that the fun has just disappeared from this trip – Ruth, Kate, Andrea and even Fay, mental as she is, have all thrown caution to the wind and gone to Essakane.  Being left behind is exactly as Lisa described it – like Cinderella left at home when everyone else has gone to the ball.

So I could keep dwelling on it or just try to move on and enjoy the rest of the trip.  Do I have a choice? Would I jump on board if they returned now? Just don’t feel like being left out…

Trying to make the most of Tombouctou.  Interesting place – for some reason I thought it would be smaller. Maybe it was just the glum vibe hanging in the air, but a few of the looks we got as we drove in yesterday afternoon seemed less than friendly.  Last night was a blur of organisation and fraying nerves – Kate and Ruth were frantic trying to organise their own trip (which I must admit, seemed superbly done) whilst Tony and Lisa were frantically trying to organise an alternative route for us to take.  GP flitted between being around and not being around – obviously he had more important things to worry about – like his own groups who were, of course, still going.

I can’t help but think if Louise were here, then we’d be there by now.  We would have been the first to find a way, the first to stubbornly persevere and make sure we got what we paid for.  Maybe.  Easy to say, harder to do.

So, in the spirit of making the most of the situation, we set off on a tour of Tombouctou this morning with yet another of GP’s men, Mohammed.  At first he seemed a rather dull and lifeless chap, and that this might be a pretty dull and lifeless tour, but his English was good and he turned out to be an intriguing character – studying English at school, he completed his Baccalaureate and had enough money to study for a year in Bamako before it ran out.  His knowledge of the town (well, a large one I suppose – more than one-hundred-thousand living here) was excellent. It was rather amusing to see the houses dedicated to various western explorers who had made it to Tombouctou but never returned – and the bloke who did make it back, well, they didn’t believe him.

The streets were swollen with 4×4s and festival-goers.  I had to swallow my pride a couple of times and acknowledge that I was doing what was right for me.  No doubt – if we’d (I’d) come under my own steam, we’d be going.

Maybe this is the stimulus I need for some independent travel – not necessarily by myself, but just Lou and I and a car or bus – like we did in the Baltics.  Solving problems. Getting around.  Maybe. Maybe West Africa is a little different.

Half an hour on the internet, even with the afternoon to kill, was more than enough.  Tried to e-mail Lou, but something went aglay, and hearing about the Australians getting hammered in the second test wasn’t such great news either.  Looks like Lou had a pretty good time for New Year – I miss her even more now, and part of me just wants to get home.