nomadic in april

Mali, Mali, magnificent Mali

What an amazing place this is. I arrived via bus from Burkina Faso one week ago. It was in Burkina Faso that I fell in love with Africa, but Mali. . . Mali is even better!

With a loose plan based on advice from my guide book, I headed to Koro, a town just across the Burkina-Mali border. I was planning to head to Dogon country. I knew I would need a guide and preferably an English speaking one. I had had a cryptic conversation with four French volunteers/tourists on my bus. I needed help translating some of the information in the paperwork at the border. (I must have been distracted by the sound of Eminem blaring from the little transister radio. For a second I was confused. Where am I? Oh that's right, at a little dusty border station in Mali.) At our next stop, they told me they had a guide waiting for them and that I could join them on their 8 day trek if they could negotiate it. By the time we arrived, we decided maybe it would be better if I found an English speaking guide. They said they'd ask their guide for a recommendation. When we unloaded from the bus (imagine a greyhound bus that looked like it had survived a fire and sat through several torrential rain storms, most of it's windows missing) the driver, who knew that I spoke English pointed me to his friend and English guide. The guide for the French group pointed to the same person.

We headed off to a nearby restaraunt and negotiated the arrangements for the trip. Dogon villages are impossible to navigate without a native guide. In addition, the villages are still very traditional, untouched by most modern influences including electricity and running water. Without a guide, no tourist could find their way through the unmarked terrain and through the complex social and caste system, likely offending the elders at every turn.

I had read that it's very easy to pick a guide who isn't qualified. There was a list of questions I was supposed to ask to make sure my guide was capable. But after the bus ride I wasn't too sharp witted, so I had to rely on intuition. We agreed upon 4 days and 3 nights, hiking for about 5 hours a day. The deal included 3 meals, accomodation, photo taxes, and of course the guide. We wrapped up our negotiations just before sunset and joined a taxi brusse {something like a tro-tro} to the next town, Bankass, where we'd stay the night and start out for the villages the next morning.

I was mezmerized by the sunset as we drove ever so slowly along the road, where potholes had long ago become craters so large, that there is no driving around them. You slowly descend into them and out again on the other side. Our trip of 50km or so took nearly 2 hours. Inside the taxi brusse we set a new record for how many people could fit on a seat. The young woman next to me was very fidgety, with her baby on her lap, she managed to find enough room to fling herself around {at the sacrifice of my knees and ribs} and start a music war with a teenage boy in the back. She insisted the driver play her cassette of traditional dogon dance music. But the speakers were shrill and nerve racking and eventually the driver turned off the music. This gave Mr. Youngblood in the back, the opportunity to blast from his full stereo boombox everything from 50 Cent to DMX. Of course I found this as absurd as hearing Eminem at the border and I couldn't suppress my laughter. I turned and asked my guide if they understand the words, he said "No. But they like it anyway."

At about 7 pm, we stopped at a small town along the road to let the muslim men in the taxi get out for their evening prayer. We all got out to stretch. Mr. Youngblood got out too, still blasting 50 Cent. I thought this is so surreal. I am in Mali, I just witnessed a dramatic sunset with long dark shadows and intense colors. I am standing on the side of some unknown road in the dark, there is no electricity. I hear the faint chants of the muslim men saying their evening prayer. I can barely see their light color robes rising and falling as they bow on their mats. And louder than all of this is the sound of DMX echoing through the night air. How very strange. I laughed to myself.

We arrived in Bankass where I spent the first of many nights sleeping on the roof of an adobe campement. Me, a bamboo mat, a mosquito net and all the stars. The first night I wasn't quite prepared for this. I asked my guide if I was sleeping up there alone. He said Dogon don't sleep on the roof, only tourists. When I asked why, he described what would be the first of many explanations about sorcerers and other Dogon beliefs. But I need not worry. Sorcerers won't bother tourists. I looked at him sideways to see if he was serious. He was. Hmmmmmmm, I thought. I've got a lot of questions for him.