Mali

Friday 1/9/2009 - Essakane: Festival au Desert

We woke up at 6:30 am and took another shower. The festival was supposed to have "bucket showers", which sounded appealing to none of us. Pam had coined the phrase "holiday from hygeine" to describe the next two nights we would spend in the Sahara. We at least wanted to start out clean. The bathroom in this hotel was very nice. It had a shower with an actual door, so the bathroom floor could stay dry! It had decent water pressure, and actual hot water! This was a luxury, and we fully appreciated it.

After dressing, we got packed. I turned on my cell phone and was amazed to find that I had more "bars" in Timbuktu of all places than I do at my own home! I texted an entry to the blog and Craig and I joked about a "text message from Timbuktu" and how similar it seemed to a "telephone call from Istanbul" (a Tom Waits song). In fact, we were still a little nervous about the fact that the British group had been prevented from going to the Festival due to security concerns, and we diverted our nervous energy into writing a little parody song. We didn't have the full lyrics to "Telephone Call from Istanbul" with us, but we jotted down several phrases, and vowed that we would finish it off when we got home and had a lyric sheet in front of us. Here are the results (apologies to Tom Waits):

Telephone Call from Istanbul (Waits/Brennan)

All night long on the broken glass
Livin' in a medicine chest
Mediteromanian hotel back
Sprawled across a roll top desk

The monkey rode the blade on an overhead fan
They paint the donkey blue if you pay
I got a telephone call from Istanbul
My baby's comin' home today

Will you sell me one of those if I shave my head?
Get me out of town, is what Fireball said
Never trust a man in a blue trench coat
Never drive a car when you're dead

Saturday's a festival, Friday's a gem
Dye your hair yellow and raise your hem
Follow me to Beulah's on Dry Creek Road
I got to wear the hat that my baby done sewed.

Text Message from Timbuktu (Craig & Steph)

All day long ride to Tim-buk-tu
Don't forget malaria meds
Sangha/Segou/Bamako hotel room
Mosquito nets above our beds

The waiter says, "No choice" only cap-i-taine
They'll mail your postcards too (if you pay)
I sent a text message from Tim-buk-tu
The Brits are going home today

Will you sell me one of those just to wrap my head?
Don't go north of town's what the UK said
Never trust a man to tie your tur-ban
Just let Bouba do it instead

Friday is the Festival, Sunday it ends
Ride up on a camel and lower your hem
Essakane's a ways down that dry sand road
I got to wear the turban the Tuareg done sewed

We walked down the stairs and past the guides' rooms (where guides slept on mats on the floor), exiting the building and crossing the patio to the dining room. We looked at the long rows of tables, and were seated at the same table where we had eaten dinner last night. The weather was cool but comfortable to Craig and myself, but any Malians we saw were all bundled up as if it was winter. As we sat down, Bahini excitedly pointed to a light-skinned man in a leather fedora sitting at a table across the room. "That is Salif Keita! Number one singer in Mali!" The waitstaff was also abuzz with this news, and they were congregating over near his table. The rest of our group arrived for a breakfast of bread, strawberry jam, and Nescafe. The bread had been cooked in the traditional earthen ovens that we had seen throughout the city yesterday. It was cooked over fire and hence had a rather uneven finish, with some areas being more dark than others. It was a bit gritty, from sand. But it was the authentic taste of Timbuktu - the same as would have been enjoyed hundreds of years ago.

I passed the bar (a small bureau set up in the doorway on which sat several bottles of alcohol) and went into the lobby to the check-in desk. I purchased two more postcards and filled them out at breakfast. Salif Keita finished his breakfast and walked by our table as he exited the dining room. He was scheduled to play at the Festival, so we were wondering if he was heading to Essakane today as well. (It turned out that he had actually performed the night before, and was actually returning from Essakane). Bahini explained that Salif Keita is an albino, a minority which is often persecuted in Mali. In fact, he has set up a charity to increase public awareness about albinism. Often in Africa, albinos are viewed as cursed, and superstition contributes to infanticide as well as violent attacks against albinos. Salif Keita is also notable because he is a member of a royal caste, a direct descendant of Sundiata Keita, the founder of the Malian empire. As a member of the royal caste, he was not supposed to become a singer - a role which is reserved for members of the griot caste.

I talked to the reception clerk, who said he would go to the post office and mail our postcards for us for 500 CFA (about a dollar) apiece and that included postage. This sounded like a good deal to me, so I paid him and gave him a stack of postcards which would all be postmarked from Timbuktu (although it turns out that they wouldn't arrive in the USA for two months)! We went back to the room to grab our bags and then headed out front where Bahini and Bouba loaded up the car. The UK group wished us good luck on our trip to Essakane as they disappointedly headed back to Douentza. While this was going on, a small impromptu parade started coming down the street, with people singing and playing percussion. It seemed like a small send-off.

There was a public telephone next to where the car was parked, and we laughed at the irony of it being in such a remote place. At around 9:30, we hit the road, which almost immediately turned to pure sand. We didn't see many other vehicles on the road, as most had journeyed to the Festival yesterday. At around 10:30, we passed an oil drum with a small yellow sign on it which read "Festival du Desert ESSAKANE" with an arrow pointing right. It was the "exit" on the sand road. We immediately asked Bouba if we could stop for a photo op. We all posed around the "sign" while Bahini took photos with all of our cameras. In one of our photos, another 4x4 just happens to be going by us, kicking up some dust, and giving a sense for what the "roads" really are like here. The landscape was really dry and dusty, with occasional scrubby bushes and a few trees. Bouba used the time for the photo stop as an opportunity to tighten the lugnuts on our tires.

We drove again for a while and got to an area where the ground was covered with dry yellow grasses and the road was a pinkish-orange set of sand tire grooves. In this landscape, we asked Bouba if we could have a peepee break. He rather reluctantly parked the car and we exited, walking in the yellow grass. Bouba immediately cautioned me and, too late, I realized he was talking about spiny burrs in the grass. Within seconds, I already had a slew of them which had attached themselves to my skirt. We are not sure what they are called, but in his book "Sahara", Michael Palin identified them as "krim-krim." They were tiny, white, spherical seed pods which were extremely painful when their spines burrow into your skin.

After we had gone to the bathroom while trying to avoid even more krim-krim, we noticed that Bouba looked concerned. He was gathering bottles of unpurified water from the back of the car, and had the hood open. He poured some water into the radiator and it immediately flowed straight through and formed a puddle on the ground below. We didn't know how far we had left to go to get to the Festival, but this did not bode well.

We stood in front of the vehicle helplessly looking on, as Bahini and Bouba conversed in French and assessed the situation. It seemed surreal - like this was too cliché'd to be true. Were we really stuck in the Sahara desert with an overheating car? Were Bouba and Bahini just playing a practical joke on us - giving us the stereotypical desert tourist experience? We were almost in denial. But no, it was real.

We were pretty much confined to the road as the krim-krim was so bad in the grass, and we watched large black scarab beetles scuttling through the sand, leaving interesting tracks behind them. The sun beat down warmly on our skin, and Craig and I were glad that we had worn long sleeves to protect our arms. A few 4x4's drove by us, but nobody seemed overly concerned about our predicament. We ruminated on just how important water is out here for survival, both in terms of keeping the humans and the vehicles properly hydrated. After discussions with Bahini, Bouba pulled out a plastic bag which contained cigarette ash. He mixed it with water and molded it into a kind of putty which he used to plug up the hole in the radiator. It worked well enough for us to get back on the road.

We progressed very slowly, with the windows down and no air conditioning. We were all very quiet, willing the car to make it to the Festival. Bouba had to drop the vehicle into low gear on several occasions to gain traction. It seemed so isolated that the last thing we needed was for the car to get stuck in the sand. Shortly after noon, we noticed that the ground was now much whiter sand. We passed some military tanks, and knew that we must be close to the Festival grounds. Mali was putting a lot of effort into the security of the Festival. The last thing that they would want is for some trouble to happen at their world-renowned tourist event.

We passed through the obvious entrance to the Festival grounds: a lone stone gateway in the sand upon which hung a banner sponsored by Orange telecom, welcoming everyone to Essakane. we had made it! After everything that had conspired against us (the apparent travel warning, the hole in the radiator, etc.), we were finally here. We looked around excitedly, seeing white sand in every direction. There were Tuareg tents, 4x4's, camels, and, off in the distance, a permanent stage.

We were led to the Saga Tours encampment. Craig and I were shown to a small white tent at the end of a row of brown tents. Our tent was just a piece of white fabric staked into the ground with tree branches. A branch in the middle acted as a center pole, and it was tall enough that we could sit up toward the middle of the tent. We were given sleeping mats and our luggage was brought to us. We spent a good deal of time setting up our tent. Our tent was pitched on a slope as we were next to a hill. Since the floor was sand, Craig leveled it as best he could and was able to arrange our sleeping mats and sleeping bags comfortably.

It was soon apparent that everything would be covered in sand by the time we left here. It was quite pleasant in the tent during the day. You were protected from the direct sun, but there was plenty of light diffusing through the tent material. Craig buried some water bottles in the sandy floor of our tent to keep them cooler, and came across some PVC piping which had been laid to bring water throughout the Saga campsite. I tried to remove all of the krim-krim burrs which had gotten stuck in my skirt from our bathroom stop, and there seemed to be even more of them here, hiding in the sand, ready to poke you at a moment's notice.

Tina, Pam, and Susan were sharing a larger tent, which was made out of brown material and had woven panels stuck in the sides to give it a bit of a more uniform height. They were right across from us, and they had a view of the stage in the distance from their tent. There was a group of Tuaregs under a tree near our tent, and they had a small herd of goats, including a 4-day-old white baby goat.

When we emerged from our tent, Bouba tied our tagelmust turbans for us, and we headed over to the mess tent, which was nestled between sand dunes in the shade of a large tree with tarps stretched above rows of picnic tables. A tent in the back held supplies. Lunch was already being served, and all of the picnic tables were full. We felt a little awkward having just arrived, when most of these people had arrived yesterday and already knew the routine and the lay of the land. We just kind of stood there stupidly, not knowing what to do. There was no room to join a picnic table, and there was nowhere else to sit. Eventually, we were brought an extra table and some chairs, and when we were settled we were served lunch. There was a strange cabbage and vegetable slaw along with some cut up fish (skin and all) in a bowl which looked incredibly unappetizing. Craig tried the fish and convinced me that it tasted a bit like canned tuna. I took a taste, and it sort of did, but I still didn't want it.

We had some watermelon for dessert, which was quite refreshing. We heard that Bouba was going to be driving back to Timbuktu this afternoon to get the radiator fixed, and we felt bad for him. He should be spending the next two days hanging out with his fellow drivers, enjoying the camaraderie of the Festival. But Bouba is a professional and he needed to take care of his equipment. We realized that we were fortunate to have had this happen on a day when we weren't supposed to be driving for eight hours. Bahini passed out blue wristbands which we all would wear for the next two days.

After lunch we went back to our tent for a while. A scarab beetle wandered through the tent, and as I watched his footprints, I remembered the intro to Michael Palin's Sahara series where a little scarab traces out the word "Sahara" in the sand. Again it hit me...we were in the Sahara! I traced the word into the sand with my finger and took a photo, an homage to Michael Palin..

Soon a young Tuareg man in a maroon turban and indigo robes poked his head into the tent and said hello. We invited him in and had a nice chat with him. His name was Aboye, and he wanted to show us some items that he had for sale. A common souvenir from this area is "Tuareg silver" jewelry. It is made from a silver alloy which it is said that the Tuareg obtain by melting down silver dollars. They etch patterns into the silver, and the craftsmen's initials are written on the back of the piece. While we were talking to Aboye and looking at his handiwork, Tina, Pam, and Susan told us that they were headed to the bar over the dune. We told them that we'd try to meet them there. I picked out a necklace and Craig picked out an elaborate letter opener which was embellished with ebony wood. The craftsmanship was really exquisite, and these would be great souvenirs from the Festival. Craig took a photo of me with Aboye inside the tent.

Before we met the girls at the bar, we needed to make a restroom stop. We went to the permanent lavatory, which was a white cement building with two doors marked as W.C.'s and two marked as showers. Craig went into one of the W.C.'s, and found it to be a very strange raised cement platform with a hole in the middle. When I went to use it after him, a guy came up to me and told me I had to pay. Later we found out that if we had told him we were from Saga, he would have given us a bathroom ticket, but please, all of this fuss for a dirty little bathroom? I went instead to one of the temporary toilets in our camp. It was a hole in the sand above a buried 55 gallon oil drum. The hole was surrounded by plywood walls and a plastic port-a-potty door, and no roof. Much easier and more clean than the permanent alternative, and it became our restroom of choice.

Then we headed to the dune behind our camp and went over to the small bar. The girls were no longer there, so we just continued to wander around. The sand was so white and soft...it was like powder. I had expected it to be much more coarse. I was wearing flip flops, and the sand wasn't especially hot, even given the intensity of the sun. But the problem was that there were little spiny krim-krim seed pods buried in the sand, and every step that I took, one or more would bury themselves into the flesh of my feet, getting in between my foot and the sandal. I was constantly having to bend over to extract them, and they were quite uncomfortable.

As we walked around we saw other camps, and Tuaregs enjoying tea in the shade of a tree. Everywhere we went, Tuaregs would greet us, offering to show us their wares. One even invited us over for a cup of tea. But we wanted to explore the grounds rather than be stuck in one place, so we thanked him but continued on our way. A young man came over to Craig and started to unwrap Craig's turban. "No!" we shooed him away. We knew that his intention was to detain us so that he could show us what he had for sale, and we had just bought something from Aboye.

There was a collection of tents in the middle of the grounds which served as a market. We figured that we would have plenty of opportunities to buy things from the myriad of Tuaregs we ran into everywhere, so we didn't buy anything in the market tents. There was a film crew in front of us as we walked through. We wondered what they were filming. We had seen the documentary film of the 2003 Festival, and wondered if something similar was being filmed for this year's. Or maybe it was a television show. The modern camera equipment looked like it didn't belong among the primitive tents.

We saw piles of firewood laying around, and Tuaregs riding their camels. A large sign advertised free, voluntary, confidential HIV testing. We passed a banner advertising the Timbuktu Music Project. We probably should have entered this little gathering of tents, as we found out later from Tina and Pam that there were musicians jamming and it was pretty interesting. But for us the whole experience was so surreal and overwhelming that we almost didn't know what to do with ourselves, so we just continued wandering around, taking in the sights.

We ended up at the stage...a very modern stage with lots of light rigging and a banner across the back which proclaimed "Festival au Desert IX Edition Essakane, Tombouctou/Mali." Wow, we were really here! Insignia on each side of the stage bore the symbol of Essakane. Racks of amps were set up on either side of the stage, and we turned around to see the sound board behind us. It was like a normal rock concert - only literally in the desert. It was so wild. We caught sight of Tina, Susan, and Pam walking up the dune opposite the stage. This was obviously a good vantagepoint, and we followed them up there to join a bunch of people who were sitting atop the dune. It was definitely difficult to walk uphill in the sand, especially when krim-krim worked themselves into my feet with every step. We were told that the music would start at 8 o'clock. It was only 4:15 now. Were all these people already staking out their spots for tonight?

We chatted with various people on the dunes, and Tuaregs were coming by selling jewelry, fruit, blankets, and cookies. Several of us bought cookies from one of them and we all shared. After the strange lunch we had had, and who knows what awaited us for dinner, we thought that cookies were a comforting option. All of a sudden whom did we see but El Hadj, the student we had befriended from Timbuktu! He had come to the Festival on his own, and he sat with us and chatted for a while. We showed him the photos we had brought from home. In the distance off to our left, there was a large gathering of people watching a performance. This was the more casual Dune Stage, which was made up of woven blankets. The gathering crowd seemed to be made up of mostly Tuaregs, some of whom were on camelback.

We met Camara, a young man who worked for Saga Tours at our camp. He offered to go to get Tina a cold beer, and she offered one to Craig as well. Before we knew it, Camara was back with two frosty cold Flag beers. This was so unexpected - a warm beer would have tasted heavenly but an ice cold beer was a luxury he hadn't even dreamed of in this environment

We were tempted to go see what was going on at the Dune Stage. We could barely hear the music from the smaller stage over the tuning up noises from the main stage. Bahini and Susan went over there, but we stayed behind, chatting with El Hadj and just enjoying the ambiance. There was so much to watch...interesting sites seemed to be coming to us, and we didn't see the need to going search of it amongst the crowds. We felt completely over-stimulated. And for all we knew, there might have been some kind of pre-show on the main stage. Sound checks were certainly ongoing. The whole atmosphere was like that of a mirage. We were in a completely exotic locale, getting ready to enjoy a concert! What could be better!

It wouldn't be long until sunset, and we assumed the temperature would cool down quickly. Already the sun wasn't as strong, and the sand was cooling to the touch. While it was still light, we wanted to head back to the tent to get out some warmer clothes for the evening. At the tent, we put on our long johns. I put on a pair of socks under my sandals. Fashion faux pas or not, it was difficult enough to walk in the soft sand dunes without getting krim-krim burrs stuck into my bare feet. My only other option was to wear my hiking boots, which would immediately become filled with sand. At least the socks would provide a buffer and make it more difficult for them to penetrate my flesh. When we came across Pam, she was sitting in her tent using her blackberry. I immediately snapped a photo to capture the juxtaposition of the timeless tent mixed with 21st century technology. The full moon was visible above the tents, and added to the surreal quality of our surroundings. Pam walked with us back to the dune.

We passed some camels which were silhouetted beautifully against the vibrant late afternoon sunlight. We also passed some musicians with accordions, tubas, and trumpets. The tuba had a plastic bag over the hole so that sand would not get inside. We got back to the dune in time for a glorious sunset. The sky grew orange and the sun was a blazing yellow orb which disappeared completely into the dust before reaching the horizon. It was one of the most other-worldly sunsets I have ever seen, and reminded me of when Luke Skywalker watched the duals suns set over Tatooine (Tunisia in real life).

Dinner was supposed to be at 7:30. To us, this seemed a little close to the music start-time of 8 o'clock. We were comfortable on the dune and contemplated skipping dinner entirely. We had some cookies and granola bars to keep ourselves satiated, and I didn't have high hopes for a delicious dinner back at camp. But soon everyone else on the dune had gone back to their camps for dinner, and it seemed silly for the two of us to remain there alone, though the soundcheck was going on and the screen to the right of the stage was beginning to project video footage (this must have been what the camera crew was shooting this afternoon).

We decided to go back for dinner after all, and we got there at precisely 7:32. Everyone else must have been early, as the picnic tables were once again full up and folks had already started to eat. Whatever happened to "Mali time?" Some of the guides brought us folding chairs and set a case of water bottles between us as a table. Dinner was surprisingly delicious, spaghetti with fresh goat meat. It was a nice surprise after the off-putting lunch. We were in a hurry to get back to the stage, so we scarfed down our food and then traversed the sand for 5 or 10 minutes to get back to our spot on the dune.

Many people (especially Tuaregs) congregated right in front of the stage, but also there were a lot who sat on the dune, getting an overview of the entire scene. There were small campfires with clusters of people around them as the music blared across the dunes. The symbol of Essakane was etched into metal boxes behind the stage. Fire was lit in the boxes, and the insignia blazed forth in the darkness. Between the stage lights, some floodlights, and the full moon, you could see remarkably well. Behind us, at the bottom of this dune, was a tent camp. A lone tree stood off in the distance, and was the only real place people could seek some cover when nature called.

The sand around us was cool to the touch. We sat on my sarong as a blanket. I was finding that sand was getting into the lens cap mechanism of my camera. The lens cap would no longer slide easily, and I would need to blow air on it to get enough sand loose that it could grind its way open. It was rather chilly. I was wearing enough layers, but my hands were really cold. I made a mental note to wear a pair of socks as mittens tomorrow night. We kept our turbans on and they did as good as job keeping in the heat as they had protecting us from the sunlight during the day. Clever people, these Tuaregs.

It was difficult to tell which act was onstage at any particular time, as all of the announcements were in French. Our western mindsets made us somehow want to always know who was onstage, and we were sometimes frustrated that we didn't know who was playing. But our expectations were wrong. The reality was a lot more fluid - artists would play, others would join in for a song or two...some would be announced...the music all flowed together in an entrancing swirl of percussion, bass, guitars, chanting...I am not a music scholar, so I can't begin to describe the allure of Malian music, but it just washes over you and transports you to a place where you have no concept of time. You look at your watch and several hours have suddenly slipped by while you have been entranced by the music.

Even though there was only a single stage, they kept things moving right along, and very seldom was there a pause in between acts. Pam, Tina, Susan, and Bahini wandered around, sitting for a while on the dune, going up toward the stage, even going back to camp for a while. Craig and I were in our normal concert mode of staying in one place. We had found a comfy spot on the dune and we settled in. Although we didn't have a great view of the musicians from our spot (we really should have brought binoculars, but hadn't thought of it), we didn't want to go up to where it was a lot more crowded but we would have a better view. We decided to just soak up the general ambiance and be happy with hearing the music.

Every once in a while a car or pick-up truck laden with people would drive through the festival grounds. It would rev up its engines to try to make it over a dune, and when that didn't work, people would pile out and the driver would try again. Although it sounds very dangerous, they didn't drive near people. These were not normal concert grounds as we know them, but rather just a stage in the middle of the sand. Tuaregs on camels would wander through the scenery as well, adding to the surreal quality of the evening.

A group made up of Tuareg women (which we assume was Tartit) did some a capella singing and clapping. Their music was entrancing. It had been a long day, and I was starting to get sleepy. I even dozed off a few times. The music lasted for hours. We ate some cookies we had bought from a vendor earlier in the day while we watched.

The last act of the night was Bassekou Kouyate, a ngoni player (a stringed instrument which has been used in Mali since the 1300's) who was accompanied by his wife, singer Amy Sacko. We really enjoyed their high-energy set, and weren't even sure who they were at the time because we didn't hear them announced. But they blew us away so much that the next morning we made sure to find out their identity. We couldn't believe how much energy they had...Amy Sacko was so animated and spirited, right up until the end of their close to 2-hour set. As she danced, her husband showered her in money, a common practice. It was nice to see the Tuareg in the audience enjoying the music. Some were even dancing.

The music ended at precisely 1 am, which was earlier than we had expected. A wave of people all simultaneously wandered back to their camps. We walked back to our encampment and through the silent rows of tents to the bathroom. As we walked from the bathroom back to the tent, we passed a Tuareg guard tending a fire and keeping watch over the camp. As we got settled in the tent, Craig looked outside our tent entrance and the outside world looked very interesting in the moonlight. He set up the tripod and took a picture. We could hear dance music blaring from somewhere (the nearby bar, perhaps?) That did not bode well - would we be able to sleep through the thumping bass? We dug out our earplugs for the first time on the trip, and snuggled up in our sleeping bags. The mattress pad on top of the soft sand was quite comfortable. I actually slept surprisingly soundly, though my head got cold during the night and I had to pull it into the sleeping bag.