*** 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!")