Sand Diggers and a Lovely Fetish (Bamako, Mali)

Feb 7^th, 2011 - (December 2010) After arriving in Mali it became increasingly difficult to keep the blog current and for the next few months I was hopelessly behind. I did manage to catch up eventually but I think the quality suffered a bit due to the reporting delay. Get it while its fresh or the bread gets stale. Still, I suppose something is better than nothing and I did manage to take down enough to keep it alive in my memory for years to come. If you travel like I did write it down even if its just for you. You will not regret it. Trust me.

The rest of my time in Mali was not unlike the trip there. Degrees of shitty. There were some interesting experiences along the way but by and large the visit was less than ideal. We were supposed to check out the Festival in the Desert but we simply could not take any more. We were compelled to hit the eject button. Getting out proved to be as frustrating as getting in.

We arrived in Bamako after our a two day bus-a-thon with, generally speaking, piss poor attitudes. We spent the next couple of days leap-frogging from hotel to hotel in search of peace and tranquility. We finally landed at the Sleeping Camel, a wonderful respite on the edge of the chaos that is Bamako. We spent eight days there getting our bearings and planning our foray into Mali.

Segou, Say Me; Say It Together...Naturally (Segou, Mali)

March 12^th, 2011 (December 2010) – On to Segou, a riverside town 230 km east of Bamako on the Niger River. Another stifling bus ride. Another egregiously overpriced hotel. Thankfully, the town does indeed have a touch of the 'languid riverside charm' I'd read about. We strolled along the riverbank in the evening and made some initial inquires into a day trip down river. There are a variety of ethnic groups that people the area to include Fulani, Bambara and Bozo tribes to name just a few.

Our plan was to visit Kalabougou, a Bambara village famous for its pottery followed by a trip directly across from Segou to a Bozo fishing village. Of course, the price for a half day pinasse trip started somewhere between 'Absurd' and 'You Must be High'. As it was evening and we'd had a long day we concluded that we would put on our bargaining caps on the maro. We were too pooped to pop and in no condition to negotiate.

We enjoyed a decent dinner and befriended a small local boy who's curiosity was piqued by our presence. After a few attempts at surmounting the language barrier he ask for some money. I never feel right about handing out cash so I offered to buy some food. This sometimes helps separate the truly needy from those just screwing around. I purchased some small fried snacks along the road and watched as the boy's face lit up. He really did appreciate it. It made me feel a bit ashamed for 'testing' him. Unfortunately, this is an unavoidable byproduct of travel in poorer areas of the world. It always makes me uneasy and instills within me a feeling of powerlessness. I suppose it is better to feel something than to close it off completely.

Speed Boat to Grumpyville (Mopti, Mali)

March 18^th, 2011 (December 2010) – We were advised to get up early in order to catch the bus running from Djenne to Mopti. As we were also told we would most likely have to wait for the bus to fill up we slept in and arrived sometime around 7 am. This was just in time to watch people pack into a bush taxi headed for Mopti. It was also at this time we discovered that we could have purchased a ticket for said taxi at a nearby office the previous evening. Oops. We only had to wait another five hours for a small van to acquire enough passengers to proceed ('enough' meaning jam packed). At least we met some interesting Peace Corps volunteers that helped counter the ennui a bit.

Upon reaching the main road one of the van's tires decided it had enough and went flat. The only criterion for replacement is whether or not the tire is structurally intact. Not to worry as the driver flagged down a passing bus which loaded us up and carried on within minutes of our breakdown. The ride to Mopti was relatively smooth but sitting around in Djenne for close to seven hours waiting for the journey to begin did not do much for our morale. Each subsequent bus ride in Mali seemed to siphon a little more life out of the both of us.

So when we disembarked in Mopti neither of us was in the mood for the fusillade of touts (Taxi? Pinasse? Dogon? Hotel?) that began their assault the moment our feet touched the ground. I felt a little like tearing out a gob of hair and screaming, "AHHHHARRRGHBLAAAAAHFLEEEEEEOOOOOOH!!!". Leslie, an exceedingly mild-mannered female, appeared as if she might start swinging. We managed to negotiate the onslaught and make our way to a hotel with the help of a local guide….that gave us his card…..and offered to guide us to Dogon (Days later when I ran into this gentleman again he demanded that I return his card in light of the fact that we would not require his services). After getting a room I was standing in lobby-type area talking with another Malian gentleman…..that gave me his card…..and offered to guide me to Dogon.