Mali

Monday 1/12/2009 - Mopti Niger River Cruise, Djenne's Great Mosque

We woke up at 6 am after a glorious sleep. This was the nicest, most comfortable hotel we had stayed at on the entire trip, and it was a great place for Craig to recuperate. He had been able to hold down last night's soup. Despite being a bit dehydrated, he was in much better shape today, and it was such a relief. He had drunk a lot of water prior to bedtime in an attempt to rehydrate, and it seemed to have worked. I, however, was having stomach issues myself this morning. I think it may have had to do with the fact that I was so on edge the entire day before. I took some Immodium and hoped for the best.

At 7:00, we met Tina in the restaurant for the breakfast buffet, featuring Nescafe, bread, croissants, hard boiled egg, and juice. We admired the hotel grounds, which included a nice swimming pool next to a mural of Dogon country (which later we recognized in Michael Palin's "Sahara" book - I guess we know where he stayed while in Mopti). We checked out of the hotel and Bouba loaded our luggage onto the roof of the car. When he saw Craig up and active, he actually shed a tear. "General!" he shouted with joy and he came over to Craig. Bouba looked away and then gave Craig a big hug. He looked to the sky and thanked Allah for making Craig well again. It was so heartwarming to see this kind of display in a culture where men usually keep their emotions bottled up. It belied how serious the situation could have been if Craig had not taken a turn for the better.

We crossed the street to the Niger. Many wooden pirogue boats were pulled up on the shore. They were wooden-hulled canoes with curved crossbeams forming a sort of wooden roll cage. This was wrapped with woven fiber mats, and there was a sunshade made of the same mats protecting us from the sun. Bahini picked one and we all boarded. The boatmen started the motor and we headed down the river. In the morning light the shadows were long and everything had a golden glow. We saw Bozo fishermen in small boats, casting nets into the water. Most were standing in the boats, propelling themselves with poles. The blue sky reflected in the water. The boat driver had problems with the engine, and we drifted lazily for a while as they repaired the problem. The others seemed a bit concerned about the engine troubles, but Craig and I took it in stride. I don't think we've ever been on a boat trip in a developing country where they haven't had engine problems. They always work them out somehow. It figured that the only modern part of the boat was its failure point.

Tina had bought a couple of Tuareg rings at the Festival, and she couldn't remember which one she had bought for herself, which had the first line of the Quran inscribed on it for good luck. I remembered that the Tuaregs had written the first verse of the Quran in Arabic in my notebook, so we used my notes as a kind of Rosetta stone against which to compare Tina's rings, and we decided on the one of the three rings which looked most similar (though not identical) to the text.

The mood wasn't especially peaceful as the engine would splutter and choke, occasionally running for a few seconds and then stalling out. After several false starts, they got the engine working again,and we limped along our way. Women were washing clothing and cooking pots on the shore of the river. The reality hit us that we were actually traveling along the Niger River. Aside from our sketchy motor, our little boat seemed timeless. A pirogue passed us with a father on one end and a boy on the other. The boy waved at us and the father scolded him for being distracted from their fishing tasks.

We stopped at a small Bozo village on the riverbank. We walked down some packed mud trails across a flat plain. After walking for several moments, we arrived at the mudbrick compound of the village leader, who was, surprisingly to us, a woman. A man was pounding millet, and the woman led us into a little shop where they were selling jewelry and clothing. She wrapped Pam in a female Tuareg outfit, and then she dressed Craig up as a Tuareg man. They made a cute couple for a few photos. I bought one of the female outfits for my mom, who always raves about the bright colors of West African fabrics. This design was particularly vibrant, though it clearly wasn't best quality and was rather overpriced. But I didn't know if I'd see anything like it again, so I gave them their asking price. We wanted to do our part to support this village.

A little girl and boy approached me asking for a photo. I thought they wanted me to take a photo for them to see, so I did. I realized too late that they wanted the photo so that I would tip them. Trying not to encourage begging in children, I did not give them anything. We had contributed to this village by Bahini paying a fee to visit, and I had also bought something from them, so I shouldn't feel too bad...but of course I did anyway. We always try to contribute to the economy of a place in a sustainable way (such as by purchasing goods) rather than by rewarding children for begging. The kids followed us as we walked back through the flat plains to our boat. This area was dotted with temporary housing made from thatch. At this time of year, when the river is low, people stay in these temporary houses, moving further ashore as the waters rise. Tina's hat blew away and the two children ran after it. We were afraid that they would catch it and try to hold it for ransom. My first instinct was to run after it myself, which I did. After retrieving it, my stomach felt the worse for wear. We passed some cattle, and we marveled at the riverbanks where the river had worn its way down through many levels of rock and dirt.

We got back into the pirogue and set off for a second Bozo village. We saw several fishermen who were using makeshift sails to propel their pirogues. Along the way, we passed the Mopti pier area, where many pirogues, as well as larger boats, were docked and loading/unloading cargo. The roof of one pirogue was stacked high with brightly colored sleeping mats; the kind we had slept on at the Festival. Another had brand new wrapped-in-bubble-wrap motorscooters on the roof. Mopti was a commerce center, and it certainly showed. We also saw a half-submerged boat which had been stripped of anything halfway useful. Each pirogue had bright paintings on the bow and stern, proudly proclaiming the year in which they were made. We saw an incredibly rickety-looking bridge that people crossed on foot as well as on motorscooter.

We continued on upriver to another riverside village. We pulled ashore, and to prevent us from having to step in the water (which Bahini and all travel books advise strongly against) they positioned a simple and precarious gangplank for us to cross. As soon as we got out of the boat, children swarmed us. My stomach was bothering me, and I was wondering if I would need to make a pit stop somewhere. I was in no mood to be harassed by kids looking for money, and when one of them literally stuck their hand into my pants pocket, I had had enough. I called Bahini over and complained, and he shooed the kids away. Bahini warned us not to touch children's hands here because this was not a healthy village. Most of the children had runny noses, and they didn't look as healthy as children we had seen elsewhere on the trip. All we needed was more sickness, so unfortunately we had to make the decision to keep our hands inaccessible.

This village has a mosque, which is used by members of neighboring villages as well. As we walked over to it, we passed several women sitting together gutting silver fish. These fish were drying on the ground in various clusters in the village. Fish traps hung together from wooden poles. We arrived at the mosque and took several photos. The mosque seemed very large and substantial when compared to the seasonal temporary housing which the villagers occupied. We could tell how high the water must get in the rainy season, because there were trees on the riverbanks where the soil had totally been eroded away by the water, leaving the roots exposed above ground. This area is obviously flooded during a portion of the year, which explains why the villagers can't make permanent homes here. They live here during the dry season, but retreat when the water rises. We walked past the piles of fish drying in the sun and got back into our pirogue and headed back to the Mopti pier. I was relieved that I had made it through the two village visits with my stomach the way it was, and assumed we'd now be meeting Bouba back at the hotel, where a nice bathroom awaited.

My camera got a memory card error. Luckily, I had started a new card this morning, so if the card was not recoverable, it was only this morning's pictures which would be missing. But that was still not optimal. Luckily, the card was totally recoverable, except for the last picture. I popped in a new card for the remainder of the day.

We saw Bozo fishermen mending nets and casting them into the water. We pulled up at the bustling Mopti port. Boats were being loaded and unloaded with goods, and buyers and sellers conducted business in a market surrounding the port. Bouba had driven the car here to meet us so that we could continue on to Djenne straightaway. My stomach had managed to hold out through the two Bozo villages, but there was no way I could make it all the way to Djenne without a pit stop. I asked if there was any way we could use the restroom at last night's hotel. Bahini and Bouba informed me that there was an outhouse at the port, but with the way I was feeling, I needed the nice hotel bathroom. They agreed, and we backtracked through the crowded streets to the hotel. As we drove, we saw all kinds of goods for sale, from handcrafted pottery to salt tablets from the salt mines of the Sahara, which had probably been transported on camelback. We would have liked to have explored these stalls a bit, but I was in a rush to get to the hotel. As we had already checked out of our rooms, we used the very clean public restrooms off the lobby. As we met back at the car after our pit stop, Craig was laughing about the impossibly high wall mounting of a urinal in the men's room.

Then it was time to hit the road for the two hour journey to Djenne. I took the front seat today, as I was feeling under the weather. We left town a different way so that Bouba didn't have the negotiate the busy market streets. So the fact that we had backtracked to the hotel didn't actually slow us down very much. We passed some adorable little makeshift "gas stations" where gasoline and other automotive fluids were lined up in mismatched glass soda bottles. The desired amount would be pumped up into a glass graduated cylinder, and gravity would dispense the fluid into your car like an office water cooler.

When we reached the Bani River, we needed to take a ferry to get to Djenne. We hopped out of the car while waiting for the ferry. There were horses with brightly colored carts grazing on some riverside grass. Locals were selling jewelry and crafts. We saw a German tour bus which had sleeping compartments as well, Rotel ("The Rolling Hotel"). It looked pretty cool; we had never seen anything like it before. The ferry soon arrived, and Bouba drove our vehicle on. We walked on, and it was a very short ride to the other side of the river. There were many merchants aboard the small ferry, and they tried to sell us things. Tina and Pam bought long necklaces made up of tiny multicolored beads. "I am Mr. Good Price," the men would say while trying to sell us their wares.

When we got to the other side of the river, Bouba drove the car off of the ferry and we hopped inside. The streets were busy. Today was Monday - market day in Djenne. Bouba drove through the crowded streets and people eventually parted to let the car through. We looked around and could see the influence of timeless African culture meeting modern-day western culture. Horse carts shared the streets with mopeds, and teens wearing blue jeans and T-shirts walked past Muslim clerics in traditional garb. You had the feeling that you could probably find anything for sale here, if you looked hard enough.

He drove us to the nearby Hotel Campemente. We entered their compound through an archway capped with nine small minarets. The gate way looked like it belonged in a sandcastle. Several vendors had booths set up just inside the gate selling crafts. Bahini spoke to the staff and found that our rooms weren't quite ready yet, so the hotel staff suggested that we eat lunch in their shady courtyard restaurant under a thatched canopy.

We all had the day's special, which was beef curry, rice, and ratatouille. I could only eat a couple of bites due to the way my stomach was feeling, but it was delicious, and I wished I had been able to eat more. Craig had his appetite back and was glad that he was able to enjoy the meal. During lunch, our rooms became available. Craig wasn't finished eating yet, but I wanted to use the bathroom and rest, so Bahini led me to the room (room D) while the others finished eating. The courtyard and hotel grounds were quite nice, and I was expecting a nice room where I could relax and unwind a bit. I was a bit taken aback by what I found.

The room was a depressing little concrete cell, especially so after last night's delightful hotel. It had whitewashed walls, a bed made up with only a sheet, two pillows, and a mosquito net with holes in it. The floor was an uneven concrete slab. The bathroom consisted of a toilet, a pedestal sink, and some plumbing hooked up to a shower head. It reminded me of the bare-bones bathroom in my parents' garage. I dreaded the thought of being ill and stuck in this awful little room.

After freshening up, I took a short nap. Craig returned to tell me the afternoon plan, which was to meet at 2:30 to go to the Great Mosque and the Monday market. I really didn't feel well. Ordinarily I think I would have been able to handle it better, but I was totally emotionally drained after worrying about Craig so much yesterday, and I just crashed. However, I was determined to see the Djenne Mosque. Bahini had said that we might even be able to go in. For years it had become off-limits to non-Muslims ever since a risque foreign fashion show was photographed inside, rightfully upsetting the Imam. Even Michael Palin hadn't been allowed in for his "Sahara" series. I couldn't even imagine what the world's largest mud structure would look like on the inside. Even if we were allowed in, I doubted photos would be allowed, so I viewed this as my only opportunity to see what may lie inside. I told Bahini that I desperately wanted to see the mosque, but probably would come back to the hotel afterwards, skipping the market. I was in no condition for crowds and haggling.

At 2:20, we met up with Pam, Tina, Bahini, and the local guide, and took the short walk to the mosque. Along the way, the local guide pointed out some buildings which had been made of rounded mud bricks. He explained that the locals used to make these rounded bricks until a "French Toubab couple" ("Toubab" being the local equivalent of "gringo") had taught them how to made more rectangular bricks.

As we approached the Great Mosque, we were struck by how much its presence totally dominates the area. It is absolutely massive. It is so large that you couldn't really get a good feel for its size...we were too close to it. Djenne has a reputation as a dirty city, and in fact it was the only city so far which had a vaguely unpleasant odor to it. We approached the mosque, and a man charged us 5000 CFA (the equivalent of $10 USD) to enter. Apparently they had banned non-Muslims after the fashion show debacle, but the maintenance cost of re-mudding the mosque after the rainy season every year was too great. So they decided to allow non-Muslims to enter if they paid admission toward the upkeep of the mosque. That worked out fine for us.

We took off our shoes and followed the man into the large courtyard (which covered as much area as the mosque itself), and then, keeping very quiet, we entered the mosque. The mosque as it is today was built in 1907, though it was originally built in the 13th century. Inside, it looked timeless, with the exception of mounted oscillating electric fans to keep it cool. It was dark inside, and there were mud archways leading through a grid of one hundred mud columns. There were prayer mats on the floor, and people were tucked into various areas praying. I was surprised that photography was allowed inside, and I made sure to keep any worshipers out of my photos. Small rectangular windows let shafts of light in through the dusty air. We saw the Imam's niche, as well as a library niche. We wished we had longer to spend absorbing the ambiance of the Great Mosque, but the man led us out through a large heavy wooden door with fifty metal studs and a chunky metal door knocker back into to the courtyard and then out to the street.

Bahini and the local guide met us outside with our shoes. Since it was so difficult to get a good overall exterior view of the mosque, the local guide suggested that we go to a local rooftop to get a better view. The area around the mosque was completely mobbed with market stalls and people. It was the kind of crowd that can be very claustrophobic, with people pushing up against you. I was in no shape for this today, and I had a hard time holding it together. I just felt very overwhelmed and was on the verge of a meltdown. We wound our way through a throng of people to get to a narrow staircase which led to the roof of a building. From here we had a view of the Great Mosque towering above the tarps of the market stalls. It was an amazing structure.

Craig took the camera and also got some great shots looking down at the market activity below us. We were at a safe distance for observing without being caught up in the hubbub. The call to prayer sounded as we were taking in the scene from the roof. Our visit to the mosque had been well-timed; if we had been just a bit later, we would have missed our opportunity as the worshipers arrived.

Tina and Pam wanted to explore the market. I told Craig to go with them; that Bahini could walk me back to the hotel. But Craig insisted on accompanying me, which I appreciated. The local guide took Pam and Tina, and Bahini led us back through the crowded streets. It was so crowded in fact that it was impossible to stay together. I wished we had taken a more circuitous route rather than going straight through the busy market. In fact, someone tried to pickpocket Craig. He had noticed a man who always seemed to be close to him. Craig kept an eye on him, and before he knew it, the guy was bending down right in front of him to try to open the zipper on Craig's hip-pack. Craig looked at him disbelievingly, yelled at him, and he ran off. We were disillusioned, as so far on the trip, nobody had tried such a thing. Although Mali is a poor country, the people had seemed proud and respectful and above that kind of behavior.

When we arrived back at the hotel, I rested for a while. Pam had given us both Gatorade powder to add to our water bottles, and this helped to rehydrate me. At 5 o'clock, I got up and we went to browse in several shops within the hotel gate. One shopkeeper was wearing an Obama button, and I took a photo of him. He invited us to sit down on a bench in his shop while we looked at his wares. He had some lovely crafts, and we purchased a carved wooden Dogon door and and a Dogon mask from him. We "discussed" the price; we knew the drill by now. His starting price was in line with what we had been quoted for similar crafts in Dogon country, and we negotiated down a bit from there.

We went across the courtyard to another shop, and found some adorable Dogon mask dancers sculpted out of discarded metal aerosol cans. We talked to the guy selling them - he had a lot of cute metal sculptures. We chose one mask dancer for us and one for Craig's brother Steve. He gave us his first price and we gave him our first price. Then he came down a little and offered to throw in a little metal insect sculpture. I was becoming savvy at this. "But I have two nephews! Throw in another insect and we have a deal!" He gave me a "You're killing me here!" look, but eventually agreed.

We chatted about Obama as he packaged up our sculptures. He was talking about how everyone had come to the hotel to watch the election on television, and how excited they had been with the results. He proudly stated that Malian musicians Amadou and Mariam had been invited to perform at Obama's inauguration later this month.

A guy at the shop next door heard us and called us over. I walked over and he showed me a silver bracelet engraved with "OBAMA" as well as some traditional Malian motifs. This was too funny, and I couldn't resist. What an indicator of the zeitgeist in which we visited Mali! Malians were selling Obama bracelets to American tourists! This shopkeeper had a lot of nice items for sale, and Craig bought two small bronze statues: one of a Dogon mask dancer and one of a Bozo couple.

By this time Pam, Tina, Bahini, and Susan had arrived. Pam and Tina had gone to some women's craft cooperatives and had bought some mudcloth. As they browsed in these shops, Pam bought an ostrich from the recyled metal statue guy. I asked Bahini if he could track down an extra blanket for tonight...it was chilly in our room now, let alone once it got dark. He found one for us and brought it to us.

We headed back to the room for a while, and then went out to the courtyard and sat with Pam and Tina for a drink. Soon Susan and Bahini showed up as well, and we decided to have dinner. Tina offered me one of her strong anti-diarrheal pills (something that started with a 'z'). I didn't want a repeat of today, so I eagerly took it, hoping for a better day tomorrow. Tina and Pam were planning on going out to see some Malian music tonight with the local guide from this afternoon. We had really wanted to see some informal music on this trip, and there hadn't been much opportunity aside from the official Festival concerts. But I still wasn't feeling well enough to stray far from the hotel. I tried to convince Craig to go with them with the camera and his mp3 recorder, but he wanted to stay with me. Bahini and Susan decided to stay back at the hotel as well. (It was just as well, because they headed off too late and never did get to see the music).

I had some bread, but didn't attempt the prix-fixe meal. Everyone enjoyed the first course of squash soup, but they were bewildered as to what kind of mystery meat was accompanying the couscous. Craig had a rack of ribs with very sparse meat. When he took a bite, he could remember the taste of being sick at the Festival, and he opted not to eat any more, and stuck to bread instead. At least one of the other meals looked decidedly like chicken bones. We decided not to ask too many questions about the origin of the food. I wrote in the journal while the others finished their dinner. A group of musicians were assembling, and it turned out to be the tuba player and other French musicians which had seemed incongruous at the Festival. They seemed even more incongruous in a hotel restaurant. Apparently they are currently camping on the hotel roof and are literally playing for food. They decorated their instruments with twinkling lights and then launched into a several song set featuring tuba, horns, drums, and an accordion. It was very strange, and not really in a good way. This wasn't exactly what we had meant by wanting to hear more informal music.

A little while later two Malian musicians started to roam the dining area. One was playing a kora: a Malian stringed instrument with three necks made from a gourd. Pulling on one of the two side necks alters the tone. The other musician was scraping a metal rod along a tin can for percussion. They both sang, and approached different tables. There was a hole in the side of the gourd in which you could deposit a tip. Talk about an instrument made for busking! Craig gave me some coins to put into the kora, and when I did, the musicians bowed to me and Bahini said that they were singing words of thanks. This was more like it - music with traditional Malian instruments.

The local guide appeared and Pam and Tina headed off with him to try to find some local music. Craig had another beer and we hung out chatting until 9:30, when we went to bed. We decided to skip showers in the sad little bathroom.

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