Mali

Sunday 1/4/2009 - Meeting the Dogon in Sangha, Bandiagara, and Kori-Maounde

We woke up at 5:30 am. Craig hadn't really slept (for the second night in a row). I had managed to sleep, but both of us had had nightmares. We took showers (they were hot, but didn't have very much water pressure) and got dressed. The bathroom was tiled and it was obvious that at one point they had needed to chisel up the floor. They apparently hadn't had replacement tiles, so they made the broken tiles into a mosaic pattern and set it in mortar to replace the trench. It really stood out, but they had tried to make a decorative element out of it. It was rather charming.

Bahini had told us to prepare for a walk down the escarpment today, so we wore sneakers and long sleeves to protect our arms from the sun. At 6:30, we went up onto the roof deck to get some morning pictures of the area.

We went to the outdoor restaurant for a simple breakfast of Nescafe, bread, butter, and marmalade. By the time Pam arrived, there was no more Nescafe or bread. It was like everything was strictly rationed. We asked for some more for Pam, but she had apparently already asked for more. So when they waiter came back, he brought twice as much, which meant we were able to have a second cup of coffee. Tina and Pam had taken to spiking their Nescafe with a shot of espresso, and I was amazed that espresso had been available at every hotel we had stayed at thus far.

I ran back up to the roofdeck to get some more photos as the sun rose higher into the sky. The landscape was bathed in a rosy glow, and villages seemed to subtly emerge from the surrounding rocks. I saw Bouba below in the parking area with the car and called to him. He saluted up to me.

We ran back to the room to get the luggage at 7 o'clock, and the generator was already off for the day. As we checked out, we read the guidelines they had posted for tourists. It said not to give gifts to local children, as it encourages begging. It also said not to explore the village alone; always have a local guide with you. But at the same time, do not let random boys guide you.

We had assumed that we would be driving somewhere, but Bahini pointed us in the opposite direction from the hotel and said that we would walk. We passed some majestic baobab trees. The bark had various raised rings around it. Bahini explained that the bark was stripped in order to make rope. This did not harm the baobabs, and the bark would regenarate. Baobabs make poor fire wood, which means that they don't get cut down. There were many goats around, and I found them to be quite amusing. Their front halves were totally black and their back halves were totally white. It looked as though they had been held by their hind legs and their fronts had been dipped in black paint. They were like mix-n-match goats.

As we wandered down the meandering dirt streets lined with stones, at least 10 young men accompanied us. They were wearing western clothing and at least one of them latched on to each of us. "What is your name? I am your boy. I will help you." Uh-oh, these must be just the random boys that the sign in the hotel lobby had warned us about. The one who had latched onto me tried to grab my pocketbook to carry it for me. Another approached on my other side and tried to grab my water bottle holder. "Let us carry. Is not a problem. We help you. What is your name? I am your boy." I refused and tried to tell them politely that it wasn't necessary and that I was fine carrying my own things. If we were not supposed to tip these boys, I certainly did not want them to "work" for me.

We passed a library building made out of mud bricks. We passed four men who were struggling to hold onto a rope tied to the hind leg of a very stubborn large bull. Other women and children of the village looked on, seemingly amused by our interest. We walked across expanses of sandstone moonscape with our entourage. Gorgeous vistas opened up in front of us in every direction. The sun was bright and warm, but it wasn't uncomfortably strong, as it was only shortly after 7:00 am. We could see the stone cliffs of the escarpment in the distance. It looked almost as though we were at the Grand Canyon, and that the earth just dropped off ahead of us. Well-camouflaged Dogon villages came into focus as you squinted in the sun at the surrounding landscape. Boabab trees towered over rocks and small buildings.

My "boy" stopped me at one point and said, in no uncertain terms, that if I had no money for him, he would head back to Sangha. I told him that I didn't, and with no hard feelings we went our separate ways. I admired his forthrightness. He wouldn't waste my time any further if I wouldn't waste his. Deal. The rest of our entourage was more hopeful, and stuck close to Tina, Susan, and Pam.

We approached a cliff with a Dogon village on top, a large cave underneath, and a small mosque off to the left. Locals were gathered in the mouth of the cave. As we entered the cave after the bright sunlight, it was difficult to see. As our eyes adjusted we could make out blankets on the ground, covered with carved wooden trinkets, masks, shallow conical hats and walking sticks for sale. As we continued further into the cave, we could hear voices intermingling, like Sirens calling to us. We found a group of brightly clothed children of all ages (older girls were carrying infants on their backs) singing, being enthusiastically conducted by a Dogon man. They were absolutely adorable, and the sight of them almost brought me to tears. I couldn't even explain why, but their voices were just so angelic, and blended together so naturally in the traditional Dogon welcome song, that it really moved me.

We exited the cave through the other side and we came to a trail and a "falaise" (cliff) loomed in the distance. There were some small caves whose entrances were bricked up, and they looked rather like the Anasazi drwellings we had seen in the southwestern United States. We came across some children and realized that we were now in a village. When we looked to the side we saw alleyways between mud and stone buildings which clung to the cliffs. This gorgeous landscape was their home and we took a moment just to let it all sink in. We were in Dogon country.

We walked down a path and by now I had two new "boys", one at each hand. They each tried to sell me something as we walked, and when it became obvious that I wasn't going to buy from them, they fell back on plan B: they would hold my hands and carry my purse and water bottle. "Is not a problem," they assured me, "I am your boy." By now we were walking down the escarpment; we had been on top of a plateau, and we were descending a rocky cliff to the plateau below. The path was narrow, the grade was steep, and the footing was uneven. I was trying to take my time and choose my steps carefully.

My "boys" viewed my hesitation with dollar signs in their eyes. They each grabbed one of my hands and started to pull me down the slope. Had we not been advised against hiring these young men, having one of them hold my hand while climbing down the rocky slope probably would have been helpful. However, having two at a time was not only not a help, it made it more dangerous. The path was not wide enough to fit three people walking abreast. So inevitably my two "helpers" were at least one pace ahead of me, dragging me forward. I couldn't see where my feet were landing, and I often stepped on loose rocks, causing me to stumble. My boys viewed that as validation - I obviously needed their help; they just saw me stumble. All I needed was a twisted ankle and I tried in vain to wrest myself from their grasp. When I finally got free I would try to convey that I was ok on my own. But inevitably, on the next patch of uneven ground, they would grab my hands once again.

Craig was approached by several young men as well, and he just said "No" and held his hands aloft so that they couldn't grab on. One of the young men mocked him by saying "No!" and laughing. He then started speaking to Craig in English. It turned out that his name was Lamine Dolo, and he was a student. Once he realized that Craig was not going to buy anything from him or tip him, he dropped the front and just started chatting with Craig. He told him a lot of interesting information about Dogon culture.

We went down a long staircase made of carefully placed rocks. We were passed by some locals headed up the staircase, including a young girl with a pile of boxes stacked impossibly high on her head. When we reached the bottom, four women in bright clothing carrying water jugs on their heads began to climb up the staircase.

Bahini pointed out the Tellem dwellings in the soft sandstone cliff which was now rising above us (it was below where we had been standing earlier when we were on the upper plateau). He explained that the Tellem lived in the escarpment before the Dogon arrived. After the Tellem left the area (whether of their own accord or forced out by the Dogon is a matter of debate) the Dogon began to use the Tellem's cliff dwellings as tombs which were only accessible by ropes. We continued down further. We saw a Dogon granary, and leaning against it was a staircase carved out of a treetrunk. It looked precarious at best, but was commonly used by the Dogon as a ladder. I turned and saw a lone morning glory-esque flower growing out of the parched earth with the falaise towering behind it through a hazy mist. It was absolutely gorgeous. There was a small grouping of mud buildings. Carved wooden Dogon masks hung on the exterior walls of the granaries. Bahini reminded us that we would soon be seeing a Dogon mask dance. We passed a rooster which had been sacrificed on a mound of earth. Though many Dogon villages today subscribe to Christianity or Islam, this was a remnant of their traditional animist beliefs.

My "boys" were now asking for my address. They had stuck by my side for the duration of the downhill hike, and now they would expect a tip. We saw our Land Rover just up ahead, along with Bouba. I was glad that I didn't have to try to hike back up the trail while being dragged by my boys. They were really hindering my enjoyment of the hike. It was a very nice hike with lots to see in every direction, but I was constantly trying to fight them off to let me go at my own pace.

We were now walking along the lower plateau, and we looked up at the cliff which we had descended. As we neared the vehicle, my boys got more insistent. "We helped you the whole way. You pay us now." I refused. I told them that I hadn't asked for their services, and that I had told them to stop and leave me on my own. "But we helped you the whole way. The other woman paid. Didn't you see her pay?" I didn't know who he was talking about or whether she actually paid. But I had made up my mind early on that I was going to follow the rules and not pay. Dogon country is the most popular tourist destination in Mali, and they don't want it to become one of those places where tourists are accosted by beggars non-stop. And then of course I began to feel guilty. Despite my protestations they had stayed with me the whole time. A few dollars would mean a lot more to them that it would to me.

Then I got mad at myself. Don't be a sucker. You didn't ask for their help. When they tried to take your bags you didn't let them. You could have twisted your ankle on that trail thanks to them. They were a nuisance and a menace. I hated having to deal with these feelings right now. The fact is, you're not supposed to pay them; end of story. I opened the car door and jumped inside. I couldn't deal with them. I told them no and they told me that I "owed" them. I pulled the door shut behind me. One of them stuck his hand in the door to prop it open. That was the last straw - commence meltdown. "No! Stop! Get Out! Goodbye!" I shouted as I slammed the door. Bouba witnessed the tail end of the interaction and was mortified that the kids actually interfered with the vehicle. He yelled at the kids, gesticulated wildly, and shooed them away from the car. This was not a moment I was proud of, but all the frustrations of the morning had just boiled over, and I felt like my safe zone (the car) had been violated.

Craig said goodbye to his friend Lamine Dolo and joined me in the car. He hadn't had the same experiences that I had, and he tried to calm me down by laughing it off. This did not help matters - I just needed a little time to cool down.

I am comforted by the thought of a scene in Michael Palin's "Sahara" series, when he arrives in Bamako after a disastrous train ride, overtired and cranky. The normally cheerful take-everything-in-stride bloke has a minor on-camera meltdown. No matter how much you love to travel and how open-minded you are, it happens to everyone...at times you get overwhelmed and you don't always handle it in the best way. But once moving in the car again, I tried to clear it from my mind and make a new start for the rest of the day.

We took a short drive along the lower plateau to another nearby Dogon village. Bahini pointed out the toguna, a 1.2 meter high structure made of 8 carved poles (symbolizing the original 8 ancestors of Dogon cosmology) and topped with a thick roof of millet stalks. Only men are allowed to sit in its shade. It is a place where men rest, and also where they resolve problems. The roof is low so that no man can stand up when arguing (the thought being that if they can't stand up, they can't have a physical fight). We crossed a field and climbed a short way up some rocks, and some young children accompanied us. Bahini said that we would take a short hike up to an area where we could better view the Tellem dwellings in the cliffs above us. After climbing up some rocks, we turned around to see that the rest of our group had not accompanied us. The walk down the falaise had been enough for them. We stopped partway up the trail and Bahini told us about the Tellem cliff dwellings, and then we walked back down to the car to rejoin the group.

Next we drove to another nearby village which featured a pond surrounded by a fence of sorts (tree limbs stuck in the ground). The water was greenish brown and dotted with lily pads. Around a dozen crocodiles lazed in the water. One of them was on the shore with his mouth wide open, exposing his full set of razor sharp teeth. Bahini got a little bit closer than I dared to.

Next we drove to a larger village. We walked up paths and alleyways between small buildings made of mud bricks. The pointy thatched roofs of the granaries poked up between houses. The granaries were raised off the ground by about 6 inches, and they each had a small elaborately carved wooden door in the front wall. We were led to a shaded rooftop patio where we sat and were served Fantas. It looked like the village might not have changed since the stone age, but for an anachronistic solar panel laying on the roof. There was a carved Dogon door on display nearby, and Bahini explained what each of the symbols meant. There were ancestors, crocodiles, mask dancers, and two undulating three dimensional carvings which represented the Niger river, the lifeblood of the sahel. While we were on the roof patio, we climbed down the stairs and around the building to use the rest rooms, which were contained in a small mud structure, half of which contained a shower, and the other half of which contained a toilet. It was lit by a single fluorescent bulb.

We looked around and noticed what a surreal location it was. Every structure was made of mud or stone. Cliffs towered behind the village. In the other direction, scrubgrass and trees dotted the landscape. We looked in a couple of shops at the handicrafts. There were beautiful carved masks and Dogon doors. But the prices were rather expensive. We would be going to Kori-Maounde later today (the village where we would be doing our volunteer work). If they had handicrafts for sale, we would rather contribute to their community, so we held off buying anything here.

We were then told that the mask dance would be starting soon. It was to start at 11:30. Villagers led us to where the dance would be performed. Kids were insistent at trying to take my hand or bag once again. They were trying to sell us souvenirs as we walked as well, but once again I was more interested in trying to pay attention to my footing. Some of the boys had cute drawings of the mask dance, and I might ordinarily have been interested, but after this morning I was in no mood for it. In this situation, we knew that taking out money would start a lot of competition among the sellers. Buying something only encourages them to try to sell you more, and it was easiest to avoid the situation entirely.

We were led to a flat open area shaded on its periphery by baobab trees. There were boulders all around the clearing. The side of the clearing opposite us was a cliff face, so that the area we were in was a kind of natural amphitheater. The Dogon gestured for us to sit atop the boulders, so that we were elevated and looking down on the performance area. Tina wasn't sure she wanted to climb the boulder and tried to sit below, but the Dogon were insistent that we all sit up on the rocks, A group of men in indigo robes and bowl-shaped hats gathered and began to beat drums and a cowbell while they sang. The rhythm that they played reminded me of the Fanga rhythm we had learned in my African dance class in college.

The mask ritual is traditionally a funerary rite, with the dead becoming ancestors after the performance of the ritual. A "dama" (mask festival) occurs every 12 years, but is also performed for tourists as a way to give young dancers an opportunity to practice. The word "mask" refers not only to the carved facial coverings worn by the dancers, but to the dancers themselves. The dancers are always men. Because masks belong to the realm of death, they are taboo to Dogon women except during public performances.

The men in indigo did a lap around the performance area in a single file line and then returned to their spot. Three dancers adorned with cowrie shells leaned against boulders and tied stilts to their feet. They are called "tingetange" and represent water birds. They were dressed as girls with wigs and cowrie shell bras. They wore skirts and arm decorations made from hibiscus fibers dyed bright pink and yellow.

Two dancers had "tiu" masks that towered 12-15 feet tall in the air. It was amazing that they could dance while balancing them! They bite onto them with their teeth in order to help stabilize them. The gigantic masks represent trees or the "big house" (clan house). Other dancers had animal or bird masks made out of wood. Eight dancers (representing the 8 ancestors) wore kanaga masks. These masks are sometimes said to symbolize a pair of arms opened up toward the heavens, and another opened toward the earth. Another interpretation of the kanaga mask is that it simply represents a bird. Each of the kanaga dancers would bend forward, dragging the tops of their masks on the ground, kicking up little clouds of dust. It was now clear why they wanted us to sit on top of the rocks, since little bits of dirt and debris were flying.

There were times in the half-hour-long performance where different groups of dancers were featured, and there were other times when they all (approximately 20 people) danced together. It was quite a moving sight. The dancers were so enthusiastic, and their movements were very rhythmic. The drum beats were mesmerizing and we were all entranced by the performance. In addition to our group, many of the younger villagers also watched. A bunch of children were huddled under a togona watching from a short distance away. Some dancers wore woven fiber masks that looked from a distance almost like they had been knitted out of brown yarn with bright pink eyeholes. These are the bedye (pupil) masks, worn by new dancers who are learning the ritual.

Craig found himself almost in a trance. Although it was noon, the sunlight seemed golden, as if it were late afternoon. Whether it was the shade from the cliffs, or the reflection of the sun off of the sandstone, we're not sure...but everything was bathed in golden rosy light. The performance seemed to fly by. When it was done we looked at our watches and couldn't believe that 30 minutes had elapsed...it had seemed like only 5.

After the performance was done, we were able to get our photo taken with the dancers. We walked back to the car, and as we passed the patio, I remembered that we hadn't paid for our drinks. Everyone was so polite that they hadn't reminded us, but there was a guy with a calculator waiting for us to come back and he knew exactly what we owed. We took care of our obligation and proceeded back to the car.

Tina and Pam had made plans to meet Anna (of the Tandana Foundation, who had coordinated our Dogon service project) at noon in Bandiagara to finalize details about our service project in Kori-Maounde. But it was noon now, and we still had to backtrack to Sangha before even getting on the road to Bandiagara. Tina and Bahini called Anna and explained the situation. Anna said there was no problem and suggested that we eat lunch in Sangha at our hotel, and just give her a call when we got to Bandiagara.

We drove back to the hotel, past some stunning vistas of tall cliff faces with Tellem houses carved in the sheer face. As we drove through a small Dogon village, we spotted an Obama/Biden bumper sticker on a door. Our car was climbing a steep slope and we weren't able to stop for a picture, but we all took note of how cool it was to see that in the middle of "nowhere." We were now driving back up the same cliffs that we had descended on foot, making our way back to the hotel. We arrived back at the Hotel Campement Guina and went inside for lunch. Bahini said that they only had rice and bread for lunch, but that was fine with us. We all dug into the bread but then were delighted to find that there was a full meal after all. We were all served eggplant with onion sauce, rice with onion sauce (did I mention that they grow onioins in this area?), and stew beef. It was quite delicious.

We hopped back into the car and headed toward Bandiagara. As we backtracked over the section of the road we had covered yesterday, kids would pop up out of nowhere trying to get our attention with the mask dolls they were selling. I hadn't seen these for sale in Sangha, and if we weren't in a hurry to meet Anna I probably would have asked Bouba to stop to purchase some. But we were running late, and by the time we reached Bandiagara, it was already 3 o'clock.

We checked into Hotel la Falaise. Craig and I went through the courtyard and upstairs to our room (room 10). We were excited to begin the volunteer portion of our trip, and there were a lot of unknowns. We hadn't worried about details as Pam and Tina had set everything up, but now that we were here we started to wonder...we knew that we were planting a garden in a Dogon village called Kori-Maounde. Just where was Kori-Maounde? Did Anna live there? We also knew that we would be helping to teach English classes in the evening. Would that be at the Kori-Maounde school, or elsewhere? We didn't have to wonder for long. Almost immediately the man who had brought our bags to the room told us that "our friend Anna was here." Not even taking any time to clean up after the morning's activity, we went downstairs to the courtyard and met Anna. We were soon joined by Tina, Pam, and Susan. Anna explained a bit about the project in Kori-Maounde. Her Tandana Foundation does most of its charitable work in Ecuador, but she had wanted to start doing work in Mali as well. When she first came to Mali, she met Timothee Dolo, the leader of a local NGO called Dje-Yamen (which means "winds/messenger of development"). She wound up staying with Timothee's family in Bandiagara (down the road and around the corner from our hotel), and she became acquainted with Timothee's brother Daniel.

Daniel is the lead teacher at the new school in Kori-Maounde (less than half an hour's drive from Bandiagara), a Dogon village of 800 people which had a 90% illiteracy rate. A French couple fell in love with the village, and donated money for a school to be built. The school opened in 2005 with a first grade, and has been adding a grade per year ever since. Now they have 1st - 4th grade, and eventually they plan to go up to 6th grade. Daniel likes to teach his students practical skills, and his idea was to plant a garden as a school project. The students could tend to the plants, and they could sell produce at the weekly market to earn money to buy school materials. For an agrarian community such as the Dogon, this made perfect sense.

Last year, Anna and Tandana took up the cause. The Foundation provided money for a fence to surround the garden (so that the local goats and donkeys would not be able to get at the plants) and bought some vegetables and a few papaya trees. These are doing well. Now Anna was back for phase 2 of the project, and this was where we come in. Our trip funded the purchase of tools (shovels, pick-axes, wheelbarrows), concrete, and nearly 100 seedlings. We would work side by side with the villagers in order to plant the trees, as well as build a second water basin. Kids could pump water from the well, and it would flow to the two water basins via pipes. From there, the kids could water the plants.

Anna had arranged for us to meet Timothee and Daniel as well as the Kori-Maounde village chief today. Unfortunately, we were much later than we had anticipated, but luckily she was able to let them know, and they were quite gracious. The English lessons would take place in the evenings back in Bandiagara. We would be working with some students who lived in a dormitory near Timothee's house. Anna would give us more information on this later. It was now time to head to Kori-Maounde. Bouba was not willing to drive us, as it would soon be getting dark and he didn't feel comfortable with this additional stop. Apparently there had been some confusion about our itinerary, and he hadn't been aware that he was supposed to drive us to Kori-Maounde this evening. Rather than cause a conflict, Tina hired a local driver named Amadou to take us on the 20-minute drive to the village. He was more than happy to get some money to fill his gas tank. We drove down the main road in the opposite direction from Sangha, and then took a right. We followed a dirt track through some fields and then popped out in front of a lovely stone school building.

When we arrived, we met Daniel, Timothee, the chief, and the head of the parents' association. We shook hands while touching our right arm with our left hand, which is a sign of respect in Dogon culture. They were eager to show us the garden, which was on a level spot of land to the right of the school building. A young boy demonstrated the water pump, and pumped some water into the nearby rectangular cement water basin. They indicated the location of the new water basin which we would build, and where the trench would need to be dug to lay the pipe between the two basins.

We walked around the garden and they showed us the vegetables that they were growing: onions (of course!), lettuce, tomatoes, garlic, etc. In the far corner were the papaya trees. As a symbolic gesture, Timothee purchased the first ceremonial papaya, and announced that we would taste it when we ate dinner at his house on Wednesday night, at the conclusion of the project. They explained that the villagers normally can't afford papaya, as they cost around 500 CFA (slightly more than $1 US). The children, on the other hand, would sell large papayas for 300 and small papayas for 150 CFA. This way, they would make money, but they would also make the papayas affordable for themselves to enjoy. Papaya trees, we also learned, are useful in treatment of malaria and yellow fever. They soak the leaves in water and bathe in it, and they drink several handfuls of the leaf-water mixture per week.

Some children gathered around us in the garden while others overlooked us from the village on a cliff behind the garden. We took photos, and the children were very excited to see them. Timothee and Daniel led us to the school courtyard in front of a nice area with a flagpole and gestured for us to have a seat. There weren't enough chairs so they went into one of the classrooms and brought out some student desks. The children gathered around, curious to see what was going on. Timothee and Daniel spoke in French, and Anna translated for us. Tina, as the founder of Women Worldwide, spoke for us. She apologized that we were late. Anna translated her words. Daniel and Timothee were gracious, and said "Man makes plans. God changes them."

The village chief (named Amadou Napo, who was wearing a long white tunic) and the head of the parents' association (Boureima Napo, who was wearing a fancy emerald green tunic and matching pants) spoke in their Dogon language. Daniel translated to French, and Anna translated to English. We felt like diplomats. Anna had explained to us that for the Dogon, having third party witnesses to important conversations made things more official. So all of these levels of translations were in fact a good thing. They thanked us for coming, saying that it made the villagers feel good to know that foreigners had taken an interest in their village and wanted to help them. The fact that we had actually come to meet them and work beside them, rather than just sending money, meant a lot to them. They gave us heartfelt thanks and said that they were eager to prove to us that they would keep the garden going after we left. A young man introduced as the "leader of the young people" also welcomed us, and we were introduced to the village mason (Oumar Degoga, who, unlike the other Dogon men with their close-cropped hair, sported dreadlocks). As a skilled craftsman, he would be building the new water basin.

It was starting to get dark, and Daniel led us into one of the classrooms. He shone a flashlight around so that we could see the stored bags of cement and the tools that they had bought for the project. There were brand new wheelbarrows and watering cans, as well as brand new pick-axe and shovel heads which had been attached to whittled-clean tree branches. We could tell that everyone was eager to start the project tomorrow. Though we were initially scheduled to arrive for work at 9 the next morning, Daniel invited us to come at 8:30 so that we could see the daily ceremony as the children raised the flag. We were honored by this invitation, thanked them, said our goodbyes, and headed back to Amadou waiting at his car.

On the drive back to Bandiagara, we were all quite excited. The village was no longer just an abstraction; we had seen it and had met the people whom we would be helping. We were eager to get started the next morning. The streets were dark and Amadou kept to the center of the road at most times. Local men driving donkey carts carried small flashlights and shone them at oncoming cars to announce their presence. It was quite surreal.

We got back to the hotel and Bouba and his driver friends were hanging out in the parking lot. We hoped he wasn't angry about the ride misunderstanding, but we realized there were no hard feelings when he snapped to attention and saluted Craig with a hearty "General!" We headed up to the restaurant. The hotel has a resident gray parrot in the courtyard which freely comes in and out of its open cage. This evening he had decided to go to sleep on the staircase to the restaurant. We carefully walked past him and got settled at a table. It was an open-air restaurant with a roof, and we overlooked the parking lot where Bouba and the other drivers were chatting. Anna showed us some diagrams they had made about how they planned to plant the trees. Since Daniel and the Dogon are used to this climate, we definitely deferred to their expertise in matters of planting.

After our planning session, everyone pored over the menu and carefully selected what they wanted to eat. The waiter came and took our order, but then everyone started speaking French to us and there seemed to be some kind of misunderstanding. Anna was able to translate and it turned out that Bahini had apparently accidentally (even unknowingly) ordered the daily special for all of us when the kitchen staff had told him what the special was earlier in the afternoon. They had taken his acknowledgement to mean that it was an acceptable dish for the group and had already prepared to serve it to all of us. The special turned out to be ubiquitous (but delicious) onion soup followed by capitaine (a fish from the Niger), French fries, and watermelon. Neither Anna nor myself are fish people, and we were less than thrilled to hear this news. And all of us had a few reservations about eating anything swimming in the Niger. But to our great relief, it was actually quite delicious, and one of the better meals that we had while in Mali. We had a lot of laughs about the mix-up, though, and Tina got me cracking up when she described the meal as "fish, watermelon, and soup."

In addition to talking about the Kori-Maounde garden project, Anna also told us about the English classes we would be teaching in Bandiagara. Students from distant villages come to Bandiagara for middle and high school. They often have no place to stay, and so a local woman named Aminata established a dormitory for 7th grade and up which houses 85 kids. Anna had volunteered with the kids the previous year, and when she came back to Mali on this trip, Aminata had told her that the children were desperate for English classes in the evening. Anna has been going each evening and basing her lessons on the kids' Nigerian 7th grade English notebook. She would bring us for the next three nights as special guests. I was a bit nervous; I have teaching experience with very young kids, but not with middle and high schoolers. It would be a challenge, especially since we speak absolutely no French. But we were up for the challenge. Susan had brought some French books from home (The Little Prince, Harry Potter, and some French-English phrasebooks), which Anna said would be great for the dorm kids. After a nice evening of chatting, we went to bed at 11:15, ready for our big day tomorrow.

Map of Sangha

View Larger Map