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).

Dancing Queen

After the speeches, it was time for the music and dancing First, there was a children's band, from the Early Childhood Development Project run by Save the Children - really cute! Then the grownups got in on the act, and boy, did they get in on it! There were two different adult bands, one fixed in place, and one roaming. And everybody danced - even me! The dancing involved much intricate stamping of the feet, gyrating of buttocks, and was totally exhausting! Water was thrown down to keep the dust from rising too much, although in the heat it dried out very quickly. Some of the dance involved the use of scarves, and it all seemed quite competitive. Diarah's school principal was quite the accomplished dancer, and looked very spiffy in his cream liken suit. Several of the Save the Children staff, (the two women) really got into the dancing. Towards the end, some of the children were allowed to jon in, including the two Diarahs.

When the dancing wound down, it was time to head to Diarah's family compound for the next phase of the party. Again, we were all seated in the shade of a large tree, and I was re-introduced to her parents, grandparents, and to her friend's parents. Then it was time for the gifts. As I hadn't planned for her friend, I had to split the gifts I'd brought between the two girls, reserving the larger portion for MY Diarah.

Queen for a Day

I got up around 7 and washed some clothes, then went to breakfast about 8. At 9 I went to the lobby to wait for Save the Children (at least, I thought it was 9, I found out later that there was a one hour time change betwee Burkina Faso and Mali, so I was operating an hour earlier than everybody else). When they hadn't arrived by 9:10 I decided to walk over to their office. I was greeted warmly by Mr Coulibaly, then sat in his office for 20 minutes or so while he finished some paperwork. Then he took me around and introduced me to everyone in the office.

When I'd met everyone, he and I and a driver boarded a Toyota Landcruiser and drove to Heremakono. First, though, we stopped at the market to buy nuts to give as a ceremonial gift to the village elders. Mr Coulibaly's cell phone rang fairly constantly on the drive out, but in between calls he pointed out highlights of the drive, and we stopped several times so I could take pictures, something I hadn't been able to do on the mini-bus. The trip also went much faster than it had on the mini-bus, without the constant need to stop and get the lights working!

We pulled up near the school I'd seen before, and to my amazement there waere people, mostly children, lined up on both sides of the path from the highway, winding past the school and to a large cleared area, and they were all clapping! At the roadside, in the centre of the child-lined path, two little girls in identical linen dresses, with their hair beautifully decorated with tiny shells, stood waiting to greet me. The taller, darker-skinned girl was my sponsored child, Diarah Coulibaly (no relation to Mr Coulibaly, it is a common name in Mali). The other little girl was her best friend, also named Diarah. First, the girls presented me with a bowl of oranges, which was handed temporarily to the driver, then they took my hands and led me ceremoniously down the path between the shouting, clapping children, to a row of seats under the shade of a big tree in the cleared area. This large area was also lined with people, the entire village of Heremakono, to be exact. Before I could sit down, I was led over to a double row of seats where all the elders of the village (male, of course) were seated, where I greeted, and was greeted by, all of them. They all wanted to shake my hand. Then I was introduced to Diarah's parents, her grandparents, her friend's parents, the principal of the school, and various Save the Childen officials who had helped the elders arrange my reception.

Then the speeches began. Everyone made speeches - Mr Coulibaly, the elders, the principal, Diarah's grandmother, and all the speeches were repeated in a very loud voice by a man dressed all in white who acted as a human megaphone (with one addition - he threw in the occasional joke also). Then it was my turn. I could only tell them that I was speechless, that their reception had touched my heart, and I was sure that not even the Prime Minister of Canada, or even the Queen, had ever been greeted like this§

Killing time in Sikasso

Breakfast was included with the price at the Maissa, so I got up at 7 but the restaurant was completely dark. I wandered around and had a look at the pool, photographed 3 sheep who seemed to have the run of the hotel, and tried to take pictures of some small, dusty red finch-like birds, and some of the Agama lizards that were everywhere, but they proved too fast for me. About 7:30 I found someone who was willing to open up the dining room for me, and wake up the waiter who was dozing at one of the tables. breakfast was Continental-style, a baguette (half), a cup of instant coffee with powdered milk, and a pat of butter and jam.

After eating, I asked at the reception for directions to a cyber cafe, and to the Save the Children offices. Save the Children turned out to be just a block away, behind the hotel, so I went there first. Since it was Sunday, neither of my contacts were there (I hadn't expected they would be) so I left a written message for Mr Coulibaly saying I had arrived safely and was staying at the Maissa Hotel, as he had suggested.

The directions I had been given for a cyber cafe were pretty vague (that way - and pointing) so I just walked out to the main road and headed back in the direction of the centre of town, figuring at least that way I couldn't get lost. My instincts proved correct, and after about a 20 minute walk, I found a cyber cafe, where I happily spent the next 3 hours. The only thing they couldn't do was download my photos, as they had no disks.

I stopped at a roadside store on the way back to the hotel and had a refreshingly cold Orange Quench (a brand I haven't found since). Back at the hotel I discovered that both Mr Coulibaly and Papa had phoned while I was out. The receptionist charged me 1000CFA to use his phone to call them back. I arranged to meet Save the Children next morning as we'd previously arranged, and agreed to meet Papa at the hotel at 6pm, once I was finished with S t C.

I chilled out in my room for a few hours before spending 2 blissful hours in the pool!

Ouaga to Bobo; Bobo to Sikasso

The bus station was full of buses, none anywhere near ready to leave. There were big heaps of luggage piled between the buses, and people stretched out on the ground sleeping. I found the bus for Bobo, and positioned myself next to it. Beside me was a little girl sitting on a heap of luggage labelled Niamey. The station master came by and told her and her father to move the pile, as they were nowhere near the Niamey bus. On the other side of me a young man was sleeping on a mattress, with the rest of the bed piled next to him. One of the men loading the buses was the spitting image of Will Smith. I saw a white woman pushing a bike, and a white couple got on the bus next to me.

I managed to get a window seat, but the bus was packed, so I had to ride the whole 5 1:2 hour trip with my pack on my knees. This time my seat mate was a young boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen. I think I may have taken his seat, as for the first time the tickets were numbered, but if so he didn't complain, although I'm pretty sure it was his first major bus trip. He was curious about everything. Once again the trip was actually fairly cool, and I was able to open my window. I persuaded one of my fellow passengers to take my picture.

When we reached the bus station in Bobo, I was mobbed by the usual swarm of taxi drivers, but when I said I wanted to go to Sikasso, a young man led me down the street to a much smaller bus depot where for 4500 CFA I purchased a ticket for Sikasso. The ticket seller told me the bus would leave at 3 pm, in two hours, and suggested I get something to eat. That seemed like a good idea to me. The young man, who told me his name was Ilyasa, led me across the busy street to a little local restaurant where we shared a plate of rice and peanut sauce, and draughts of icy cold water. Then he led me around the corner to a slightly more upmarket cafe where we had cokes while he tried to talk me into visiting various local sights (no time), and then told me about a charity he was connected to that had something to do with a children's dance troupe, if I understood him correctly. Apparently there were 15 children involved, but somehow there was something about African film in there as well.

After we went back to the bus station, I gave him 2000 CFA, which was all I could afford, and he stayed with me until 3. Of course, the bus didn't actually leave at 3! Around 4 o'clock, a man came and led me down the road to where a group of the most decrepit looking minibuses were being piled high with teetering loads of produce and other luggage. Of course, the bus for Sikasso was the most decrepit!

I was told it would be another 15 minutes, so I went and joined a group of women behind the bus in the shade of a large tree, who were making switches from sweet-smelling grasses. I took a few pictures, and soon my camera was being handed around from woman to woman as they all looked at the pictures and commented on them. After about fifteen minutes the passengers were sent across the street to wait for the bus, and a few minutes later we were on our way.

The bus was as decrepit inside as out, with badly tattered seats. My bag was shoved under one of the front seats, and by shoving a bit, I was able to get a window seat behind it. The bus was packed to the limit, with even the jump seats in use. This time my seat mate was a very large young man, who at one of the border posts bought oranges for all of the women, myself included.
It was a very cramped ride, but for the most part, I was impressed at how well the seemingly decrepit bus managed.

The border posts were repeats of the Niger/BurkinaFaso ones, with passport details being hand written in large ledgers. At both country's posts, there were trees full of weaver birds, but it was too dark to really get any pictures. The border town on the Mali side turned out to be Heremakono, where I would be coming on Monday to visit Diarah, my sponsored child with Save the Children.

It was at Heremakono that we encountered a problem - the bus' battery was dying, and therefore, so did our headlights periodically. With frequent stops, it was about 10 pm when we finally reached Sikasso. I found a taxi, who said he knew where the Maissa hotel was, although it turned out he had to stop frequently to ask directions. Like the taxi I'd taken in Ouaga, this one had to be hotwired to start. At least it did start - my English-speaking taxi driver in Ouaga had needed a push to get his taxi started.

Ouaga

The previous evening, on my return to Niamey, I had been directed to the driver of the Ouaga bus to buy my ticket. The Ouaga buses were a different company, STMB. The driver had told me the bus would be leaving at 6 am, and I should be at the station about 5:30 am, when loading and boarding would commence.

This was the first and only bus to actually leave pretty much on time. Unlike the SNTV buses, this was a battered old veteran that made no pretence of being air-conditioned. It was also less than half full, so I was able to take my bag on board with me, and put it on the empty seat next to me. This time I sat on the opposite side of the bus, in one of the two-seat rows. Across the aisle from me the three-seat row was occupied by two well-built older women in traditional dress. After my sweltering experiences on the buses to and from Maradi, I had not worn the hijab this time, and now I wondered if this might have contributed to the attack that morning. Would the man have still tried to steal my bag if I had been wearing the hijab? I guess I will never know.

Several of the women on this bus were not wearing head-coverings, and in fact, once we reached Burkina Faso, over two thirds of the women I saw did not wear any kind of head covering, either hijab or traditional African headwraps.

We crossed the Niger border fairly soon after leaving Niamey and crossing the Niger River. We were told to get off the bus and hand over our documents to a soldier, who took them off to a nearby office. About ten minutes later, he brought back all the identity cards, but not the passports. Those of us with passports (about 3 other than myself) were directed to the office, where we were handed the passports and told we were free to go. We walked across the border and climbed back on the bus. It was at least another 20 km before we reached the Burkina Faso border. Here we handed over our documents and those of us with passports were directed to an office where a very pleasant man laboriously wrote out our details in longhand in an enormous ledger, before stamping our passports and giving them back to us. After reboarding the bus we drove a short distance to another post, where we were told to disembark with our luggage this time, and directed to a shed where a man in uniform made a very perfunctory search of our bags. This time, after putting our bags back on the bus, the bus pulled over and parked next to a row of other buses, and the passengers all mingled as they bought food and drinks from nearby stalls. Instead of buying anything, as I was very low on CFAs, I took some pictures of two vultures that were hopping around near some women and children.

This bus trip was very pleasant. The bus windows were dirty, so I couldn't take pictures, but several were open, creating a nice breeze, and the temperature generally was nowhere near as hot. The countryside gradually got greener than Niger, and I noticed several differences. I saw dogs for the first time, lots of them. In Niger, I occasionally heard dogs, but never saw any. In Burkina Faso, I also saw lots of pigs. The villages were different, seeming to consist of more individual compounds than actual villages. Mosques were less frequent, but generally larger and more elaborate. In Niger, I only saw men working in the fields, hoeing and ploughing, generally with oxen. In Burkina Faso, I saw women and children working in the fields, as well as men. Ploughing was generally with a donkey, rather than an ox, and consisted of a man steering the plough, which was pulled by the donkey, and a woman or child generally walked in front of the donkey. As we neared Ouagadougou, I began to see more and more bicycles, and mopeds as well as motorcycles. I didn't see any mopeds in Niger.

Ouaga is a large city, with a population of about two million, I'm told. There were many modern buildings, and we passed a park with traditional forest, a large hospital, a TB centre, and many government buildings. Of course, it was still a typical African city, with tiny businesses lining every street, and many rough dirt roads between the large paved thoroughfares. There seemed to be a lot of construction going on around the city outskirts.

When we arrived at the bus station, I was directed (by another taxi driver) to a taxi driver who spoke English. For 5000 CFA he agreed to drive me to where I could change money, bring me back to the bus station to buy a ticket to Bobo Diolasso for tomorrow, and then drive me to my hotel. In stead of taking me to a bank, he took me to some friends of his who changed 200 Euros at the 650 rate, then we came back to the station, got my ticke to Bobo, and then he drove me to the hotel I chose, Le Pavillon Vert. He agreed to come back tomorrow morning at 6 to drive me back to the bus station, as I didn't want a repeat of that morning!

I got a room with an overhead fan for 8700 CFA. It was a pretty basic room, with a shared toilet and shower down the hall, but the hotel was lovely and shady, with a very nice courtyard and its own restaurant, so I wasn't worried about being too hot.

I had a shower, and recharged my camera battery at a socket in the courtyard, since there wasn't one in my room. While I was waiting for it to charge, I had a look at the handicraft store attached to the hotel, and bought myself a new handbag, since it occurred to me that having an obvious bag, which didn't really have anything valuable in it, was a good distraction, and my ancient little handbag from Costa Rica hadn't survived the morning encounter. The bag I bought was larger, and actually more reminiscent of Ghana than Burkina Faso, as it has a Kente cloth design on one side. I also had a nice chat with an older Belgian man who was staying at the hotel. This was another difference between B.F. and Niger - other than at the Maradi Guest House, I didn't see any foreign tourists in Niger, but in Burkina I saw several at the bus station, and the Pavillon Vert seemed to be populated almost entirely by foreign tourists rather than locals.

I had a good night, and almost overslept, only waking abruptly at 5 am. I went out to wait for my taxi about 5:45, and had to wake up the receptionist to unlock the gate for me. There was already a fair bit of traffic on the road, and when my taxi hadn4t arrived by a few minutes past 6, I flagged another down that was parked across the street. He only charged me 500 CFA to take me to the bus depot.

Attacked!

My bus for Ouagoudougou was due to leave at 6 am, so I got up at about 4:45 and did my hair and got dressed. It was raining quite heavily when I first woke, but eased off a bit when I was ready to leave. First obstacle - the hotel was all locked up and there was no-one around. However, after searching, I discovered that the key to the reception area was in the door, so I went in and fumbled around in the dark until I located the front door key. After unlocking the door, I dropped my room key and the front door key over the reception counter onto the desk, and left. Next problem - it was still dark, it was raining lightly, and not a taxi in sight.

I headed in what I thought was the direction of the bus station, hoping to flag down a roaming taxi, but I didn't see any. I did see a man I took to be a night watchman, and called out to him to ask for help finding a taxi; He came towards me, but instead of helping, he grabbed my handbag, which was over my shoulder, but under the strap of my backpack; I yelled at him to stop, that there were only books in the bag. He pushed me to the ground, broke the strap of my handbag, broke open the shopping bag containing the bottles of water, and ran off. I scrambled to my feet, gathered as many of the rolling bottles of water, plus the waterbottle Mike and Anne had given me, and hurried further along the street towards where I could see the lights of a gas station. This time there was a real night watchman, an older man sleeping on a bench in one of the bays. I woke him up and asked for help. He called another young man over, and sent him in search of a taxi. In the meantime, I saw the man who had stolen my bag coming towards us. I pointed him out to the night watchmen, saying that that man had attacked me and robbed me. The watchmen went over to see what he wanted, and the thief threw my bag at his feet, apparently disgusted that it did after all, only contain books! Then he stalked off.

Shortly afterwards, the young man returned with the van from the Hotel Terminus, which was apparently just up the street. The driver of the van insisted that he would only drive me to the bus station for 5000 CFA, highway robbery of a more legal kind. However, I was in no condition to argue, and he drove me safely, if expensively, to the bus station, where for once the bus actually left on time.

Back to Niamey

I left the hotel about quarter to 7 on Thursday morning. The receptionist was asleep on the couch, so I just left my key on the desk. I got to the bus station at 7:15. The bus was supposed to leave at 8, but it was closer to 9 before it even arrived. While waiting I had made the mistake of giving 1000 CFA to a badly crippled beggar, and I was at once surrounded by begging children. Instead of giving them money, I gave them one of the 4 bottles of water the WV driver had insisted I take the night before, after I gave him all my gift eggs.

It was a long and hot ride back to Niamey. This time my two seat mates were both men, but I had managed to snag the window seat. I dozed off and on. It was dark by the time we reached Niamey. I shared a taxi with two other women, and the driver delivered one of them first, so i got the ¨scenic¨ tour of some of the earthen back streets or perhaps just side streets, of Niamey. I got the same room as before at Chez Tatayi.

I asked the receptionist about a restaurant, and he directed me across the street, where I watched a cat and half-grown kitten play while I ate. Then back to the hotel, for a shower and bed

Visiting Safia

After lunch we were off to visit Safia Sana, my newest sponsored child. I knew very little about Safia except that she apparently liked to read. She had been chosen for me when we discovered that Fatima had left the sponsorship program after my trip to Niger had already been booked and paid for, and we weren't sure if I would be able to see Fatima.

We drove along more twisting and barely distinguishable tracks to reach Safia's village, and like Fatima, she was standing in the lane outside her compound waiting for us. She looked very unlike the solemn little girl in the one picture I'd received. She was dressed in traditional costume, and had some red sparkles on her cheeks. She led us to a cleared area under a large tree where several chairs had been placed. I was introduced to her father, and someone was sent running to find her mother, who was off fetching water. I was introduced to the chief of the village, and to Safia's mother when she arrived. We were soon surrounded by at least 60 children, and almost as many adults. As before, there were many speeches, and then it was time to exchange gifts. I gave Safia a copy of Anne of Green Gables, and a book by Karleen Bradford in the Canadian Girls series about a young girl travelling the Underground Railway to Canada, both in French, of course. (Bought from Chapters using Anne's staff discount). I gave her a little toy horse beanie baby, and a pen set and stickers. I didn't have enough sticker books for the number of kids there, so asked Safia which were her brothers and sisters, and gave them sticker books and pens, and gave the schoolmaster the bag of Canada pins to hand out to the rest of the kids later. Then it was their turn, and I was given more eggs!

After the gift exchange, I asked about Safia's school, and was introduced to her teacher. I asked what class Safia was in, and she said Class 3. I asked her if she knew what she wanted to be when she grew up, and, like Fatima, she said she wanted to be a nurse, so I promised to try and find her books on nurses and nursing. I asked if I could see the school, and was led through the village to a wicker structure just outside the village. It was a single room, about the size of a medium-sized bathroom in Canada. There were 3 benches, and a blackboard. I asked how many students attended the school, and was told 59 - 29 girls and 30 boys. They were all in Class 3. The school had started 3 years ago, and since there was only 1 teacher, he moved up with each grade, and only one grade was taught each year. I asked if WV had plans to build a school in Safia's village and was told that eventually, yes, but since food had been scarce in recent years their efforts had been concentrated on Food banks and well building, although they did later show me one school they'd built in the region. It was time for us to go, so we all shook hands and waved good-bye, and as we left I saw the children mob the teacher for the pins!

Before heading back to town, I was taken to see the school that WV had built in the area. It had 3 sections built by WV, at a cost of about 500 million CFA per section, I was told. There was also a single long section built by a Swiss charity. Then I was shown a water tower and electric pump built by WV, and the generator that powered them.

When we got back to the WV offices in town, I was introduced to everyone, and then they asked if I wanted to go back to the hotel. I said I would rather go to a cyber cafe as I was still trying to email home to let everyone know I was okay, but they insisted I use their computers instead. I tried, but their internet connection was so slow nothing would load, so I finally gave up and let them drive me back to the hotel. As I was leaving the WV compound, Mr Albert said he would come and see me at the hotel that night.

I waited until 9 o'clock, but when he still hadn't arrived I went to bed. Fifteen minutes later the phone rang to say he was downstairs. I hurriedly threw on some clothes and went down; At first I don't think he recognized me without the hijab. We chatted for a few minutes, and I asked him to let me know if Fatima did rejoin the sponsorship program, and he promised he would. He asked if I would like the driver to pick me up the next morning to take me to the bus station, but I said no, it was only a short distance and I could easily walk. Then we said goodnight, and I thanked him again for everything, and went back to bed.

Visiting Fatima

As promised, Noel Laly Albert and Ezzra Moussa arrived at the Maradi Guest House just before 9 on Wednesday morning. It was about 50 km to the village where Fatima now lived. Apparently her father had recently left her mother and taken Fatima with him. Part of the route was back along the main road in the direction of Niamey, but we soon turned off that road on to dirt roads, then tracks that seemed to meander in all directions. How the driver knew in what direction, on which track to go, I don't know. We drove through several villages, honking the horn to scatter children and livestock. Finally we reached Fatima's compound, where she was standing outside waiting for us. She is a lovely girl, and she was dressed in a traditional costume. What I hadn't seen in the photos that World Vision had sent me over the years was that she had tribal scars on her cheeks, as did many of the other children and adults I was to meet. Fatima and a man who was initially introduced as her father, but who it turned out was actually her uncle, led us through a series of connected mud huts to a central courtyard where Fatima and I were seated side by side, with Mr. Albert on my other side.

I was introduced to the village chief, and to Fatima's uncles, and her father' other wives, before her father arrived and more introductions were made. We were surrounded by about éà little children, and numerous other adults. Mr. Albert made a speech on behalf of World Vision, the village chief made a speech, Fatima's father made a speech, and then it was my turn. I said how honoured I was to be there, and how much I had enjoyed sponsoring Fatima, and thanked them for welcoming me into their community. Then it was time for the gifts, and I gave Fatima the book about the countries of the world, showing her in particular the sections on Canada and Niger. I said that I hoped when she looked at it she would remember me, and that it might help in her school work. Then I gave her the fantasy novel set in Ottawa, telling her that although it was a fanciful tale, it was set in the city where I lived. I gave her the little toy tiger beanie baby, and the stickers, and the pens for school, and because she said she wanted to be a nurse, I gave her a box of band-aids and a tube of Polysporin, and told her what they were for. Then I handed out sticker books and pens to all the other children, and because they asked for them, to the adults as well!

I asked where Fatima's new school was, and was told it was nearby. I asked if the other children went to the same school, and was told yes. One boy, a neighbour, proudly told me that he was in Fatima's class, Class 5. Fatima went and got the various letters and gifts I had sent her, and it was obvious that many of the things I had sent, a toy moose dressed as a Mountie, a first-aid kit, at least one book and several letters, had never reached her, but at least some of the books and letters and stickers had. As conversation seemed to languish at this point, I asked if the two horses I had seen out front belonged to her father, as they were the first horses I had seen in Niger. He very proudly said yes, and asked if I would like to see them. Without waiting for an answer, he got up and led us back out front. Fatima and some of the other children carried the chairs. More pictures were taken, of me admiring the horse, of Fatima and me with the horse, with her father mounted on the horse.

Then Fatima's father presented me with a large bag of fresh eggs, nestled in chaff. I thanked them very much, although I had no idea what I was going to do with so many eggs. (I didn't say that, though!) Then Fatima's father commandeered the WV landcruiser and driver, apparently to fetch more gifts. While he was gone, I showed Fatima how to use my camera, and she had fun taking pictures of me and her friends and siblings. The pictures of me turned out better than the ones of the other children, as she hadn't quite mastered the art of centering the pictures, and took lots of fine photos of tummies and belly-buttons!

When Fatima's father returned, I was presented with a lovely mortar and pestle set, carved with traditional designs burnt into it. Again I thanked them very much, and said how lovely it was to meet Fatima, and her friends and family. Her father then made another speech in which he said he hoped that the bond Fatima and I had would continue, and that we could stay in touch. I replied saying that I,too, hoped that our bond would last a long time, and that I would love to stay in touch, but that I did not know how that would be possible now that Fatima had left the sponsorship program. At this, her father promised to return with Fatima to the ADP region so that she could return to the sponsorship program, to which I replied that in that case I would be honoured to continue to sponsor her. Then it was time to say farewell, and head to the local ADP office for a picnic lunch before visiting Safia in the afternoon.

Niger

All my flights and connections worked perfectly, and my only slight complaint would be that both the window seats my travel agent booked for me were over the wings, so no view! The food was fabulous, and tho I didn't have any, there was free wine and beer with the meal! Unheard of in this day of parsimonious airlines!

The airport is tiny, only one baggage carousel, but they had buses to take us from the plane to the terminal! A really nice touch.

Exiting the terminal I was immediately swarmed by money changers and taxi drivers. Since I had no CFAs, the Central African Franc used in all 3 countries, I took advantage of their services and changed 70 Euros. The rate they offered, 650 CFA per Euro, turned out to be almost identical to the banks'. After a bit of an argument/discussion with the taxi driver over the fare (he wanted 20 Euros, but eventually settled for 5000 CFA) I was driven to the Chez Tatayi Hotel, where I booked an air-conditioned room for the night. I left my bag there and then my taxi driver drove me to the SNTV bus terminal to buy my ticket to Maradi for the next morning, 7300 CFA, before driving me back to the hotel. He promised to return in the morning at 4.30 am to take me back to the bus station, gave me his phone number, and refused to take any payment yet.

After a very welcome cold shower, I went to bed early. I didn't sleep very well, between nerves and the very loud (but effective) air conditioner, and woke easily to the combination of my wristwatch alarm and the travel alarm. I went and sat outside on the step with a man I took to be the night watchman, and my taxi duly turned up at 4.30 and drove me to the bus station. I gave him the 20 Euros he'd originally asked for, still an overpayment I know, but he had been very helpful. He seemed very pleased.

While waiting for the bus, I gave several little children the Canada pins that I'd got from my MP, Royal Gallipeau. I had noticed the previous day that all the women I saw were wearing head coverings, either hijabs or traditional patterned headdresses, so that morning I had donned one of the hijabs I'd bought, the one-piece light blue one. It made me feel more comfortable socially, tho it was very hot. When the bus arrived a young woman, the only one who'd arrived not wearing a headscarf, grabbed my hand and pulled me to the front of the line. She insisted I sit next to her. I had to put my knapsack under the bus as it wouldn't fit under the seat or in the overhead rack.

It took about 9 hours to reach Maradi. There were several stops along the route where people could get down, stretch their legs, buy food or drink, or pray. I started off in the middle seat in a row of three, squished between the friendly young woman, whose name turned out to be Latifa, and a large, older woman with a little boy of about 3. When we got back on after the first stop tho, Latifa insisted I take the window seat. The bus supposedly had air conditioning, but it fought a losing battle between the outside heat and the hot, sweaty bodies on the bus.
Talk about a real test for one's deodorant! The temperature was about 42 degrees Celsius. I had a bottle of water I'd got on the plane, and I had a cold can of coke at one of the stops, and a bottle of Fanta at another.

The countryside appeared fairly arid, but despite this there were men hoeing out fields all along the road, for millet Latifa told me. The round earthen or woven huts I saw everywhere were for storing the millet Latifa said. The actual villages were enclosed in red plastered brick walls, and were often quite substantial. Livestock was everywhere - goats, sheep, donkeys, long-horned cattle, chickens, camels and guinea fowl. Lots of donkey carts, and ox carts hauling just about everything. Bicycles and 125 cc motorcycles zipping everywhere. At every village the road was lined with tiny shanty-style shops selling everything from food and drink to scrap metal, furniture and much more. Every village also had a speed bump or two as well to slow traffic.

We reached Maradi about 3.30 and I got a shared taxi to the Hotel Larewa -only 250 CFA! I got an air-conditioned room, very basic, just a bed, air con and fan, with an ensuite bathroom (but no seat on the toilet, which didn't flush very well, either) no sink but a shower. I had a much-needed cold shower, got the receptionist to help me call World Vision to report my safe arrival, then went out in search of a bank and a cyber cafe. I walked back out to the main road and walked back in the general direction of the bus station. I found several Western Union offices, but they wouldn't change money. One suggested I try Eco Bank. I asked a policeman standing on a earby corner for directions, and he kindly did so. However, before I got to the Eco Bank I tried one last WU office, and they changed 100 Euros for me.

Since it was by now almost 6pm, I returned to the hotel for another cold shower and an early night. En route I stopped at a roadside stand and had a cold bottle of Pepsi.

In the morning I got up and had another shower, then at 9 went to the reception and made the (foolish) decision to switch to an un-airconditioned room to save money, and paid for my one air-con and two un-aircon night (15,500 plus 2x 7,500);I moved my bag to the new room and then went out again in search of a) a bus ticket back to Niamey b) a cyber cafe and last, but not least c) food!

I retraced the route back to the SNTV bus station and purchased a ticket to Niamey for Thursday morning - cheaper than the ticket out, only 6850 CFA and the bus leaves later, at 8 am. I found two cyber cafes, but both told me the internet was down. I asked another policeman for directions to a restaurant and he sent me to a nearby hotel where I was able to get a plain omelet and bread, for 1000 CFA. On my way back to my hotel, I bought a roll of toilet paper (none in my hotel), a bar of soap and a large bottle of water; I also stopped at a little roadside stand near the hotel and had a cold bottle of Mirinda orange soda and a little bag of water that I filled my AF bottle from.

I spent the middle of the day dowsing myself with lukewarm water from the shower and then lying naked under the fan, trying to stay cool. I almost passed out twice fom the heat, once in the bathroom and once in the bedroom. At 4.30 pm I got dressed again to go out to see if the internet was up at either of the cyber cafes, but didn't get far. As I was leaving the hotel I was waylaid by the receptionist who said WV had called, but hadn't left a message. After a little confusion, I got through to them, and Noel Laly Albert, my contact, said they would like to come and see me, and could I wait for them at the hotel. About 20 minutes later, they turned up in their white Landcruiser, and we went and sat in a lounge I'd discovered in the section of the hotel on the other side of the road. After an exchange of greetings and pleasantries, they asked me why I was staying at the Hotel Larewa, and not the Maradi Guest House as they had suggested. I said it was simple - I couldn't afford the Guest House. They were appalled by the Larewa, and insisted on putting me up at the Guest House, at their expense. Weakeded by the heat of the afternoon, I finally agreed, altho I fully intend to repay them once I get back to Canada. They told me to pack my bag and they would be back to fetch me shortly. While I waited for them I sat outside, and a school across the road from the hotel let out (it was now 6 pm). At first the children just wished me Bon Soir, but soon some got their courage up and I was surrounded by a swarm of little girls and boys all wanting me to take their picture. It was fun until a stern old man chased them all off.

Noel Albert soon arrived and whisked me off to the (comparatively) decadent luxury of the Maradi Guest House. My room had a huge canopied (with a mosquito net) bed, two arm chairs, an ensuite bathroom with sink, tub, shower, flushing toilet, and even toilet paper! After seeing me checked in, Mr. Albert said he would see me the following morning around 9 am. I had the cheapest supper on the menu at the hotel's fairly pricey restaurant, then went to bed.

Almost...

Well, as of last Friday I now have all my visas. The previous week I had gone to the Malian Embassy on the Thursday, handed over my $100 cash, all the forms, pictures, and of course, passport, and was told to come back the following morning to pick up my visa. I got to the embassy around 11 am on the Friday, only to have to wait 20 minutes as the visa still hadn't been signed. Once it was, I dashed over to the Niger embassy on the next street, as they only accepted visa applications from 9 am to 12 noon, only to discover that they didn't take cash. So then I had to sprint to the post office on the corner of Friel and Rideau to get a postal order for the $83 fee, then sprint back (in the rain) getting to the Niger embassy at 12:02. Luckily the woman was still in her office and accepted the money order. She told me to check back in 5 business days. Considering that Niger is on the Foreign affairs no-go list, I can't imagine why it should take 5 days, when Mali can do it in 1, but mine not to reason why. So, last Friday I tried to phone the Niger embassy to see if my visa was ready, but they weren't answering their phones, so I went there anyway, arriving at about 11 am. Once again, the visa hadn't been signed, so I waited fifteen minutes while they did that, then, postal order in hand, trotted over to the Burkina Faso embassy on Range Road, where they issued my visa while I waited. Only $77 this time, not counting the cost of the postal money order.

This week the only day off I have is Monday, so while I was at home preparing lunch I got a phone call from World Vision to tell me that Fatima's father had moved the family out of World Vision's area of operations, so she was no longer part of the sponsorship program. Diane Kelly from World Vision was very apologetic, but as she pointed out, they don't "own" the families. However, she has promised that I will still get to meet Fatima, to say good-bye, and we have arranged that I will sponsor another little girl from the same region, Safia, who I will get to meet also. So, although I am sorry to be losing Fatima, I will at least get to meet her, and this way I will start off my sponsorship of Safia with the major plus of having met her. I just hope Fatima will be able to continue her schooling, as she said she wanted to be a doctor or nurse when she grows up.

Needled Again!

Just back from a fun trip to the Downtown Travel Medicine Clinic for my trip vaccinations! This time I didn't have to get Yellow Fever, as that is good for 10 years and I got it for my last trip to Africa 5 years ago, but I did get Typhin Vi for Typhoid, Avaxim for Hep A, and Menactra for Meningitis. He also gave me Dukoral, which I need to take 2 weeks and 1 week before I go, for Cholera, and a prescription for Malaria meds. He also insisted on giving me a prescription for something for diarrhea, which I won't get filled, as the Dukoral also covers that. This time it cost $382.00, and that's not including the malaria meds - I don't know how much those are yet.

My guide

This is a picture of the guide I have hired for my stay in Mali. His name is Moussoudou Baby dit Pappa.

Getting Started

Well, I have my airline tickets, Ottawa to Montreal by bus, Air France Montreal to Paris, and Air France Paris to Niamey. I will be busing from Niamey to Ouagoudougou, and thence to Bamako, and then Air France back to Paris, Montreal and home to Ottawa. My boss Mika very kindly paid for my tickets from Ottawa to Paris and back, as a thank-you for my having been with Singing Pebble for 10 years. That covered half the cost of my flights right there, a wonderful present! (Much better than a watch or a pin!)

One of the main reasons I am visiting Niger and Mali is to visit two of my sponsored children, Fatima in Niger, and Diarah in Mali. I sponsor Fatima through World Vision and Diarah through Save the Children U.S.A. (Save the Children Canada doesn't do sponsorships). I am still finalizing the details of the visits with the two agencies.

I am going to be in Niger for about a week, just long enough to visit Fatima. I will be arriving in Niamey May 30th, a Sunday. I will take the local bus to Maradi, the nearest town to where Fatima lives, and there I will connect with the local World Vision staff. They originally wanted to drive me from Niamey, but that was going to cost over $600, including several days' hotel, food, per diem wages, fuel, etc, while the bus costs about $20. After the visit, I will take the bus from Niamey to Ouagoudougou, the capital of Burkina Faso, where I hope to stay overnight before continuing by bus to Bamako.

Diarah lives near Sikasso, in Mali. I still haven't heard from Save the Children about the local details, but it will probably be up to me to make my own way to Sikasso. This all still leaves me with about 2 and a half weeks in Mali before I fly home on the 27th of June. I want to visit Timbuktu of course, but I also want to see Mopti and Djenne, and visit the Bandiagara escarpment where the Dogon people live. When I looked into tours of Mali, most seemed prohibitively expensive for one person travelling alone - anywhere from $3000 to $7000 US for a week to 10 days. I searched and searched until I found Papa, a local tour guide who has promised me a custom-designed trip for 2100 Euros, or about $2900 Canadian. He will meet me in Sikasso, and take me to all the places I want to visit, and return to Bamako on the 26th. We have been corresponding in a mixture of English (me) and French (him) via email for the past month or so to finalize the details. He says he speaks English although he doesn't write it. I hope for both our sakes he does, because my French is pretty pathetic!