nomadic in april

Sevare, Mali

In Sevare, I stayed in a hotel run by a fifty something British woman and her twenty something Dogon husband. I ended up staying here for about a week, mostly trying to recooperate from my hike in Dogon country (and feeling the decline of what I now know was the beginning symptoms of dysentery.) It was so incredibly hot. Hotter even than Dogon country. I thought I had chosen the coolest time of the year. I was wrong. The coolest time is in January and February, when all the tourists converge in masses equal to a transient nation. I was thankful to miss the crowd of "outsiders", but wishing for cooler temperatures.

Sevare is a launching point for many tours, but when the season is slow, it is all but impossible to find a taxi. So I spent most days just lounging in the courtyard at Maison des arts. The British owner was glad to have an English speaker and we spent many hours (me mostly listening) swapping stories of travels and what her life is like here in Mali. She had taken a similar path through West Africa. She too had a disconcerting experience in Ghana and also fell in love with Burkina Faso. But it was Mali that drew her in. Or maybe it was the young man who is now her husband! She shared many intimate details of what it was like to be a British woman living in Mali. To share your husband with another wife. The Dogon family traditions she must learn. The extreme heat and illnesses she has endured.

A crew of two or three men made repairs to the hotel. Because I spent most of the day sprawled in the courtyard, I had a front row seat to the singing of the eldest man on the crew. He had an amazing voice. Mali is known for it's music and this man definitely solidified the acclaim. I think he is a griot. He sang in the traditional style that is a melodious and round chanting sound in a minor key. Some notes would sound to most Western ears to be "off" key. (It is a sound that is common in many Islamic and eastern religions, one to which I have always been drawn.) The exterior corridor where he worked repairing the walls, echoed with the sound of his voice. I tried several time to record him. But the sound of the repairs drowns out his voice. I could have asked him directly, he was very nice. I liked the idea of it being natural, candid, not performed. I'll have to listen again, maybe I can "digitally remaster" the recording to remove the noise.