*** Le Tour du Mali ***
Mom, my sister, bro, aunt, aunt’s boy-friend (Markus), sister’s boyfriend (Rob), and friends Filu, Fabienne, Claire-Marie, Marylène, Marie, Ling Ling and Thierry, and I did a grand Tour du Mali for 10 days early July. We went from Bamako all the way to Timbuktu. On the way hiked up and along the cliffs of Dogon country, we rode a pinasse (canoe) on the Niger River in Mopti, we toured the old city of Djenné and shopped at the time-less Monday market, we spent the night on the sand dunes in the Sahara, bargained with the Touaregs in the desert and went searching for hippos on the river. It was a fabulous trip. Here are some photos and details of the voyage.

-- La monté de la falaise sous la pluie au Pays Dogon, les secousses de la route de Douantza à Tombouctou, la tempête de sable sur les dunes des Touareg, les hippos du Niger, les cries d'âne la nuit dans le village Dogon, les toits de Djenné,... Quel voyage ! On a vraiment tout vu. --

(The expedition: 14 toubabou's in a van traveling through Mali -- good times!)

Day 1 : “Le périple” begins: The road from Bamako to Dogon Country.
We rented a mini-van to take the 14 of us to Bandiagara (Dogon Country) from Bamako (600 km). Out of Bamako we loaded the roof-rack of the car with 100 liters of bottled water. The car was driving excruciatingly slow (“but safe,” mom pointed out). One after the other people were getting sick and throwing up. Three of 14 people were sick! Whenever we stop at “gendarme” or “douanes” or “police” or some other post, kids come running wanting to sell us shea nuts, greasy cakes, tubers, or even soft drinks.


(We climb into a mini-van and leave the capital for "la brousse" (the bush)"

Night fell and we were still over 200 km from destination and then it started pouring. Oh boy. We persevered and kept going. We arrived at the hotel at 11 pm. Driving through the sahel, crammed into a mini-van for 13 hours, and people getting sick – what a first day!

Day 2 : Hike down the “falaise du pays Dogon.”
Our van dropped us off at the top of the cliff in Sangha. Full of promise, everyone in the group decided to go for it: the Plan was to hike down the cliff, and spend the night in a village below; the next day hike back up the cliffs. Ling ling climbed down the wet rocks in her clogs.


(We found a Telem!)

At the beginning of the hike a bunch of kids were following us (spoiled by tourists, unfortunately), but then it was just us among the rocks, the Baobab trees, the black & white sheep, the little Smurf-like Dogon villages and the sandy plains stretching out all the way to Burkina Faso.

(Dogon villages on perched on the face of the cliffs).

That night we slept on the roof of a “campement” (or mostly listened to the donkeys and goats shrieking). It was almost a full moon and you could see the contours of the cliffs and even the straw cone roofs of the village.

Day 3: Hike along the Dogon cliffs
Some of the Dogon and Telem villages (Telem are precursors to the Dogon) are stuck in crevices on cliffs. They look much like the Anazassi cliff-dwellings in Arizona. We hiked along a trail just off the bottom of the cliffs through villages. We often made way for women with baskets on their head going to the fields or to the market. Our guide, Mamadou “Le magnifique” (we should all have superlatives after our names, my sister pointed out), told us about the Dogon cosmology (a list of “sacred” animals) and we gave Kola nuts to the elders sitting under the Tougona (“la maison de palable”).

(Eric, Filou and "la plaine du Pays Dogon")


(The old men sit under the Maison de Palable called "Tougona")

In the afternoon we hiked back up the cliffs under the rain and waterfalls. A stream of women were coming back from the market with baskets on their heads and children tied to their backs – hoping from slippery rock to slippery rock bare-footed or in flip flops. Amazing! But we made it up alright without injuries too. Dinner was served at the Campement de Sangha on a long table for us all after showers, and we felt much like we’d deserved it.

(Robbie goes to Dogon Country)

Day 4: The Monday market in Djenné: Kola nuts, dried fish and salt.
The car came to pick us up early to drive us all the way to Djenné (200 km) – a city made entirely out of mud (UNESCO world heritage site). We stopped in Sevaré and bought more boxes of water as it was hot and we were going through water fast.

(The monday market in Djenné!)

The market was in full swing when we got to Djenné. The sight of the market against the backdrop of the huge mud-mosque dazzles me every time I come to Djenné. At the market in Djenné you can get Kola nuts from the Ivory Coast, salt from the salt mines in the Sahara desert (that comes down in camel caravans), millet and sorghum from the plains, and dried fish from the Niger River. Robbie loved the dried fish section and begged us to walk past it again and again because he liked the smell.

(Kids learning the Koran).


(The grand mosqué all made of mud)

Djenné is the meeting spot of people coming from the North and from the South. A mix of ways of dress, languages, trades, ... I love it. I feel like I’ve gone back in time. This same scene greeted the first French when they came here over 100 years ago. Our guides later took us on a tour of the city and told us of the history highlighted by the conversion to Islam, the Moroccan invasion and colonization by the French. Something that you could find at the market in the past, but not today, is slaves and ivory. They have got Chinese imported clothes now, though. We fell asleep on mats on the roof with a view of the mosque.

Day 5: The “Venice of Mali” : Mopti
We are getting good at this now: pack up our stuff, hop into the van and hit the road. The car is swerving to avoid hitting cows and goats and donkeys. We fly past villages and people tilling fields with plow and oxen. Mopti is a Niger River port town crammed on a peninsula. The market is even more crammed against the water and offers a lot of dried fish (to Robbie’s delight). Craftsmen are banging some pinasse together from wood that comes up from Guinea. We rented a pinasse to take us up along the river.

(The Niger River port in Mopti)


("Campement Peul" on the Peninsula where the Bani River meets the Niger)

We visited a Bozo village (fishermen), a peul camp ground (cattle herders), a Touareg campement (mostly traders). Our guide started to explain how it all works: the migrations of the cattle herders and fishermen with the seasonal flood of the Delta; the trade and reciprocal relationships between the ethnicities; how things are changing lately with urbanization and the climate change, etc. I think this stuff is fascinating. Peuls walk in and out of their huts that look like piles of hay. Fishermen throw their round nets in an arc over the water from their slim boats. A peul woman comes back with a load of cow dung on her head (used as cooking fuel). All of humanity has lived “living-standards” much closer to this than what we’ve seen in Europe, the US, and all the capitals of the world since the “industrial revolution.” We call it “poverty.” It is easy to idealize a way of life when you’ve just had spaghetti bolognaise at the Hotel “Il y a pas de problème,” but I wonder about the sustainability of the changes (of “development”). With the environmental degradation of industrialism we risk wreaking the planet within a century... The people in the Inner Delta of the Niger River live in ways practically unchanged for centuries.

(Bozo children fishing)

Day 6: On the road to Timbuktu: “Il n’y a pas de problème”
I didn’t mention this, but until now all but 120 km or so of the trip have been on paved roads. Now comes the stretch of “piste” from Douantza to Timbuktu (just under 200 km). We hired two 4WD vehicles for this. The inspiring phrase: “Je suis au voulant, Dieu conduit” (I am at the wheel, god is driving) was written on the dashboard of the car I was in. Doesn’t really inspire confidence, I my bro’ pointed out. He’s done this road before too and that time his Landcruiser slipped and landed on its side. “Can we slow down?” we asked the driver as we were barreling on the rutted-road dodging cattle. “Il y a pas de problème!” he says. Later when we take a break and he opens the hood and looks under the car and starts fiddling, I ask: “Il y a quoi?” “Il n’y a pas de problème.” That I love: nothing is ever a problem here. Things might not work very well (or at all), but “il y a pas de problème.”

(Mama la Magnifique, on the road to Timbuktu)

We picnicked under the thin shade of a poor little shrub-like tree in the sand. It was over 40 degrees Celsius. Yes, we’re definitely getting closer to the Sahara. Claire-Marie pointed out that she never realized “Vache qui rit” cheese was this good (it gets better when in Africa, we concluded).

(Waiting to cross the Niger on the "bac" before entering Timbuktu)

Arrived in Timbuktu, we quickly headed out to the sand dunes. Aguisa our guide had already organized firewood, diner, mattresses, etc. for our night out on the dunes. We did make it out to the dunes before the sunset. We found a perfect dune to spend the night on. We had tea, watched Touareg kids play in the sand (“they live in a sand-box; how fun!”), ate couscous, and sat by the fire listening to Aguisa’s story of traveling with the camel caravan across the desert.

(Dinner in the Sahara Desert on a sand dune)

Day 7: Timbuktu, the city of 333 saints.
During the night the wind picked up and progressively buried us in sand. I can’t say I slept well at all. In the morning we had to dig our stuff out of the sand. The dune had even moved a bit. My ears, mouth and eyes were also packed with sand. But waking up on the sand dune at the edge of the Sahara Desert was one of the highlights of this trip.


(Caro & Rob waking up on a sand dune in the Sahara desert)


("Il n'y a pas de problème")

We pushed the cars to get going in the sand, and drove back to Timbuktu. After breakfast and showers it was time to do the tour of the city. It was also 42 degrees C. (109 degrees F). Timbuktu was a grand city in the past: the center of learning in West Africa. Now the population is a third of the size, mud buildings are crumbling, and the sand is moving in. It makes you think that nothing is forever. Timbuktu was a hub for trade when wares came across the desert (salt, kola nuts, slaves, ivory, cloths), now that things come through the ports (the French set this up), Timbuktu is no longer important. Crazy to think that something like this might happen to NYC! In Timbuktu we saw two of the old mosques, the library with old scriptures that came from all over the Muslim world, the houses of the explorers, men in long blue boubous,…



(Famille Touareg)


(Toubabou in Timbuktu)


(The great ancient city of Tombouctou: the people are moving out and the sand is moving in).

In the afternoon a pinasse drove us up the river to a spot where we might see hippos. We passed villages along the Niger River crowned by their mosques, pinasses moving slowly with large square sails, fishermen polling their way through the water… And we did see the hippos – they pop up their heads and twirl their ears.

(We're off to look for Hippos).

Day 8 : Drive back to Mopti.
Timbuktu is far far away. And the distance seems even longer on the way back. The trip was uneventful except for when one of our cars lost control trying to pass a truck in the sand and nearly ran into that truck. My brother’s first words after getting out of the car were “Dom, don’t ever do this drive again.” It took the first European explorers 2 years to get to Timbuktu. This wasn’t bad. We were covered in dust head to toe though.


(A Touareg "campement" near Timbuktu).



(The road to Timbuktu is long, but there are many ways to travel).

Day 9: Ride back to Bamako : the bus out of space.
We took the 7 am Bani Transport bus back to Bamako. After 10 days of seeing donkey carts and cars that escaped the junkyards of Europe to find eternal life in Africa, the shiny jewel of a bus we were to take looked like it had fallen from space and landed amid the messy Mopti bus station. They were loading sheep, clay pots, and baskets on the other time & road beaten buses. Ours was a slick shiny silver machine with tinted windows.


(La fin - we return to Bamako on the bus out of space)

*** La fin du voyage...

(B, C, D & E in Dogon Country. Dad is at base camp).
We've traveled over 3000 km across Mali and are back in Bamako now. This was a whirl-wind tour of Mali. When in such a big group, moving so fast and renting vehicles (as opposed to taking public transport), you don’t meet as many "local" people. I think things easily then become just “landscape” and there is a certain disconnection between traveler and the place: the men going out to the field in donkey carts, the peul women carrying milk in squash bowls on their head to sell in town, the Touareg sitting with their head turbans at the wheel of old Landcruisers… are all just part of the scenery. But this was a **family** trip (plus a few friends). Also the first times I've traveled with my aunt and Markus. We got to spend 10 days together discovering Mali and it was incredibly interesting and a lot of fun. I will forever have fond memories of this aventure de famile. I am so glad my family came so that I could show them this fabulous country where I’ve been living for the last 2.5 years and that I am leaving soon. Plus, everyone did meet people outside of the group. And, most importantly, my European family and my Malian family finally got to meet.

("on mange! à table!")

Check out my old web site for more photos and stories.

http://www.geocities.com/dadom04/

Photos on trips North, South and to Dogon Country

Back in Bamako!
I did make it back to Bamako from my trip through Guinea, Sierra Leone and Liberia. I left Conakry (Guinea) at 4 pm on Friday evening. The volume of stuff (freezers, boxes of Chinese apparel, etc.) on top of the little bush-taxi was greater than the volume of the car itself. The poor old Peugeot struggled up the hills of the Fouta Djallon mountains with us and the stuff. And then predictably broke down. It was 9:30 pm, we were just100 km out of Conakry with 800 km to go to Bamako. We rolled to a stop next to a group of women selling mangos.


(The bush-Taxi I took from Conakry (Guinea) to Bamako (Mali). 30 hours ; 900 km).

We were there on the side of the road from 9:30pm till 4:30am while the mechanic, with his apprentice holding the flash-light, pieced the car apart and then together again. And then we were off like lightening -- ready to catch up the time lost.
Around 2pm on Saturday, the sun is pounding onto the roof of the car, the tarmac is blurry with heat. I notice that the car slows down and then speeds up again, and that we are floating all over the road. The driver pops in a “couper / décaler” tape (beat music from Côte d’Ivoire) and plays it really loud, but to no avail. He’s falling asleep… I don’t blame him, he’s been driving for almost 24 hours. So I start talking to him to keep him awake. He tells about what crooks the policemen in Guinea are. And he’s right from what I saw. As we excited Conakry we were stopped a dozen times by police in tired uniforms and flip-flops. Sometimes the driver didn’t even stop but only slowed down to hand single1,000 Guinean Franc bills to the cops (about 12 cents). What if you don’t pay? “Ils vont t’embeter et te faire perdre du temps (They’ll bother you and make you lose time).”


(En route to Mali).

We made it to the border before dark. There we drove into the courtyard of the “customs” station. The customs official greeted me “Coulibaly!” “Non, je suis Maiga,” I replied. It is the usual joking and teasing between last names which correspond to different ethnicities. Mali is incredible in that way: 60+ ethnicities all get along by making fun of each other. “Maiga! Maiga is no good. Maiga eats beans…” he replies. Such a nice and friendly guy, holding my hand and laughing. And the next minute putting on his customs official face and demanding that everything from the top of the vehicle be brought down. But eventually just asks what’s inside the boxes and the lady bringing back the fridge needs to pay 30.000 F.CFA (60 USD) as customs duty. Which of course is pocketed. The driver later explains to me that it is “un reseau” (a network). The customs official needs to give his boss in the city part of the cut or he will be transferred elsewhere. And the boss needs to give his boss also a cut, or he’ll be transferred. This is all the way to the top. Even government is the “informal sector” in West Africa.
A colleague of mine (and former parliament member of Mali) told me: “corruption is not “engrained” in the system, it is the system.”

After customs, immigration, police, health, gendarme, etc. We were on the road again driving through the night. Brush fires lit on both sides of the road. With the country turning into a desert, burning the little forest there is adds to the ecological disaster. But don’t get me started on environmental problems in Mali or this will turn into a very long blog…
Before getting to Bamako we were stopped at 2 more posts. The last one at the entrance to the city was at 11 pm at night. The official insisted that everything be brought down from the vehicle. We’d been on the road for more than 30 hours and beat. The sight of the fires burning the forest and then this bullshit made me so upset. The passengers and I vented our frustration and anger to each other, but we were relieved to have made it home.

LIBERIA...


(The poster in Liberia telling people to vote. They voted for Ellen, first woman president in Africa!).


(Our first impression of Monrovia... burnt houses, barbed wire/sand-bag UN check-points, burning trash, people on foot in the rain... For a minute Julie had second thoughts about moving here from the paradise-like Freetown Peninsula).


(A lamp post. Swiss-cheesed with bullet holes. The rebels and government forces fought in the outer neighborhoods of Monrovia. The Nigerian Troops eventually came and contributed to a cease-fire).


(Billboard in Monrovia).


(Billboard in Monrovia).


(I flew back from Monrovia (Liberia) to Conakry (Guinea), via Freetown (Sierra Leone) on the World Food Program plane. High above the dust, heat, and endless check-points...).


(The Guinean Forests -- stretch from Guinea, Sierra Leone, Monrovia and into Ivory Coast. I read that they are habitat to half of all mammal species in Africa. All, except for Guinea, are or were just recently in civil war).

SIERRA LEONE...


(Sierra Leone Vision -- people from all over the country sent in their art work to express their vision for a new post-war Sierra Leone).


(The Kreol town of York on the Freetown Peninsula. Founded in 1819 by african-american settlers)


(Kids who were missing their parents after the war. Poster on a community center in York, Sierra Leone).


(War in Paradise. The hotel was looted and burnt in the war. Freetown Peninsula, Sierra Leone).


(Freetown, Sierra Leone).


("White boy")


(Where ever there is fun, there's always Coca-cola. Sierra Leone).


("Prayer is the Key" Public Transport in Sierra Leone).


(The little girl said her name was Aminata and her dog Djenepo. The formed our welcoming committee in this village by Tiwai Island Sanctuary).


(On the road in Sierra Leone...)


(On the road to Liberia...)

boy was that sweet! taking the World Food Program (WFP) flight from Monrovia to Freetown to Conakry.

In Monrovia I and 6 other passengers checked in at the UN terminal of Roberts International Airport. Big UN helicopters on the runway. A contingent from Ethiopia was boarding these at the same time. They bring us in a Landcruiser to the plane and the pilot shakes everyones hand to welcome us. The plane is tiny and has only 10 seats. Cessna 208B. It says "Humanitarian Air Service" on the side and UN on the tail. We take off and fly over the Guinean Forests and rivers at 1000m. Beautiful sight.
In 1.5 hours we were in Freetown-- seeing the ocean and the hills of the Freetown Peninsula. It is such a small plane that you can feel the bumps in the tarmac as we taxi to the hangar. We got out for 15 min and took on some new passengers, and then took off again for Conakry. In Conakry, WFP folk were there to help us through customs and immigration and in no time at all we were out on the streets of Conakry. I took a taxi to the hotel. I can't believe how easy that was when I think back to the trip down overland. no dust, heat, infinite border crossings, ...


There is a fuel shortage in Conakry. Taxi's are lining up at the gas stations and the streets are relatively empty of traffic (for Conakry which usually has horrendous traffic). I'm going to get lunch and later try to go to the beach. Friday I am headed to Bamako (by bush-taxi).

The BBC profile on Liberia:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/country_profiles/1043500.stm

(thanks dad)

There are 15,000 UN troops here in Liberia. Representing over 40 countries. Apparently it is the UN's largest (or most expensive?) deployment ever.

Last night Julie and I went to a house warming party hosted by a Felipino UNMIL (UN Military) woman. We met lots of members of the Felipino contingent (they told us there are over 200 of them, each individual only for 4 to 8 months). We also met the Nigerian Commandor. A super nice lot. You can imagine the house: a dozen white UN Toyota Landcruisers parked out front... and Julie's car. We sang karaoke with the Felipino and had Felipino food. It was great.

Before the dinner Julie and I were sitting at the beach (again, the parking lot of the place looked like a white SUV convention -- I cannot get over how many there are!), drinking Club Beer (brewed in Monrovia!). We went swimming in the warm waters of the Atlantic and tanned; it really felt like we were on vacation.

I am in a hurry to get back to Bamako because my Guinea visa expires on the 6th of May and I need to be at work on Monday. All weekend I was trying to get different people's recommendations for leaving this country and weighing different options ("how's the road?" "Is the border open?" "What are the bush-taxis like?" "How often to they run?" "Are there a lot of check-points?"...).

It is a little complicated. I can either go north across Liberia and straight into Southern Guinea by bush taxi (cross the border at Ganta). And from there to Bamako (still 900 km). Or back across the border to Sierra Leone, and from Freetown on to Conakry and onto Bamako by bush taxi... Each route has pros and cons. The interior of Liberia and southern Guinea would be great to see. The "Guinean forests" (of Liberia, Guinea and Ivory Coast) host 50% of all mammal species in Africa. However, I know the other route already (and could, if I had left Sunday, gotten a ride with a GTZ vehicle from Freetown to Conakry on Tuesday)...

Either way, a long way overland. So I am risking running late and trying my shot at getting onto the wednesday morning World Food Program flight to Conakry via Freetown (it is free!). It took me all day to get authorization from UNDP - Liberia to be on the flight (get UNDP - Mali to confirm that I work for them), but I need to check tomorrow afternoon if I made it (priority being given to those that are going on official business). If I didn't I will choose the route across Liberia and into Southern Guinea....

i am in monrovia! ellen's country.

it was a hell of a trip to get here (600 km from Freetown). actually, it probably just seems so because of the border crossing. on the sierra leone side we had to get out of the car, and show our documents 9 times (julie and i tried to recount afterwards). these "immigration" "customs" "police" "health post" or whatever (bamboo pole across the road, bamboo hut, offials lounging in uniforms ... the usual) started about 30 miles before we got to the border. and then got more and more dense as we got close.

we did make it across without any issues (our laisser-passer viewed a million times and our information recorded almost a dozen times), crossed the bridge that seperates the country (a phat UN tank and Namibian "casque blue" guard post on it) and then were met by a GTZ vehicule on the other side. We followed them to Manrovia and they dealt with the logistics for us for most of the other stops on the Liberian side (how can there be customs and immigration 100 miles into the country and every 20 km?!). A lot of UN posts as well (cement bags with barbed wire, a white tank and a casque blue or two). They never stopped us, but apparently do at night.

But I have to say, the various officials were over all friendly ("welcome to Liberia!" "May you have a good stay!") and introduced themselves as friends. Also very rigurous about entering our data in their logbooks! yet never checked the back of the car to see what we were carrying!

the Sierra Leone side was unpaved (red soil road/track through the jungle/forest past mud hut villages). We didn't see a single other vehicule all day! On the Liberia side the road is paved. The GTZ guy who met us said "Liberia used to be great. It was 'little America'" (this before Charles Taylor and the war).

Now Manrovia is again bustling and coming to life. There a plenty of burnt out buildings, but the city is full of shops with consumer goods, cell phones work better than in bamako, the UNMIL is based in a huge administrative building behind cement walls.... I've never seen so many white UN vehicules in my life. They are all driving around the city.

Today Julie and I went to explore the city a bit with her car. We got stopped by the police twice. I don't think they've ever seen foreign plates here. They were all friendly (David, Anthony, Joseph, Tony)... wanted little bribes (which they didn't get) or eventually just Julie's phone number! We bought a chain & lock for Julie's spare tire and after we were tired of that went to the beach. Burnt out hotels on perfect sand beaches and among palms trees. Again, they fought a war in Paradise.

Last night we met up with International Rescue Committee folks (some of which Julie worked with in Sierra Leone). Tonight we are going out for drinks and an International Red Cross party.

I need to figure out a way to get out of here and back to Mali (I got a new contract there for may - august!). The whole road back through liberia, sierra leone, guinea and mali ! oh boy. :)

Photos!
(these photos relate to some of the stories told below)...



(In the Fouta Djallon, Guinea, with Mme Sow who invited us to eat mangos).



(To the Island Roomie off the coast of Conakry, Guinea. It is heaven and only 18 hours of bushtaxi from Bamako!)



(The biodiversity rich Fouta Djallon Mountains, Guinea. Unfortunately threatened by deforestation -- see the smoke).



(The "taxi-brousse" passing each other through the hills of Guinea. These are the transports I used to get from Bamako to Conakry to Freetown. Some 1500 km.)


(The fishng port in Conakry).

am in freetown! i'm staying with some of julie's friends (she moved out of her place last month as she was about to leave..) and i told the guys that i had come from bamako overland. Overland?! they were impressed. when i told them I'd come overland by Bush-taxi (rather than private car), they were even more impressed. but actually the journey all in all wasn't as grueling as i thought it would be (cramped in taxi-brousse for hours/days) and i am glad i got to see the transition of climate, vegetation, village architecture, people...


i'm sitting in julie's office in the GTZ building looking at freetown through the window. it is raining here, so not much fun for exploring or going to the beach. we're planning to go to the beach and the chimp reserve this weekend.

i talked to 2 college students (friends of julie's boyfriend) about the war yesterday. they say they dont want to talk about it. don't want to remember a thing. or say if they were to start talking theyd talk for 6 months. "we lived by the grace of god."

the war lasted for 13 years in the country, but in the city of freetown came only towards the end. yet 13 years, that is really the whole childhood of these youths. i am amazed by the urge to move on. my first impression of freetown when i arrived on Tuesday night by bush-taxi was that it was a party town. beat music coming out of the road -side stores, the public transport minivans (or "potpots") brightly painted and blaring hip-hop, and youths in hip american rap clothes gleaming and strolling like it were saturday night. There is no electricity and very little running water throughout the city. folks or businesses that can afford it have generators. otherwise things are sold by candle light.

julie says that when she first got here that were no billboards. now the place is plastered with them. Coca-cola and Celltel. The market is crowded with people selling imported clothes, shoes, radios, phones, etc. the fibrancy of the private sector. much of it controlled by lebanese (like the diamond trade).

I hung out with the Sierra Leone students all day yesterday. They were so anxious to show me their university. the place looked like it hadn't received any investment or renovation since the 60s. old chairs and black boards, rusted broken windows. they point out a building that was burnt during the war.

We also drove by the special court for sierra leone. double line of concrete walls. barbed wires, video cameras and watch posts with asian looking military men. Two-thirds of he front page of the Standard Times was covered by the words "Charles Taylor's Concubine arrives in Town." She's here to give support to her lover. He's here on trial for human rights abuses. Julie's friends we are staying with all work at the Court. we later went out to dinner at this expensive restaurant and met other friends of hers (i think the lebanese - sierra leone party at the table next to us smoking cubans were doing a diamonds deal or selling some other one of sierra leones rich natural resources...).

there are a number of resorts on the beach. in fact it is gorgeous here. soft sand, palms, curving shore. the resorts were built before the war. one of them is used as UN headquarters. we went swimming in the pool of one of the resorts. an east-european and a lebanese family were there. it had that air of having been glamorous and beautiful in the past, but now feels empty.

later julie and i went to a little palm frond sort of bar with tables in the sand. we ordered Sierra Leone "Star" beers, dug our feet into the sand to chat and listen to the surf. In so many it could or is paradise here. Enough rains, arable soils, forests, fish... Coming from Mali, it seems like heaven. the cliche phrase describing much of Africa always comes to mind: "wonderful people, bad government." how bad things can get messed up because of bad governments...