1998 Mali – Part 2

We walked in to Dogon Country, since there are no roads. To get there you hike over this escarpment, with landscape like the moon. Then all of a sudden you see the desert, and climb down into it. Pretty unbelievable. There were trees peppering the edge of the desert, and a toylike town clustered near them.
The first town we visited was Kanikomble. This is a little place with mudbrick graineries and little mudbrick homes. There are no windows or doors or electricity or running water. There is noise though, grinding millet, pounding peanuts, children running, cocks crowing, goats, everybody making noise. But then at night… at night this is the most peaceful and quiet place on earth (at least for this city dweller). Nowhere have I ever heard silence like this, or seen stars like this, so clear, so beautiful, peace.
From Kanikomble we moved along the desert to the village of Teli. High in the cliffs reside the ancient sites where the Dogon used to live in their cliff homes. The Dogon came about 600 years ago and drove away the Pigmy who lived here before them. We climbed up to see some of these ancient homes. The old Dogon cities tended to be lower, with the Pigmy villages higher up. The Pigmy homes were so tiny. Hard to believe anyone could be so small. Maybe they curled up to sleep. Apparently there used to be tall trees or maybe vines so these people could climb up to the highest of their homes. Other than that I could not envision how they got up there. Really something trippy to see.
From Teli we went to Ende. There we visited the old Hogon man, who is like a shaman. I got very sick after this meeting, and believed for many years that it was in part because of this meeting.

In Dogon country we watched women spinning yarn, then men weaving it into thin strips, then women sewing in together and dying it a deep indigo. This indigo rubs off onto your skin when you wear it. I still have the indigo that I got in Dogon country, and it reminds me of those times.

1998 Mali – Part 1

Ok, so since these are 'reflections', I am probably forgetting things that happened, or not remembering everything exactly right, but I will put down the essence of my journeys. The parts that stick out, anyway.

Mali is one of the poorest countries in the world, but it has a rich history and was once the crossroads of wealthy trade routes throughout west Africa. In 1998 I went there with a close friend of mine. I was trying to figure out whether Africa was somewhere that I wanted to live and work. I must say, it took me by surprise. Mali may not have been the wisest place to start our trip, as it turned out to be fairly challenging.

We began our voyage in Bamako. First impression of Bamako… can’t really remember, it was the middle of the night when the plane came in. I’m pretty sure that the door of the cab was held closed with a bungy cord. We stayed in a little hotel that had about 2 suites, but the shared bath did have running water. Streets were generally unpaved. Lots of animals. Not a lot of exciting food. I really can’t remember what we ate initially… I think that I must have been in shock.

Oh ya, a memory is coming to me now… I had been to poor countries before, quite a few of them, but it was the first time that I saw people on the streets who I knew were going to die. Soon. And it was the first place where I saw real hopelessness in people’s eyes.



From Bamako we travelled north by bus to Savare, then to Segou, and on to Mopti, then Djenne. Djenne is a beautiful city which is built of sandcastles. These ‘sandcastles’ are actually mudbrick buildings, some built 500 years ago and still maintained. Djenne is a very old city that has been in its current location since 800AD, and the original site of the city (across the river) was apparently built in 250BC. There is a huge mudbrick mosque here. Very beautiful.



Oh, I don't think that I have mentioned prayer. Now, I am not in any means knowledgeable about the Muslim faith, and I especially wasn't at the time. But I loved nothing more than being awoken to the call to prayer every morning at 4:00am. I also loved that buses stop at prayer time. I love that people actually are disciplined enough in their faith to stop everything they are doing, be it sleeping, or travelling, or shopping, and just pray. The melodic sound of the call to prayer bouncing over rooftops was something that echos in my head and heart. Even though we would just stand around and eat watermelon (or whatever) while everyone else prayed.






From Djenne we headed towards Dogon Country, on the edge of the desert. We drove part way to Djibombo, then walked when the road became to rough for the vehicle. In Djibombo they slaughtered a chicken for us to eat. I was a vegetarian, and can’t stand the sight of death, but watching them pray and respectfully and thankfully kill the chicken was memorable.