Segou and surrounds

Woke up this morning to find 3 strange white people sleeping on the ground of the courtyard, under mosquito nets. One, an older French man with a mohawk and tattoos, left a card behind announcing himself as Willy Nomad. The other two were a younger couple, also both French. I gather one of them had been studying in Mali for the last 5 months. Apparently Idrissa met them at the cafe and brought them home afterwards. They left after breakfast, without ever speaking to me or being introduced.

This morning we were heading out to visit some nearby villages, an expedition originally planned for the day before, but postponed due to the rain. We left shortly after the French trio, and headed in the direction of the plage, but turned off on a different dirt road, closer to town, that led down to the river's edge and a small 2 car ferry. Idrissa was with us for this trip, acting as a local guide. Al Fady drove the landcruiser onto the mini roro ferry, then we watched as a man and his wife pulled a cart onto the ferry, then had to drag the donkey aboard by grabbing his front legs, lifting them in the air and pulling her so she was only walking on her hind legs (definitely not something you can do with a horse!). Once she was on the ferry, they tied her headstall to one of the side railings but she spent the whole of the short trip pulling back so hard that she ended up sitting on the rubber wheel of the cart with her hind hooves off the deck. We drove off the ferry ahead of them so I never got a chance to see how they got her off.

There was a Fulani village at the top of the embankment, with lots of cattle and woven, thatched huts. When I took a picture of the cattle and the huts, the children all crowded around, clamouring to have their pictures taken. After I complied, and showed them the pictures, their parents came over and wanted to look at the pictures too.

We drove a short distance along a dirt road to a Fulani village where they were celebrating a wedding. We greeted several groups of women who were sitting in circles on the ground preparing food for the feast. Then we went to a two-room building where the men were gathered outside, eating from a communal bowl of rice and meat. They insisted we join them, so we washed our hands using the usual bowl, soap and plastic teapot arrangement, and then dug in, squatting on our heels around the bowl. I only had a few mouthfuls to be polite, and then we were ushered inside the building to meet the newly married couple, who were reclining on blankets on the floor of the inner room, still dressed in their finery. To my confusion, there was a second man lying on the floor with them. It was never explained who he was, and I couldn't actually tell which of the two men was the bridegroom! Anyway, we said our congratulations, and backed out. Outside I was soon surrounded by children wanting their pictures taken. There was also a young mother with a baby who wanted her picture taken, and they were all thrilled to see the photos of themselves and friends.

After we left this village, we passed at least one other that was also celebrating a wedding. Speaking of weddings, the day before, in Segou, we watched a wedding go by, all honking their horns like they do in Canada, the only difference being that only the actual bridal party was in a car, all the other guests were on motor bikes and mopeds!

Our next stop was Kalabougou, a Bambara village where they make the famous local pottery. We watched a woman shaping a bowl by smoothing clay over the botom of an already completed jug, and saw the area where on weekends the pottery is fired. Each family has their own firepit. While the women make pottery, the men are blacksmiths, forging hoes and ploughshares and repairing bicycles. We saw one other western woman in this village, she was taking one of the one-day courses in pottery-making I think. As usual, I was soon surrounded by kids. One little girl clutched a battered, but obviously much-loved, teddy bear.

After we left Kalabougou we drove along a red gravel country road for miles. I kept dozing off, as did Papa. Finally we reached a dam across the Niger, where I was told not to take photos -too late, I already had! We went inside the dam, where several groups of people were fishing off the edge of the dam. On top, we were passed by a donkey cart laden with fresh peanuts, still attached to the roots of the plants, and with dirt still clinging to them. Papa and Idrissa helped themselves to a few handfuls -the women on the cart didn't seem to mind. Obviously, the peanuts were raw, and harder to shell than older, dried ones, as the shells were still soft and a bit green.

A bit further on, next to another dam and bridge, we stopped for a picnic lunch under some shady trees. The guys bought a string of fresh carp, and grilled two over a small fire. I lay on a mattress Papa provided, gazing up at the soothing, dark green of the leaves. While we ate, we had to fend off the attentions of several curious chickens. One young boy seemed fascinated by us, and brought his school math text book and sat watching us, pretending to study. Idrissa talked to him a bit, grilling him on math problems.

After we crossed another bridge, Idrissa asked if it would be okay to look in on his sister, who lived on a military base nearby. I said sure, so we swung by the base. It turned out that his sister had just finished her six-months basic training, and had a 48 hour pass, so we gave her and a male friend a lift in to Segou. On the way, she showed us pictures of herself and friends taken during training. I was surprised to see a woman in the military in a Muslim country, and asked if it was common for women to join the army. I was told that yes, it was fairly common. (I had also seen female police officers in Segou). We dropped the male friend on the outskirts of town, and Idrissa's sister came back to his house with us, where she showered and changed and then disappeared to enjoy her leave.

Papa said he had things to do before we left next day, so he arranged for Al Fady to drive me to the plage. The little boy who had been helping make jewelry the day before came with us, to help Al Fady wash the Landcruiser. I had Al Fady stop en route, and I bought myself and the little boy Fantas. At the plage I had a nice, cooling soak while they washed the car, then they joined me. I don't think either of them could swim, so they stayed in the shallow water. A little further down the beach a young white couple were sitting with 3 African men. They also had a large, brindled, Mastiff-type dog with them. Neither of the couple spoke to me, but one of the African men did, in English.

Al Fady stopped at the internet cafe on the way back to Idrissa's house, but I only stayed 15 minutes because I had very little small change. When I got back to the house, though, Papa insisted I return to the internet cafe, saying Al Fady would arrange to change my 10,000 CFA note. That was fine with me, so I went back for another hour, although due to a power failure I only got about a half hour of actual web time. Then the man said he didn't even have change for a 1000 CFA note, and to pay him next time.

Segou-once more with feeling

I didn't sleep at all, between the heat and the rain that started, complete with thunder and lightning, just before 7 am. We had breakfast about 9:30 and by 10:30 it was still raining, tho' lighter. We went to the internet cafe for a couple of hours, and had to negotiate puddles the size of small lakes on the dirt streets around Idrissa's house. After the cyber cafe we went to a different restaurant downtown for lunch. It had attractive murals painted on its walls - Papa posed in front of one.

After lunch we went back to Idrissa's for another boring couple of hours. I walked to the local store for a coke, which I ended up giving about a third of to a little boy, and then I just wandered around the local streets for a bit. By the time I got back I think Papa was getting worried, thinking I'd got lost! I played a bit of Sudoku, and watched Idrissa and his friends, including a young boy about 8 or 9, make jewelry, then around 3 asked to go to the beach again. I don't think any of them understood why I wanted to go to the beach after all that rain, but they humoured me. At least this time we took the landcruiser, so the journey was a lot quicker and less hair-raising, although the dirt road was even worse, under water in several places requiring interesting detours.

I had a nice paddle, and finally found where the river started to drop off. The current at that point was noticeable, but still not very strong. Around 5 we headed back to town, first to the internet cafe where we found someone who could download my pics (I'd bought a cd in town earlier in the day, along with a new notebook, and Papa had bought "new" clothes for his family) although we had to go to another shop to do the actual downloading. After the transfer we went back to the original internet place, where Papa struck up a conversation with a couple from Montreal while I checked my emails. I think the girl was named Melanie, and she was in Mali teaching. I suspect Papa was trying to drum up a little business, which was fine with me. We gave them a lift back to where they were staying, at the Auberge de l'Amitie, before going back to Idrissa's for a quick wash, then on to the Cafe des Arts for supper and some live music. Idrissa came with us, but met up with some friends at the cafe and stayed on after we left.

Segou secundus

Around 9:30 that morning we drove to the old colonial area down by the river, and Papa and I got out and walked. Without thinking, I left my bag with the bottle of water in the car, which we didn't see again for a couple of hours. We had a nice walk along a shady street, admiring the old houses, then stopped at a place where they made traditional cloth and dyed it using traditional natural materials that included tree bark, leaves and mud from the river. There was a very friendly cat, the first I'd seen in Mali, with deformed ears, that followed us around as we toured the workshops. I believe the cloth-dying method is called Bogolan. I bought a scarf in the gift shop.

After visiting the Bogolan workshop we walked a bit further along the river bank before turning into the town to explore a market. I bought a knife to slice the mangoes, and Papa bought a new belt. Then we just meandered through the streets until I said I was thirsty and we stopped at a restaurant for cokes. I remarked that I really liked some of the local 125cc motorbikes, and wished I could take one home with me, if only I could pass it off as a piece of luggage. After the cokes we walked back toward the river where we met up again with Al Fady and the landcruiser. Our next quest was to find an internet cafe. The first one we found had gone out of business, but the next was still operational, although they didn't have any cds to download my photos onto. At least I managed to check my emails and sent one to Anne about the bank draft/euro discrepancy, and I caught up a little on this blog.

When we left the cyber cafe I discovered that Papa had misinterpreted my comment about the motorbikes to mean that I wanted to ride one around Mali, and he'd arranged to borrow his friend Idrissa's bike. We had lunch at a little restaurant across the street from the cyber cafe, and then he drove me back to Idrissa's house on the bike. I spent a very boring rest of the afternoon lying on my bed trying to get cool while Papa chatted to his friends and drank tea.

Finally, around 4pm I asked if any of the local hotels with pools allowed non-guests to use them, and that led to a fruitless hunt around town on the bike before discovering that none of them did. At that point I asked Papa if he had anything else planned for the evening, as I didn't want to go back to Idrissa's house just to sit around being bored some more. Until that point I don't think he had anything planned, but he suggested we go to the plage (beach). This turned out to be miles away, outside town and along a very dicey dirt (read sand) road where the bike fishtailed so much that at one point I got off and walked. Eventually though, we reached a sandy stretch along the Niger river bank, which Papa said was the plage. There was nowhere to change into my swimsuit, so I just unzipped the legs of my trousers, and went in wearing my clothes. The water was shallow until about halfway across the river, and warm. I had a lovely time splashing about - it was very refreshing. I told Papa this made a fine substitute for a piscine (swimming pool)! Papa stripped to his underpants and came in too. Unfortunately as it was so late, we couldn't stay long, as we needed daylight to get back to the main road, but Papa promised to bring me back the next day. My clothes were nearly dry again by the time we reached town. Papa rode the bike most of the way back to town in just his underpants, but stopped to get dressed just outside town. We stopped at the cyber cafe for about an hour and a half, then had supper at the restaurant across the road before returning to Idrissa's house for the night.

Segou

Back in Sikasso, we went to the same restaurant as the night before, Damu, then Papa and I went to an Atlantic Bank and changed 100 euros each. It was quite a production as they examined each bill in minute detail, and photo-copied my passport, but finally handed over the cash. At least they were air-conditioned! Then we climbed the Mamelon, a hill sacred to the Bambara kings, on which perched the remains of a French 'fort', a single not very large round tower. There was a nice view of the town from up there, and lots more butterflies. At the foot of the hill Papa bought some fruit from a stall, and I bought a Fanta at a nearby store, then we drove to the home of Papa's sister, out past the Maissa hotel. Papa's sister lived in a nice little villa, well furnished, with a bit of a courtyard and a wall around it, although the surrounding neighbourhood was fairly poor. She offered us food and orange squash, while her husband and Papa chatted, and her daughters sat on a sofa watching me and giggling. After a short visit, only about 10 or 15 minutes, we were off to Segou. It was a long, hot, boring drive for the most part. Along the way we stopped several times to load up with more fruit from women selling by the side of the road. We crossed a large river, not the Niger, where they were loading sand onto trucks and donkey carts, for building supplies Papa said.

We reached Segou at dusk, and drove to the home of a friend of Papa's, a handsome, smiling, dark-skinned young man, Idrissa. I was shown to a large room with a double bed (but no pillows) and a standing fan, and a door that locked. The bathroom was off the courtyard, a shared toilet and sink and shower. The 'door' to the bathroom was a rattan mat that slid shut. The bathroom had no ceiling, but was open to the elements. Although this sounds strange, it worked pretty well, except when it rained.

I had a shower and then went to bed about 8. The fan moved the air around, but it didn't really get cool until around 5 am. I slept fitfully. I got up at 7, and had breakfast with Papa, Al Fady and Idrissa in the courtyard - instant coffee, a bit of baguette and 2 bananas. The others had some kind of stew in addition, and tea instead of coffee. In addition to the 4 of us, there seemed to be 2 other young men staying with Idrissa as well.

A grotto, a waterfall, and tea, oh my!

I woke up at 5 am and couldn't get back to sleep, so at 6 I put on my bathing suit and went for a swim in the pool for half an hour, doing lazy laps, watched by the sheep. At about 7 I went and had breakfast, and had a lovely conversation with a Malian woman who works for the Aga Khan Foundation. Her name was Salimata Niang Diallo, and she told me that she had been to Laval and Ottawa, and her daughter is currently studying at Laval. She told me she would be in Ottawa in July, so I gave her my contact information and said I would love to see her, and she gave me some possible contact numbers in Segou and Mopti. It was when I went to the lobby with my luggage to wait for Papa that I discovered that that I've been operating an hour ahead of everybody else in Mali!

Papa came to the lobby around 8, and said to give him 20 minutes. We left about 8:30, and headed for the Grottes des Missirikoro, stopping briefly at what is now a large open sports field, with a low earth embankment along one side. The embankment is apparently all that is left of the tata, the mudbrick wall that fell to French cannon fire in 1898.

The road to the Grottes was dirt, and I learnt a new French phrase - nids des poules, for potholes, which it had in abundance. We bumped our way past numerous donkey carts, cyclists and motos, all of which were easily able to match our speed on that road. At the village of Missirikoro we picked up a local man to act as guide. At the grotto, we parked under a shady tree and Al Fady, the driver, a tall, young, goodlooking Bambara man, stayed with the Landcruiser while Papa and I and our guide explored the series of caves and holes dotting a large outcrop of rock that make up the Grottes. They were filled with bats and birds. Local animists make sacrifices of chickens, sheep, goats and even the occasional cow to ask favours of the gods. People come and 'camp' up here for up to several days, chanting and praying. We went a short distance into one cave (none of us had torches) and could hear a low, droning chant over the twittering of the bats and birds. One of the caves has been taken over by the local Moslems and turned into a mini-mosque.

After returning to the village to drop off our guide, we stopped for a sip of the local 'African' or 'Tuareg' tea. It is a very sweet, yet strong, green tea and making it is an ongoing ritual. A small china teapot, usually blue and identical in size to the Neti pots we sell at Singing Pebble, is filled half full of dry tea leaves. About half the remaining space in the pot is filled with sugar, and water is added. The teapot is placed on a charcoal brazier and heated to boiling point. Then the ritualistic stage is reached, as the tea is poured into a glass shot glass, then poured back into the pot, poured into the glass and back several times before being boiled some more, then the pouring back and forth commences again until it is deemed ready to drink. The glass is filled and passed to the most senior person present, or the guest, and drunk, then handed back to be filled for the next person. After 3 or 4 people have drunk, more water is added, and the process is repeated. There always seems to be somebody making tea wherever one goes.

We drove back to Sikasso, and then headed out on the road to Heremakono and the border. The side road off to the waterfall, or chute, was about halfway to the border. The waterfall was actually a series of small waterfalls, and it was refreshing to sit on a rock at the edge of the largest drop (maybe 10' or so) and dangle my feet in the water. There were also lots of butterflies, big, patterned blue ones, and small white ones, yellow ones and orange ones. I could have happily stayed there longer but Papa had an agenda, and off we went.

Our next stop was a side road off the other side of the main road, a short distance back towards Sikasso. To get down the road we had to edge past a large truck that was being loaded with fresh mangoes. A little further down the road Papa pointed out the tea plants on either side of the road. We stopped at a factory where Papa talked one of the men sitting idle under a nearby tree into showing us around. He led us through three large connected Sheet metal buildings where the raw tea leaves were turned into the finished product. All the machinery - choppers, pressers, driers and cookers, were made in China, and all were indescribably filthy. Admittedly, it was not the season for preparing the tea, but I could only hope that they all received a comprehensive scrubbing before use! I paid our temporary guide 1000 CFA and we left. At the main road we begged some ripe mangoes from the men loading the truck, and I ate one on our way back to town. It was delicious, but as usual I got covered in juice. I didn't have a knife to slice it with, and vowed to buy one at my earliest opportunity.

Meeting Papa

Save the Children dropped me back at the Maissa Hotel around 3 o'clock that afternoon. After we had sorted out which gifts I was keeping (half the mangoes, all the oranges and groundnuts and the various bowls, baskets and ladles) and giving Mr Coulibaly the rest to distribute amongst the staff, I said goodbye, told them it was very kind, but I didn't need a lift to Bamako the next day as I was meeting my guide and we had made other arrangements, and went to my room to stash my stuff. As I still had several hours before my scheduled meeting with Papa, I decided to walk along to the cyber cafe for a bit.

I had been sitting in the cyber cafe for about an hour, catching up on this blog and checking my emails, when I noticed I had two emails from Papa, and one was dated less than a minute ago. The first email, sent several days ago, said there had been a problem with the last deposit I'd sent, of 100 Euros, just a few days before I'd left Canada. Papa had sent me an email saying he needed another 100 Euros for his "locateur", a word that didn't translate properly but apparently meant the supplier of the 4by4. I'd duly sent it off, on May 25 I believe, but Papa was now saying that only 50 Euros had been received by his bank in Timbuktu. While I was still digesting this, I read his second email, which said something like "I am sitting here in a cyber cafe and there is a white woman four computers along to my right. Is that you?" I sent an email back saying "hi!" and then got up, and there he was! He had the 4by4 outside with the driver, so we quickly paid our bills, and after introducing me to Al Fady, the driver, we drove back to the Maissa, where they were also staying.

We went and sat out by the pool, and ordered cokes while we sorted out our finances and decided on the plan for tomorrow. I agreed to take his word about the 50 Euro shortage, until he could show me a statement from his bank, or we could talk to the bank directly. I asked him how much extra it was going to be for the two extra days caused by Save the Children's changing the day I was to meet Diarah, and he said 160 Euros. Instead of two lump payments, one now and one at the end of the trip, he asked if we could split it into 3 payments, two of 600 Euros and the final one 590 Euros. I said fine, and gave him the first 600, and had him sign for it. He asked if I wanted to eat at the hotel, but after the previous night, when I'd spent an hour waiting to be served, and then hadn't been told that all side dishes were extra, I said I'd prefer to eat somewhere a bit cheaper and faster, so we agreed to meet at 7:00 and go out somewhere to eat.

We ended up going to one of the little restaurants on the road between the hotel and the cyber cafe, where it was indeed much cheaper and faster than the Maissa, although if I remember correctly Al Fady had to go out to get drinks as they had none in stock. After supper we went back to the hotel and split up, agreeing to meet at 8 the next morning for a trip to a nearby grotto and a waterfall.

Three Live Chickens!

I gave my Diarah the two books I'd brought for her, the large 3-in-1 Jeremy Stilton book, about dinosaurs, the Middle Ages and Ancient Egypt, and 101 Dalmatians, and I gave her friend the little toy beanie-baby horse and some stickers. I also gave my Diarah stickers and a pen set for school, and I gave both girls individual pens. I signed the big book for Diarah, with her new pen. Then it was their turn. First, they brought out a huge bowl of mangoes, then two bowls of fresh milk. Then they gave me a huge wooden ladle, for the milk, I guess! Then a bag of guinea fowl eggs. Then Diarah presented me with a bowl, newly inscribed 'L'amitie de la ville de Heramokono' and the date. The coup de grace was when Diarah's father presented me with three live chickens! There were more photos taken, and then we ate, from a huge communal bowl of rice and chicken (yes, I know, but I tried to eat only the rice, I couldn't refuse, it would have been too rude after all the effort they put in).

After many goodbyes, and handshakes and waves, it was finally time to go. The drive back to town was a bit of an anticlimax, but it gave me time to wind down. And before you ask, I gave Mr Coulibaly the three chickens, the milk and the guinea fowl eggs to distribute to the Save the Children staff, and I just kept the mangoes, oranges and ground nuts (I forgot to mention those).