November 25, 1999 Bamako, Mali - Lebanese mission In the morning, we had two visitors to our camp sight. They were two skinny truck drivers on their way to Nara and had camped near by. One of them had a portable radio that he turned on and held up to his ear whenever no one was talking to him. When I stepped out of my tent, I walked over, and greeted them, with the standard, "Bonjour, cava? cava bien, cava? cava bien. and then to the other person, "bonjour, cava? cava bien, cava? cava bien." shaking of hands, followed by a touching of the heart to show sincerity, smiling all the while. This procedure reproduced for each person. They didn't speak much French, and neither did I, so that was it. Andreas had greeted them as well, however since they were really uninvited guests loitering around our camp sight, Jorg and Jim ignored them. They hung around for a while watching us move about from a respectable distance. When a third one showed up, all of us focused on packing up. With too many wandering our camp, our ability to keep an eye on our stuff would be diminished. In the end though, they were just curious. They seemed to get a kick out of seeing how our tent poles collapsed. I was eating my bread, and rather than just eat in front of them, I offered them a piece. One declined, and the other two accepted more out of courtesy than interest. They were in a truck which likely had a lot more to eat than we could carry. A little ways down the road, we were passing people all headed in the same direction. They were travelling on foot, by donkey cart and bicycle. 20km later, I could see where they were going. It was market day in xxxxx. Its watermelon season. There were more watermelons for sale than I've ever seen before. The market sold other vegetables, bicycle parts, meat, etc. The four of us bought a watermelon, onions, tomato, bread, cookies and Nescafe, and headed out of town where we could eat in peace. We found a wonderful mango tree, with a large canopy that provided excellent shade. We had a Thanksgiving day feast. The world feast is relative to what one is use to.... The delicious watermelon was a treat. We got out the camp stove and cooked up the onions and tomato with some oregano, basil, and black pepper. This was spread on our bread. Jorg and Andreas found some canned herring and sardines in town for very cheap. The labelling said that it was a food donation gift from Norway, and not for sale. We had plenty of water, and made as much Nescafe as we could stomach, and then pigged out on the cookies. I had decided if we made it to Bamako early enough I would see if I could get all of us into the US embassy for a turkey feast. Despite turkeys not existing in this country, there was little doubt in my mind the embassy would have some. [Later note: we got into Bamako too late and too tired. A weeks and a half later, I did talk to the acting US ambassador to Mali who said they did have a big feast, and that I would have been more than welcome] As we were preparing to leave our mango tree feast, I discovered that my rear subframe had broken. With my Tesch luggage rack supporting it, the subframe attaches to the main frame in 6 points, loosing one point didn't seem to serious, however there was still a lot of corrugation left to drive over. The subframe had broken where it bolts to the main frame. The hole where the bolt goes through was a weak point. With everyone's help, the four of us contorted my subframe back into position, which would have to do for now. It appears the my subframe must have bent slightly, as reattaching it slid the fender to the point where the tire rubbed against it. We packed up and headed to Bamako. The road was so dusty that we couldn't follow each other with in eye sight. We decided we would sync up about every half hour. The corrugated road meant we had to drive fast to stay on top of the bumps. At speeds of 60-80kph, the occasional deep pothole were like land mines. My bike went in one, and the resulting forces ejected my rear end high in the air. Fortunately the bike continue to track straight forward, and so the bike stayed up. I really do love these Michelin desert tires off pavement. I decided to cool it a bit after my ejection and rear subframe the way it was. Jim who said he was use to this kind of corrugation back home in Australia went on ahead. Jorg was feeling more comfortable now, and also went on ahead. Andreas on his Honda XR600 puttered on behind me. Jim, Jorg and I arrived at the checkpoint before Bamako where the sloppy officious officials might ask for passport and carnet, or might get distracted and not bother. We stopped to wait for Andreas. 45 minutes passed, and we were getting a bit worried. A pickup truck stopped, relaying a barely comprehendable message that Andreas had had problems with his bike. However he wasn't hurt. Minutes later a second vehicle also carried the same message. Apparently he was 20-45km back depending on who in the truck one talked to. Jorg, who had taken on the responsibility for the motorcycle repair for the two of them decided he alone would go back. (His profession was that of an independent vintage English motorcycle mechanic in Munich). He told Jim and I to go ahead and that he would take care of it. We gave him our spare water, and we took some of his miscellaneous luggage lightening his load for the nasty corrugation. Andreas's XR600's entire rear subframe had fallen. It severed in three of four places. When Jorg had found him, Andreas was driving along standing on his foot pegs (there is no seat without a rear subframe). His rear subframe was being held up off his rear wheel by a bungee cord. All of his luggage he had managed to tie up around his front handlebars. They limped into our stay for the night at 9pm, 3.5 hours behind us. We stayed at a place that was called the Lebanese missionary. There was nothing religious about it. It was a compound with several rooms, a camping area, and an excellent traveller hangout area. The bikes were safely parked and easily accessible within the compound, and being downtown we were within easy walking distance to most places. It was run by one uncharismatic mercedes driving overweight lebanese who's only dealing with the place was to collect money. That night Jim and I went out to the telephone office. It was important for me to call home since it was Thanksgiving. Two guys guided us there. They had said they were in a band, of which Jim was interested in seeing them play tonight. I declined postponing for another night after some much needed rest. After our phone calls, we walked back to our hotel... Jim stayed outside the complex door talking to these friendly guys. The same ones in the next paragraph... The next morning.... Jim said some locals 'extorted' 1000 CFA (US$1.66) from him, and that they were threatening, and calling him a racist. I never got the full story, but these were the same two that I had breakfast with at the patisarie the following morning, not yet knowing the problems that Jim had. He was to the point where he wanted to carry the pepper spray that he had brought along. Later, we talked, and Jim decided that the cause may have been his sour mood and low expectation of the locals. i.e. think someone is out to rip you off; treat them so, and then they just might, or Treat them well, be friendly and tolerant, and nothing may happen. That seemed to be the case for Jim and I. I certainly had no problem with these two. Projecting your destiny.... I stopped in a nice pastry shop that catered to well off Malians. I got excited when I saw a professional/commercial espresso maker that could produce four cups at a time. I had been drinking Nescafe since Mauritania. I ordered a cafe espresso. I was a bit bummed to see the clerk packed the espresso cup with Nescafe. I visited a welder to get the rear subframe fixed. Unfortunately, it had already bent a bit from the break and rough riding, so that pushing it back into place made the rear tire misalign with the mud guard. Instead I just had the welder add a small extension fix for 1000 ($1.66) The welder was a good size black African, who wore Ray-Ban style sunglasses to protect his eyes from the arc-welder UV-light. He wore a nice green Nike jogging suit. While many locals pick their teeth with a straight twig which is about the same length, but skinnier than a wooden pencil, our welder had a huge stick in his mouth equivalent in size to a Churchill cigar. He chewed on it with little care, as he had white wood fiber chunks pasted to his lips from saliva. Obviously his concentration level in his welding work was such that any dignity held in his appearance was an afterthought, and didn't notice the wood chips on his lips. Rather than ask how much he wanted for the job, and risk hearing some outrageous amount which was what I learned to expect as a foreigner in Mauritania, I just handed him 1000CFA ($1.66), which he accepted with a silent short nod. Unlike the many welders who preceded him working on the two bikes, I thought he did a pretty mediocre job. Jim found a crack in his rear subframe, where it had already been reinforced, and took it to the same welder for the same price. Andreas had negotiated with a motorcycle repair place that a volunteer guide had led him to. After an initial price of 20,000, he was satisfied with his negotiated price of 15,000. I had politely suggested he might be able to get it cheaper, and possibly a better job if went straight to a welder. The motorcycle shop removed two bolts, and then wheeled it over to a welder. The motorcycle shop repair owner didn't have the money to pay the welder directly, so Andreas did it. The fee for the welder who did 98% of all the work was 2,000CFA. Andreas was clearly bitter about having paid too much. I suspect he was thinking of European labor costs during negotiations. Visited a cyber cafe and caught up mail and latest news on the stock market that seems to be burning up. November 27, 1999 Segou, Mali - D'A hotel The road from Bamako to Segou was 235km of like new paved asphalt. It was our first paved road in Mali outside of the streets of Bamako. Segou is an attractive quiet shade covered town along the Niger river. There appears to be a lot of government functions here as well as military bases. There are several nice hotels relative to Mali standards. After checking out several, we chose one on the edge of town with a quiet courtyard. For 8,000CFA (4k each), we got a cement block room with two twin size beds each with mosquito nets, and private bathroom, with the cleanest shower yet seen in Mali, stocked with 100% polyester towels, used soap, and a left over roll of toilet paper. This was by far one of the best values yet. We turned on the A/C to cool down the room while we were out for dinner. We had to raise our voices a bit to hold a conversation as the huge but barely cooling compressor sounded as loud as an idling semi-trailer truck in the room. For dinner I ordered a half chicken and fries. I had forgotten where I was, and expected that to be enough. It was quite obvious that this chicken was a free range desert chicken free of any steroids. I dug around my half chicken, and came up with a meat fiber. Consolidating my findings I think I came up with two regular size bites out of this entire half chicken. I filled up on two additional plates of french fries. In addition to the local Castel beer from Bamako, Mali had Guiness Stout which I ordered tonight. It was sour like no other Guiness I have tried before. This was the first and last time I order Guinness in Mali. After dinner, we both put in our ear plugs so we could sleep over the sound of the air conditioner. November 28, 1999 Djene, Mali - Hotel Baba Jim had woken up an hour before me, and hung out in the dark in our room. Despite wanting to hang out in the nice garden courtyard, he couldn't get out of the room. After I had awaken, we spent the next 5 minute trying to open the door, and didn't succeed until Jim got out his letherman. Fortunately, we did have a set of pliers in the room, or else we would have been banging on the gray painted all-steel door which was strong enough to keep wild inmates in. The tribal villages along the way from Segou to Djene changed in architecture. While the construction materials were still sun dried mud brick, often with thatched twigs for a roof, previously there were round mud brick elevated grain silos, with their homes nearby all usually enclosed in a wall. Now, the villages had square small houses with thatched roofs that were elevated. It was later explained to me that the later were Bxxx, and the former were Fxxx towns. They were grain silos, and each wife of the polygamous husband will have their own grain silo/storage. We drove up the road to Djene (pronounced something like "Jennay"). The town is on an island. The road to Mopti branches, and extends over a swamp/wetland area before it terminates at a ferry head way. I paid 2000CFA ($3.20) for a round trip ticket on this ferry. The ferry goes back and forth probably every half hour. The red german army surplus truck from our convoy back in Daklah, Mauritania had arrived this morning for the market in Djene. Unfortunately, five of them had contracted malaria in Nouakchott, and after we were in our hotel room found out that those five were right next door. It was worse than buying realestate next to a leper colony, since leprosy is less contagious. The five who were sick were fortunately tucked away under their mosquito net. all afternoon sleeping. Occasionally they would come out sweaty flushed and looking pretty tired. Jim and I decided to start on the Larium prophylactic immediately, since the ease of contracting malaria would be pretty high. I put up my mosquito net, wishing I had prepared it with that permethrin I bought in Austin, and carried to Holland, but never used. And then during dinner, I popped one of the expired Larium pills I've been carrying since Spring of '97, but have never taken. I still have chloroquine from Central America, but don't remember the resistant areas of Africa, and will error on caution despite Larium side effects. When I asked the question of what the five afflicted were on, I was told a variety of Larium, chloroquine, and paludrine... however I didn't find out if that was before or after being affected, and so have no idea what the strain they have may or may not be resistant to.... Despite the warmth, I got out my long sleeve shirt, Avon Skin-So-Soft mosquito repellent. Jim wanted to eat out from our hotel, since he figured the dining outside would be a prime time for contracting. Toured the town. Like other towns, the walls, and home are all built of sun dried mud brick. Often with thatched roofs. The mosque in town is one of the largest mud mosques in Africa, and looks very much like the mud mosques I've been driving by in all of the towns. The locals fish in long canoe type boats. They toss out a net, and pull it in bringing in little fish from the Niger river. For dinner, Nile Perch was what we ate. Jim who has a minor interest in ichthyology stemming from his child hood days of raising and selling tropical fish, explained to me how this Nile Perch which is distinguished by it's four nostrils, and is a very bright fish that raises its young in it's mouth for protection, has been the source of extinction for several other indigenous fish species in Africa. Regardless, it tasted quite good. It was served with a sauce special to the Djene area, which also happens to be the same sauce we had on rice for lunch. Notes on the Sahel/Savannah South of Nara, in the savannah, I've commonly been seeing fascinating baobab trees with huge (2m) trunks that taper off quickly into a gnarled tangle. Given there trunk size, they seem short. Apparently they have leaves in the dry season which is opposite of many of the tree species of the area. The baby baobab tree grow as very thick short trunks. A seedling might be 4 inches in diameter and a foot high. very unusual. Acacia thorn trees are very common, and I always steer around fallen branches for fear that an acacia will puncture my tire. However the biggest menace has been the burr grass. I don't know what it is called. At first it looks like a form of crab grass that grows more upward than outward. However, a single plant will have many burs just waiting for an unsuspecting passerby. The burs will penetrate skin, and sometime leave their needles which results in a painful splinter requiring a pair of tweezers to remove. Jim had some buried and abscessed in his hand. One night of camping in of these fields is enough to dissuade one from choosing it again. These burs are the biggest problem of West Africa I've encountered. There is a great diversity of cultures in Mali. Each tribe has their own language which usually is quite different from another. Dress, building styles, festivals, religion, ways of doing things are quite different. They use French as their common language for talking to each other. Dogon - have unexplainable knowledge of astronomy, see later info. Live in one of the most beautiful areas of Mali Bozo - The only fishing tribe of Mali Touarag - caucasoids of the desert. very proud people. desert nomads, economy is based on camels, trade and piracy. Other tribes look on them as very lazy. Bella - black slave of the Touarag. work for food. Foulani - cattle herders. men wear the chinese-like leather/woven hat. Missionaries say that Foulanis have the worst food. That's why they are always so skinny. Men won't eat in front of woman. Bambara - people are common around Bamamko Songhi - Former rulers of a Malian empire. Current chief of Djene. note on greetings... some of the groups have some of the longest greetings which may involve 5-10 interchanges... How are you, good, how are you, did you sleep well, did you have a good day, blah blah.. sometimes its done with so little emotion that it seems entirely ritual. Mac later explained despite being lengthy, it's considered rude not to drop what one is doing and go into one of these greetings when someone walks in the presence of others. November 29, 1999 Sevare, Mali - Mac's Refuge The Monday market of Djene which we were under the impressions was to be the largest market in West Africa really didn't get going until around 10am, and then it was still growing. Boats of goods and people were still arriving on the river. The market was a local one with goods of interest to locals available, various foods, including dried fish, rice, etc, toiletries, clothes, medicines, tools, etc. No artisan type things that tourists might be interested in. The people at the market were a large mix of Malian ethnic groups. We left around 2pm, boarded the ferry and drove to Severe. After some difficulty, we found Mac's refuge. Mac has been running a sort of Malian bed and breakfast for the past year. Son of American missionaries who were also children of American missionaries, he's spent most of his life in Mali, speaks several of the local languages, but is culturally American. Interestingly, his daughter did her PhD in psychology with a dissertation on culturally displaced individuals who grow up in third world (missionary or military kids), and how they cope/ feel at home when they are adults. Arriving at Mac's was wonderful. Mac prepared a wonderful feast of home type foods, all too dangerous to eat on the street. All of his fresh fruits vegetables and lettuce have been washed in a water bleach solution which doesn't affect taste, but does remove the dysentery. As I learned over the next week, it is normal at Mac's to have very interesting people dining together making for very interesting conversations. Of the first night... Dennis is a professor of Linguistics at Berkeley specializing on Inuit languages. Koh (sp?) is a Dutch guy who owns and leases several antarctic and arctic touring vessels. Mac, the owner of Mac's Refuge, is the son of American missionary parents, and the grandson of missionary grandparents. and has lived 40/60 years of his life in Mali. He speaks several of the local languages, has studied West African History, and knows a great deal of the local cultures. All of the above were well rounded in their knowledge. It was a great night for interesting conversation. Koh seemed very familiar (size, ownership, crew, make, etc) with all ships that tour the antarctic. The ship that Jim went on in '98 is now run by Koh's company... however wasn't at the time. Koh was Dutch, and seemed a very worldly kind of guy, doing quite a bit of exploration in the Antarctic. He impressed me as a Jacque Costou kind of explorer, However, I'm not sure if it would be fair to Koh to categorize him as such. He certainly didn't show any need to impress anyone, or signs of insecurities. Dennis reminded me of being at home in a University town. He was the type of guy who commits his life to learning.... a professional academic with a very polite and slightly nerdy, and an ability to recall very in depth information subjects outside his expertise. They asked about my experiences of crossing Mauritania and Mali, and about what I found interesting. Dennis's interest was more with the geo-physical discoveries, while Koh's more on the cultural. Given their respective professions, both of their interests were the exact opposite of what I might expect. Mac mentioned how a local tribe, called the Dogon have a tradition of renewing the world during the sigui feast which amounts to passing on the stories and historical events of their people to the younger generation. This is a special event that happens every fifty years, and has been on going for the past 500 or so years. Po Tolo is the Dogon name of the star that determines when this sigui feast will occur. In the Western world, Po Tolo is called Sirius and is located 8.5 light years away. The Dogon myth tells of a smaller invisible orbiting object called "Po" which is also heavier than Po Tolo (Sirius), influences Po Tolo's orbit, and has a period of 50 years. This century, it was discovered that Sirius has in orbit around it a white dwarf called Sirius B which has a period of 50 years. This white dwarf is invisible to the naked eye. We spent some time this evening coming up with hypothesis on how the Dogon people would know this period dating back 500 years ago. The range of ideas was extensive... A puzzle game for an intellectual academic's entertainment. For future reading: In the Dogon legend, Po Tolo (Sirius) has two other satellites (planets?), which today by the western knowledge have not yet been discovered. It'll be interesting to find out what theories come out if Sirius does turn out to have two more satellites. The theory I like best is that Dogon territory happens to be pretty close to Timbuktu which happens to be one of the greatest trading points of the millennium, and at one time contained a great University. One doesn't have to look to extra-terrestrials for ideas. Once apparent information about Sirius B's period may have emanated from anywhere in Afro-EurAsia. When did Sirius B go Nova? and collapse? was it this Millennia? Factoids: Mali is one of the heaviest populated countries with missionaries and peace corp volunteers. I had heard that in this small (how small?) area alone, there are 60 peace core volunteers (PCV's as they are call themselves). 154 in Mali? There are few other countries that have more. November 30, 1999 Sevare, Mali - Mac's Refuge Went into town to check out our options for going to Timbuktu. By boat takes two nights. There are two kinds, a "large boat" has cabins, and the other is a long boat called a "penache?". The later is cheaper and departs more regularly, however it sounds like rough cramped travelling that's next to impossible to sleep on. The large boats leaves Mopti on Thursday, and arrive on Saturday. They leave Timbuktu on Thursday and arrive in Mopti on Sunday. The Cost depends on class... 4th class to luxury class ranges from 5,000 - 75,000. I would probably go with 1st at 41,000. Flight from Mopti to Timbuktu departs Tuesday and Saturday. From Timbuktu to Mopti, they depart on Wednesday and Sunday. Cost is 48,000 + taxes each way, or 75,000 from Bamako. We decided to fly, since time is short. I drove in town to a telephone boutique to give my mom a call on her birthday. The little shop had one copy machine, one fax, and one telephone with an LCD meter hooked up to it. I dialed directly to the states, and the meter ticked off the cost by seconds in front of me as my mom's answering machine greeted me. My entire phone call was a little over 20 seconds, and cost 2325 CFA (US$4) Two Canadian missionaries were spending the night tonight. Also the regional head of the peace corps who had met Mac in the bank today was there. He heard about our travels by motorcycle, and came by for dinner to meet us and ask us about our trip. He was contemplated taking a motorcycle from here to Spain. December 1, 1999 Banani, Mali - Chief Domo's house Since our flight to Timbuktu wasn't until Saturday, we decided to spend the time out in Dogon country. Since Mac had grown up in Dogon country and was very familiar with it's language and culture, he was the perfect person to ask. He gave us a route to take, and suggested a place to stay. He suggested staying with the Domo, the chief of the village of Banani... We followed the red road out of town to Bandiagara. The road was 80km of corrugated dirt with a little sand. After we passed Bandiagara, the play on my rear brake felt odd as if it was fluctuating. I pulled over. Wheh!!! good thing too! My rear wheel was falling off. The four lug nuts had unscrewed themselves, and the rear wheel was wobbling. This is the first time that ever happened. There was little doubt in my mind that this was becuase of the after market 5mm spacer that I had inserted in there to allow for the extra wide Michelin Desert tire to fit. I seem to remember reading in the instructions that the spacer was not intended for use on a highway, only off road. I wondered if this might be the reason. That is, at low speed off road, one would likely realize their tire is going to fall off than at high speeds on a highway. While not practical to follow this rule, I was left with great paranoia until I could properly take care of it. I tightened the bolts pretty tight, and decided I would put some loctite on them next opportunity I had. My imaginination of the effect of my rear tire falling off while riding was merciless... B-grade movie syndrome. >From Bandiagara we drove on to Sanga Twice passing beautifully dammed creek beds that provided a lush green area. One of which at Sangha was used to irrigate lush picturesque onion fields. The terrain changed from sand savannah to rocky hill ridges, with dry river beds in some places, and lush green beautiful rivers that flowed over boulders.... Most beautiful area of Mali, and not very inhabited. Following Mac's suggestion, when we arrived in Banani, we asked for Domo, the Dogon chief of this village. We were led by several local Dogons to his house. The terrain of the road was a very rough rock bed that was tricky to drive over for fear that the front wheel might lock to one side, or one of the large rocks would roll while the bike was rolling over it. By the time we arrived at the chiefs house, there was already a crowd of about twenty. Domo was quite distinguishable from the rest. He was a serene gray hair elder who wore a distinguishing blue tunic. We greeted him in French using the local sincere civilities. He directed us where we should put our motorcycles, and then invited us in, through a dark corridor to an inner courtyard. A table was laid out in front of us, and three chairs were set. Two were short wood chairs, and the other a more comfortable looking hand woven, but metal frames chair. Two boys laid out a green checked table clothe. A boy brought over a bucket of water, and Domo indicated that it was for us to wash our hands. He then offered us something to drink from his kerosene refrigerator. I had a sprite and Jim had an apple soft drink. Domo sat down with us drinking a sprite. Another guy brought over a bottle opener. The three of us sat at this table in the courtyard. Off to one side, eight sat respectfully silent and watching, each sitting on their own short stool. It was now the time for talking, and Domo asked what we wanted. I told him that Mac had sent us, and presented him with Mac's card. It seemed either the chief couldn't read or had poor eye sight. An older man who had been sitting on a short stool in the courtyard came over and Domo handed the card to him. This old man read the words on it slowly and seemingly without meaning. Mac's parents mission was just on top of the cliff, and he had spent all of his childhood growing up in this region. We told the chief that we were interested in a place to sleep. That was fine, and he later showed us our choice of three rooms, or a place to put up a tent. The chief then asked if we wanted to eat, Mac's had earlier suggested chicken, which was now my reply. Jim filled in that all Dogon food would be fine. We drank our drinks. Domo took a token few sips from his sprite. In the far background was a woman half Domo's age pounding millet. Domo introduced her as the woman. He told her to come over, and she shook hands with us, greeting us in French. He gave her the rest of his sprite. Given our French, conversation was limited. After our drinks, Domo suggested we get our things and set up tent. Good timing since it was near sunset. A chief from another village came by. Spoke English... All people their listened closely to a tape of Dogon music. The music was fast moving to a mono tone semi-irregular drum beat. A chorus of woman would sing followed by an occasional reply of a chorus of men. Angha really got into it and would sort of dance while sitting shaking his hands out in front of his body, saying this was really good.. I asked him what the words meant. He said... "if you put a log in the water... and pull it out in a few years, it will not be an alligator, but rather still a log.... You can trust your family... your uncle is always your uncle, your aunt is always your aunt, The man with the big money will not last... trust your family.... Don't argue with your spouse in the street, keep your problems inside the family.." Dinner was served... The dinner was the stringiest toughest chicken I've ever eaten. I believe they feed them a special latex grain, which toughens them and makes them more rubbery. I think these could be marketed back home as a sort of dieter's chicken. More calories are burned attempting to cut, tear off, and chew than is actually gained from consumption. I enjoyed the sauce which was made from baobab(?) tree leaves, and a sort of weed looking pink pod plant. The sauce was intended to be eaten with Toe... Toe was a dish most like raw bread dough, however it was made from millet and was brown in color. One would pinch off a manageable blow from the big blob in the communal large bowl. Then it would be dipped in the baobab sauce which has a strange viscous quality thick and slightly gelatinous. A PVC I met later described it as snot, and I knew what she was talking about. Notes: The Malians should petition for an Olympic woman's arm wrestling. I'm sure they would win every year. Xena lookout. woman are strong.... especially the ones that pound the millet with a giant pestle. They generally have very well defined arms, shoulders and backs. I suppose anyone would like that if they lifted a small telephone pole 500 times a day. Malian woman also don't seem to a bit shy about being topless. Unintentially I'll notice this walking or driving by a home and seeing the woman out in the yard or while they are washing clothes. However never when carrying things to market... Many of the kids have enormous outy belly buttons. The largest are the size of tennis balls. It's smooth bulbous skin. The Dogon statues all have belly buttons... a feature almost as important as having a nose. I haven't seen any adults with this same type of belly button. December 2, 1999 Bamini, Mali toured on foot Dogon area. Walked along the escarpment/cliff along the villages.... We walked from the village of Banani SE along the cliff to and through Pegue Ireli Tirili Nombori Yowaa Previous to the Dogon living in this region, another racial group called the Talem lived along the escarpment. The Talem built granaries into the cliffs out of the reach of anyone who isn't a rock climber. I was thinking that this would be a great idea if one was concerned about another tribe pillaging one's village. The grain stored in the cliffs is very difficult to get with any speed. The Talem people no longer live here. At the foot of the granaries now exist Dogon huts. While we were there, someone was being buried into the cliff. The Dogon do not store their grain up there like the Talem do, but rather in small silos on the ground. Both build their grain stores such that they have very small entrances such that little can be removed with speed giving some protection from thieves. The long hike for the day left me seriously dehydrated. I had brought two liters with me. Over our long lunch rest, I drank 5 bottles of pop. When we returned, I drank a 1.5 liter bottle of water in about 5 minutes. I've been experiencing a strange sensation around the Sahara desert. Within moments of quenching my thirst, my pores open up and sweat start dripping. Previous to this my skin was mostly dry. It's as if I'm a sieve. We had couscous with Dogon sauce for dinner. While I thought i didn't mind the Dogon sauce the first night, the second I found it a bit disturbing. The spices used, which I believe are from the baobab tree i had begun to associate with the smell of the Dogon toilets. It's one of those spices that doesn't change in scent after it has passed through the human digestive system. The association in my mind made it more difficult to consume. After dinner, several of the men got out the same small ghetto blaster they used last night, and played casette tapes of Dogon music strong in moral preaching lyrics. I wondered what it would have been like before electricity and tape players, i.e. if they would have created this music on the spot. Note: Some of the locals were really keen on me checking their goods. I ended up buying a statue god pair called "Jenny de l'eau", or maybe "Djene de l'eau" (Water Jenny). The most noticible feature of the god of water and rain is that the chin and mouth narrowly swoops down the the length of the body. The sold both male and female representations. A month later, I was surprised to see in East Africa (Kenya), this same feature of elongated swooping chin representing the god of rain. I think it was far to similar to be a coincidence. The next morning on our way back to Severe, the corrugated road took it's toll on Jim's bike. The Al Jesse panniers mounted on it are held in place by two points. A large steel plate which made up one of these points fractured. His pannier went tumbling away. We strapped the pannier onto his passenger seat with bungee cords, and were able to continue riding. Those panniers were the most expensive bad idea of the trip. Their bad engineering has cost many visits to a welder. ---- Dave Thompson http://www.roadkill.com/~davet/worldtrip ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com