December 4, 1999 Timbuktu, Mali - Bouctou Hotel At 6:40am, we climbed aboard Mac's taxi to take us to the airport, 3km away. Mac's Taxi was a two wheeled donkey cart powered by a single donkey and driven by one of Mac's helpers. We sat on the open bed flat surface with our luggage bouncing along at a good walking pace contemplating the benefits of doing a trans-African journey by donkey cart. The few trinket peddlers that were there thought it was pretty funny to see people pulling up to the airport on a donkey cart. We had been told to be at the airport at 7:00am, so we could buy a ticket. The airport was closed and locked up until 8:00am, making our pre-dawn morning rush a complete waste. At 8:00am, the word was that communication was down, so no idea if or when the plane might arrive. Around 9:00am, the word was the plane is on it's way from Bamako, so we could now purchase tickets. We bought our tickets, cash only 50,000 CFA one way. We would have to wait until the return to buy our return tickets. I was expecting a 1950s vintage DC-3, and hoping they might pass out flight goggles if needed. What pulled up was a very modern (1990's?), Fokker 28 twin jet 75 seater plane. Open seating, so first come first serve first seat choice. The flight, as it should be, was uneventful. I could see the terrain below, and was quite happy I flew. Below was sand with overflown stagnant rivers winding everywhere for miles. No land vehicle, save an amphibious vehicle could pass what I was seeing below. The terrain I saw was not passable by motorcycle. Obviously one would have to take another route, if at all doable this time of the year. Timbuktu's economy today comes from tourism and still for salt trade mined from underground salt beds in the desert. The town is similar to other desert town in that structures are built out of dried mud. As far as desert mud villages go, however, Timbuktu is fairly large. Except for one main paved road through town and to the airport, the roads are sand. Most are wide enough to accommodate more traffic than I can imagine going through. The town has electricity most of the time which sounds like it's powered by a turbine diesel power plant. The primary tourism draw to this town is it's name. It's not particularly attractive, nor is there anything particularly appealing to tourism. Culturally speaking there are more Tuareg in the this town than any other. Many of them make their money by offering camel treks into the desert. That evening, we arranged for a camel ride. Camel treks are big business for the Tuaregs, and initially it felt like we were dealing with small mafia, where the largest groups intimidates other out of soliciting. Some would not people wouldn't talk in front of other for fear of retribution. Our hotel was controlled by one outfit. We had to walk around town to get away from that gang, and talk to others. We linked up with a loan French guy, and the three of us arranged a three day trek out into the desert. A contract was hand drawn up in French, It was arranged that three of us would have our own camel, They would provide for food arrangements. There would be a Tuareg camel driver, and a guide. with a camel for each of them. We would provide for our own water, and bring our own bedding. Since the markets close at dusk, I spent the late afternoon making final arrangements. The kids in this town are entrepreneurs. They speak the language of foreigners... One will specialize in German, another in Spanish, or Japanese, etc. Most speak some English. They enthusiastically act as recruiters for the camel rides, or if that been taken care of, they act as gofers, porters, laundry washers, guides, or whatever one needs. I had very little time, so with the help of a kid, I found the market, bought a case of bottled water for Jim and I. I managed to buy local clothes, white turban wrap, and white loose tunic. The locals in the market were so excited that a foreigner was interested in wearing this, that they charged me at their cost, no haggling necessary, and spent time fitting me. Several told me I look just like a Tuareg now, which to these proud people they consider that a compliment. The Tuareg are caucasoid people, but their skin is quite a bit darker than mine which was a clear giveaway. Also, Tuareg usually wear indigo blue, rather than the white I chose. We ate at the golden chicken (Poulet d'Or). They didn't have beer here, so we sent a kid off with 2000 CFA to run off and get us two large beers, this he gladly did. The nearest place that sold them was a 10 minute walk away. We ate a Timbuktu specially of dumplings in sauce with chicken. Like all bread products in the desert, the dumplings contained an occasional bight of sand. I wasn't keen on this dish, but I suppose it's all relative... My helper-kid told me Madame Bright (Madeline Albright) was here last month. He told me how there were many Black Americans with her (secret service). Talking to more reputable sources, she came to Bamako, but not Timbuktu. December 5 1999 Near Timbuktu, Mali - camped in the desert A Japanese tourist wanted to join our caravan 30 minutes before we were set to depart. He had been feeling sick the night before, and hadn't made any arrangements. Our guide said that even though he bought supplies the evening before, they would not be impacted by the addition of another. The guide and camel driver would double up on one camel, and give the other camel to the Kawa, the Japanese late comer. My camel's name was "Abay'day". Jim's was phoneticaly similar to "Abs saver", and since it seemed so appropriate given the work on the abdominal muscles to stay on, the name stuck. I wore my white turban and white tunic, looking like Lawrence of Arabia. The locals loved it, and took it as a compliment that I would wear these clothes, saying "tres jolie". The advantages of the Arab clothes were obvious within a short time of being in the desert. The turban traps the sweat, and wrapped over the mouth, it traps some of the breath humidity. The gauze like fabric makes it easy for the wind to blow through. As the moisture evaporates, it makes the turban cool. The flowing loose tunic is very cool. It offers shade protecting from the harsh direct sun, and a little wind makes it very cool. Great comfortable system. Other advantages, locals think it's cool that I wear it, bargaining in the market is easier. The greatest disadvantage is that the flowing robe/tunic gets snagged on things. Some wear belts when they are working which holds the robes in from getting caught. Tuareg women quite different from arab woman... absolutely not shy to approach men. also not particularly well covered. A typical Tuareg tent/home is an elongated dome made out of a woven fiber similar to a woven mat. The curved dome provides excellent shade all day, The sides are elevated about a foot and a half odd the ground such that wind can blow through and keep inhabitants quite cool. It's low contoured profile keeps it from blowing away during strong sand storms. Excellent system. Moussa, our guide said that traditionally the Tuareg lived under the shade of trees. Tents have only been used for the past 60 years. He also says that muslim influence over the Tuareg is not very strong. We stopped in what was formerly was a Tuareg village with a thousand inhabitants just outside of Timbuktu. In 1990, Mali and the Tuareg were at war. All that is now left is a cement walled well. Tuareg are a caucasoidal race with dark skin. They are lighter in skin color than black africans, and so they are called white. However, compared to one of Nordic complexion, one might call them dark brown. There cheek bones are caucasoidal. Notes: Dung beetles come out in the hot afternoon energetically scouring the ground. Their tracks are everywhere in the sand, that being of higher order have been. They are so common, that it's difficult to walk around here without stepping on one or two a day. With their hard shell that usually just amount to them getting buried into the sand. While in the Tuarag tent, I saw for the first time, metallic silver ants. I didn't know such a thing existed. I only saw two, so I suppose they are not quite common. The next day, I spotted a lone dead rhinoceros beetle. Ali's mother said these are not very common here. ----- We rode the camel in the morning, and just before dusk. The afternoon was spent hanging out in the shade of a tent. >From our tent, I could see a single goat separated from it's herd The lamb was intended for our dinner. Ali and his father prepared a pit into the sand to cook it. Around 4:00pm, it was time to get dinner started. They untied the goat from the tree, and took it over to about 20 feet from the pit. They held the lamb such that it faced mecca. While Ali held the goat by the body, his father held it by the horns and slit the neck holding it the lamb for a moment as the blood flowed out. The goat continue to move for a minute before it stopped twitching. Moussa, our guide, walked over and said thanks to the goat for giving up it's life. Being a city-boy, and having never seen a slaughter before other than through Hollywood eyes, I was bit surprised at how long death seemed to take. While the goat was slow cooked, our guide had suggested we go out and practice driving the camels, and then watch sunset from the top of a sand dune. The proper way to drive these camels, at least the Tuareg way. While sitting in the saddle, one crosses their bare feet at the ankles and with the arch of one foot and the ball of the foot other resting on the camels neck applies a little pressure. The feet resting on the neck is very important. While moving, pushing down and giving a vigorous rub on the top of the neck with ones feet (in addition to making commanding noises), is the way to accelerate the camel or maintain velocity. Sometimes, the light smack of a rope is necessary to keep in moving or accelerate. A rope tide through the mouth and around the bottom of the jaw is used as a bit. The camel is very sensitive to movement of this bit. The camel will sense the direction the driver wants to go just by where the rope rubs against his neck, before any pull is actually applied to the bit. The camel is stopped by pulling the reign. Mounting and dismounting. One must keep hold of the reins, and take up slack. If the reins are loose and the camel is tired, he just may sit down on his own accord. If a passenger isn't prepared for when the camel sits down, he may go flying, like I did once. The proper way to dismount is let out the reins, hold tight, push down on the neck and then yell out "sook!" The camels are very energy conserving, and obey this command to rest immediately. To get the camel up while, hold tight to the saddle and lift the reigns. The rocking motion when the camel gets up and down is like being on a mechanical bull for a two seconds. After the sun went down, but dusk light still showed our way, Ali, our soft spoken Tuareg camel driver suggested we head back to camp. Moussa overruled and suggested we enjoy the wonderful moment. Ali was the operations and logistic officer, savvy in the desert ways. While Moussa was our MC keeping us tourists happy. My camel ... obeying another driver's "sook!" command to go down went down on me unexpectedly. My seat already seemed loose and forward, and my camel was on a headfirst downward incline when it decided to sit. The rocking motion from the seat as the camel first goes down it's front legs and then on its rear legs is quite severe. I ended up being thrown over the front, breaking the saddle on the leather strapping that held the wooden saddle together. My leg chafed from breaking the saddle, I chose to walk back. I walked back to the wrong fire. A Tuareg woman encountered me walking into her camp/home. It was a very bizarre feeling. Tuareg woman are very isolated from life outside Tuareg customs. They don't speak a word of French, the default language of West Africa. I couldn't ask for Ali's tent, since half the people out here are named Ali (The other half being Mohammed). It was a total language barrier that I wasn't quite prepared for, Standing practically in this person's home. Rather than end up like that goat, I smiled, waved and walked away. Unfortunately, I hadn't locked a waypoint into my GPS before we left, or else I would have had no problem making a bee-line for the camp. The second camp fire I went to was also the wrong one. Despite that there was no moon light, I was much more cautious to see before I got too close. I heard the quiet walking of a camels. Before I knew it a camel's head appeared near my head out of the black. I stepped out of the way concerned that I might get trampled over. It was Jim followed by Kawa. The others were also having the same problem getting back. Somewhere in the distance behind them, I heard Moussa and Sidirick (the French guy) Only Ali, who somehow got separated from the others made it to the camp on first try. Of course, being his parents home, I suppose it wasn't a problem for him. While it would have added to a sense of adventure thinking we were well into the Sahara desert camping at night, that wasn't the case. While Timbuktu is well into the Sahara desert, I could still Timbuktu on the horizon marked by a flashing red light on top of a radio tower. It was never the case where we would have lost our way to Timbuktu. The third campfire I tried was the right one. I signalled the others with a Mag-light acting as a sort of light house. We watched the goat cook. While some might build a fire and cook by coals, The old Tuareg sparingly placed the wood into the fire, as someone who was use to scarce resources in a desert might. The roasted goat was one of the best tasting I can remember. We devoured it, until we were stuffed. Even the sand didn't bother me much this time. While we ate the goat, we could hear a festival going on in the distance. I could hear two different toned drums beating along with a hypnotic repetitious chanting. Ali said someone was getting married tomorrow, and we could go over and check it out. We walked over in the dark to the source of the sound. There were 30-40 male and female Tuaregs chanting sitting and standing in a circle. One or two would dance for a moment in the center of the circle. They asked if we wouldn't mind holding our flashlights up so that things would be illuminated. They had been dancing and singing in complete darkness,... no moon or fire. We held up three flashlights and lit up the group. Like other Tuaregs, they invited us to take photos. Other tribes in Mali, clearly had a distaste for tourists with cameras, which I never challenged. The entire Tuareg crowd appeared to be younger than 30, with a majority possibly under 20. The couple to be married were both 22 years old. I was later told that typical marrying age is 22-24, and that brides are often promised years in advance. At each stop, they made "Tuareg tea" which seemed identical in taste and ritual to the Moroccan tea ritual with the exception that the Tuareg tea doesn't contain fresh mint leaves. Mint isn't available in the desert. Tuareg woman are isolated to within their own culture. While most Tuareg men, in addition to Tuareg, spoke French, the woman I met didn't speak a word. I didn't notice any Tuareg women in Timbuktu, only men. December 6, 1999 Sahara desert near Timbuktu, Mali Having left our sleeping bags and mats in Sevare for various reasons that I won't mention, made our night camping out rough. After sunset, the temperature quickly dropped. Estimates for the night were between 10-15 degrees celsius, and we were short on blankets. Ali, who seems to have a total incomprehension of foreigner wealth asked for 6000 CFA ($10) to rent his blanket for two nights. At that price, Jim and I decided to share since we were also sharing a tent. It left both of our feet pretty cold. The second night I was ready to rent another, however none were available. Everyone except the Tuaregs seemed slow to get up this morning. We had Nescafe or Lipton tea, oranges and bread for breakfast, and were back on the camels moving by 8:30am. We walked and cantered our camels 6km NE. Siderick's camel that he had been cantering started bucking and running uncontrollably wild. A string holding one of the bags on it's back had broken and spooked the camel. As the camel jumped, the bag smacked the camels backside harder, further exacerbating the situation. From a distance I watched it buck with Sidirick clinging desperately trying not to be thrown as if he were at a rodeo. It was a very dangerous situation, and there was nothing that could be done. After what seemed almost a minute he had a chance to jump off. The camel continued running and bucking. His camel was carrying food for the group, and water for Sidirick and Kawa. Our watermelon was destroyed. I picked up oranges and spaghetti noodle packages that had been bucked about the sand. 100 meters away, Jim found Sidirick's camera which had gone flying. Ali and another Tuareg went after the camel as it disappeared over the horizon. Sidirick stood in seemingly good spirits, but looking stunned collecting his wits. He was concerned about a bag containing his passport being lost. Fortunately when Ali brought back the camel a half hour later, it still had this bag. Moussa was clearly upset. He said we must now eat the watermelon. The melon had been crushed with only a 1/3 intact, but mixed with uncooked rice and sand. This all happened about 50 meters from a Tuareg tent that was our destination for the afternoon. We dismounted and unloaded the camels. Ali and another Tuareg who had joined us today removed the bit, and bound the camels feet together with a short tether so they couldn't run or go far. Meanwhile we went into the Tuareg house (tent). Reading the mood as frustrated and concerned about the food, I got out a pound of chocolate I had carried along. Even through it was pretty gooey from the heat, it was still much appreciated, and the mood seemed to be lifting... that was until Moussa who attempted to open the battered can of tomato paste. He punctured the can with the opener, and warm tomato paste sprayed the top of the tent, and three Touaregs. I could tell later that I wasn't the only one wondering if this was a spoiled botulised can of tomato paste, or if it was just under pressure from the camel catapulting and denting it shortly before. We hung out in the tent through the hot part of the afternoon lying around and talking. At 4:00pm, we got back on the camel, and rode out to a dune to watch the sunset. At night time, I got out my GPS. It worked beautifully for finding camp in the moon-less dark. The camels seems to have more rods in it's eyes than I do. It was better at navigating the bushes than I was, so I just let it do the steering while I directed it in the general GPS bearing. In the evening, One of the Tuaregs took the guides camel into town to get some more supplies making up for the lost amount. He surprised us by coming back with 2 large beers that wrapped up were still slightly cool. We ate this with spaghetti made with a sauce of tomato and sand. When eating in the desert, I learned to bite carefully. The bread *always* has sand in it. Notes: Moussa was telling us about the camel caravans that enter Timbuktu. Once the salt sold for an equivalent weight in gold. Apparently, this salt is mined from under the earth. Back when geography was a bit different, salt lakes/oceans dried up leaving huge salt deposits that are now buried. This salt is what is now traded. Apparently it has a different flavor than the pure white Morton stuff. I've seen it in the store sold as broken slabs that looks more like broken brown cloudy quartz. The camels carry usually 4 slabs (2 on each side), each weighing about 100lbs. A typical caravan which also carries food and water to make it across the desert number around 200 or more camels. They arrive at night hidden outside of Timbuktu, and then the trader will bring in about 10 camels per night. They arrive at night and in portions so as to hide the wealth of the trader. The next day when we returned to Timbuktu, I could see wide animal tracks which obviously was the traces of a recent large caravan. --- It's possible to arrange camel trips from Timbuktu for as far as one wants to go. A week or longer may require an extra camel per person to carry water and food. Our bargained best price for this tour was 20,000CFA per camel per day ($33), we pay for the guides camel. ------ My leg seemed to break out in a rash today on my left calf and shin. At first I thought it was possibly flea bites? However I didn't find any fleas, and no one else was affected, and it was very localized. It was quite itchy, and itching it seemed to quickly make it much worse. Jim thought it might be prickly heat... which means little to me. I haven't been particularly hot, and my legs have been covered the whole time by long pants. Later note, I believe it was from my something left on my left pant leg. I had my clothes washed, very poorly in Bamako. i suspect the woman who did it either did not rinse out the soap, and I'm am having an allergic reaction. unfortunately, I left my topical anti-histamine in Severe with the bike. December 7, 1999 As I slept on my tent floor, I heard scratching around my head. After ruling out the possibility of the noise being a goat eating my tent, or my Teva sandals which I left outside, I decided it was the black dung beetles which are everywhere in the hot afternoon, and hidden in the cool night and morning. I suspect they felt the heat of my body and decided to unburrow. They were trapped under the ground sheet of the tent, and scratched by my ear until dawn. Notes: barabara (Sora or Tuareg name)- It's a common melon that grows in the desert in the rainy season. It looks very much like a small watermelon however it is white inside and tastes like a cucumber. The melon contains a lot of water... like a cucumber. Usually the locals only eat the seeds. camels eat it, however they prefer the tastier vine it grows on. Tuareg often wear small slender metal boxes tied to their arm. In it contains parts of the Koran. Ali believed it was for protection from scorpions, knives and bullets. They have black and white scorpions. He didn't mention snakes of which I've heard there are several including three variety of vipers and cobras in the wild. ticks- I've seen several of these flat dark brown ticks with red highlights crawling on the sand. They are a problem for the animals. spelled Moussa Moussa our English speaking guide, is a very bright considerate, polite, positive uneducated guide who knows how to be the most excellent of guides. His father was Fulani and mother was Songha. He seemed a bit down on Tuareg culture, which seems typical amongst variety of racial/cultural groups. He believed the Tuaregs were lazy. "There is nothing to do in the desert, so whada they gonna do but lie around and do nothin..." I had found a shotgun shell in the sand and asked about it. He said they were used as chewing tobacco storage box that can be carried around in the pocket. As Moussa explained, he broke into a teasing conversation with a young Tuareg woman who seemed to want to tell me not to listen to Moussa. Moussa told me that the Tuareg woman were disgusting in that when someone spits some chewing tobacco out of their mouth, the woman pick it up and chew on it some more, and that they drool tobacco juice over their chin.... I don't think I believe it. since that would make a mess of their nice clothes. However, the really young Tuareg kids I've been seeing seem abnormally prone to drooling on themselves in excessive amounts. Moussa told me that songha eat cat. His mother is songha. As if anticipating that I, as a foreigner, would be disgusted, he attempted to down play it, by saying he hadn't eaten it in a long while. I interrupted and asked him if it tasted like chicken, to which he said yes, it does. He said that the Bobo (of Burkina Faso... not Bozo) tribe of the South eat dog. Tuareg eat goat on special occasion. The Tuareg make a special kind of camel's milk cheese. This cheese is so hard one could break a tooth biting it. It must be softened in water for a couple of hours before eating, and then still it's not very easy to eat. I tried a bite. I strongly suspect there is no market for this outside of Tuareg culture. The Tuaregs live in the desert. In general, they raise and trade camels. Some Tuareg tribes specialize in metal working. They make straw shaped pipes out of metal, and knives for the tourists. The Tuareg are a soft spoken proud people. Their culture is quite different from the surrounding black african tribes. Other than being considered lazy, they retain a great deal of respect from other tribes. They were at war with the Malian government for quite a while, and are still a formidable people in Algeria. Their are very few tribes that survive in the desert. Apparently the german's hold some respect for them as well. Wolfgang (of a couple weeks ago)'s high tech motorcycle pants were labeled Tuareg with a picture of a Tuareg. Regarding laziness... While I really wasn't around to form my own opinion on this, I can see it as an adaptation of living in a desert. Where resources are scarce, and energy equals heat and water loss, being lazy is a survival adaptation. My impressions of camels are that they are very much energy conserving creatures. Abay'day (my camel) didn't seem to mind walking, however it had an aversion to cantering. ---- After checking back into hotel Boctou, and a good shower, we went over to Macadamia's, since we had heard they had the coldest beer in town. Moussa and Sidirick from our tour were already there. They were sitting with interesting people who were friends of Moussa. One was the second in command of the military force in Timbouctou. Another guy sitting at our table had just received his acceptance letter to represent Mali in the upcoming Olympics in Australia for the long jump event. Another person ran the cultural center in Timbuktu where arts and crafts were made and sold. The beer was very cold. I ordered a rotisserie chicken for dinner. Having gone hungry before with a Malian chicken, I ordered a whole one. Good thing too, it was skinny, and was just enough to satisfy my hunger. Fortunately, it was tender as opposed to the grasshopper chasing latex variety of Dogon country experienced last week. December 8, 1999 Sevare, Mali - Mac's Refuge We woke up at 5:00am, to search for a taxi to take us to the airport outside of town. We had the guard wake up the night clerk who thought we already paid last night. He believed us when I told we hadn't, however he argued with us on a price that I had verbally agreed to with another clerk. I had to dig out a receipt from our previous stay to convince him. We were able to flag down a 4x4 heading to the airport who let us climb in for 1500CFA each. Expensive considering where we were, however the first guy we flagged down started at 10,000CFA, and wouldn't bargain below 7,500 each. We bought our tickets and were on the manifest by 6:22. The plane departed at 7:30. The nice 75 passenger Fokker 28 jet airplane ride was again uneventful as it should be. Some very wealthy Malians, the kind we never encountered were on our plane wearing quite a bit of gold jewelry, designer fabric clothes. It was nice to be at Mac's refuge again. As usual, he always has interesting people as guests. I met the acting US ambassador to Mali, Bob Pa?tterson?, and the vice ambassador who had spent the night at Mac's. Mac told me had just finished feeding a crowd of 15. A group of Americans from the US embassy to Ghana had just left shortly before we arrived. Bob seemed quiet and reserved. He mentioned noticing the Illinois plates on the motorcycle and wondered where they came from. He asked if I enjoyed my trip to Timbuktu, but as what happens more often than not from American non-travellers, the American delegates didn't touch on the issue of why/how an Illinois registered motorcycle would be in a remote place such as Mali. I got little out of them other than to know the vice-ambassador was from Chicago area, and another delegate was from Milwaukee. We just hung out at Mac's refuge the afternoon resting up. In the afternoon I called Sharon up. Outgoing charges were outrageous. For the time it took to give Sharon a phone number to call me back, the cost was already up to $10. Outgoing to the US, the rate was $12 per minute from a telephone boutique. I think Sharon's cost at calling me back was a little over a dollar with the special calling package she had. Mac's dinner as usual was wonderful and special: Tonight the theme was mexican.. tortillas loaded with good stuff. For the dinner guests there were: two belgian doctors who had set up a clinic and been working here for 5 years arrived as dinner guests carrying a bottle of French wine which is a very special treat around here. They had interesting stories about running a clinic. We talked about such low level stuff as logistics on keeping vital medical equipment supplied with power given the unreliable of the electricity. new peace corp recruit... Michelle... whining about local food, food rations and peace corp pay. She described the local sauce that is eaten with toe as snot, giving me a clue as to how long she's going to be around. Jim later asked me if Michele would be considered a J.A.P. I chuckled and said no. Although Michele had some similar traits, she was from Seattle, and now in the peace corp which takes her out of the Jewish princess norm. matt.. peace corp region representative. We had met before at another dinner. He seemed overly embarrassed for Michelle despite the fact that she wasn't. A lone German business man who resemble an elder Orson wells in physique. I think he was from Hanover, however I didn't talk to him much. December 9, 1999 I slept 18 hours today, recovering from dysentery from last nights dinner. I think it was the uncooked onions. Only the german guy and I ate them. The German guy had left this morning, but before he left, he let Mac know he was affected. Mac resented the accusation. I didn't say anything, but my ten visits to the toilet should have clued anyone in who wasn't in denial. Jim was still recovering from the bad cold we both had gotten in Timbuktu. December 10, 1999 Severe, Mali - Mac's refuge I met Thomas today. He was a linguistics expert. Had done his PhD on linguistics, and is near completion of writing a comprehensive dictionary covering two dialects of the Dogon language. He said that their is a third dialect of Dogon, but he hasn't begun to tackle that. He just stopped by for an hour to see Mac and pick up some of his home made peanut butter and hot chile sauce. I learned that there is something like 150 possible sounds made from humans. English speech is made up of 30-40 of these sounds. Factoid from Mac: The Dogon word for someone who is not appreciative is the same as someone who has no future. I thought it was interesting how the language tie made this conceptual idea into one. December 11,1999 R100GS 46259 Factoid from Mac Average anual income for a Malian is US$355 Today was the start of the big bi-annual cattle crossing of the Niger river. The Fullanii who are the cattle herding tribe, and are most easily distinguished by the round conical leather and tweed hats, where out in great presence with their cattle. I drove by many piles of recently harvested cotton. Great piles of cotton lay in from the side of the road. friendly easy going burkina faso border crossings... change in culture and ethnicity obvious The air was so dry, the inside lining of my nose was irritated. After a short while of driving, both of us were in the mood for a cold coke. We stopped at a small town built along the length of the road. It was one of the newer towns, that rather than built as a village from a particular tribe and culture, this town was one of the more modern ones where the economy is based the economy of a bus stop and transit oasis, Services available are visibly as one drives through since it's a town built along a road. Services include tire change, food, soft drinks, boutiques, etc. After a first pass, I spotted three places with kerosene refrigerators in this electricity-free town. We doubled back, and stopped at one. Within seconds the curious crowd began to form. Our bikes parked along the road were separated from us by a newly dug ditch that looked to be a future sewer system. This wide ditch had an occasional log or plank to cross from the paved road to the boutiques. Our cold coke was waiting on the other side of the ditch. However the rapidly growing curious crowd was on the other side surrounding the motorcycle. This crowd was going to need total attention. I stood watch over the bikes as we drank our coke. Jim hadn't gotten much sleep last night due to the heat, and his tolerance level was likely low. In these situations, he plays what he calls "good cop, bad cop", where he's the bad cop, and scours at the locals,(mostly kids) keeping them at bay and from touching the bikes. If one lays a finger a definitive grunt or glare takes care of it... maintaining control of the situation with attentive assertiveness. With a small crowd, there is little threat. However, if a crowd grows to forty or fifty 7- to 25-year-olds, the idea of casting oneself as a foreign reprimandor in an unknown culture feels dangerous to me, not to mention the impact of impressions left behind on the locals for the next foreigner. I feel very uncomfortable with this style, and prefer to volunteer to keep watch. I think of my style as projecting a presence of friendly awareness among the crowd. Outwardly, I don't mind the curiosity and attention a bit. If the locals are interesting, which is usually the case, I return the curiosity with curiosity. In a large crowd (~50),where my attention needs to be on many, my outward gaze is often ambiguous with a serene smile. Greeting the closest with a visual smile and moving on. The response is almost always a smile in return. Those kids most likely to be surreptitiously removing a sticker in front of me, receive even more friendly-attention-getting-gazes, which seems quite effective. When it's time to go, I leave with a hand wave, and feel good. This reminds me of a Taoist perspective... of flowing down a river on a raft. The crowd, like a river is difficult to control. Rather than trying to control the flow of the river, it's easier to sit back and enjoy the ride. As I was looking over the locals, I was imagining how a westerner would see this. Blonde haired Gloria Bunker comes on TV showing video clips of a straw/mud hut with some naked African kid crying. The charity commercials are played between commercial breaks of re-runs of "Knots Landing" The video clips are taken shown so out of context, and with likely so little understanding by the viewer that it fills me with contempt for charity organizations. Of course reading that 70% overhead costs is actually a good figure, and the occasional overpaid charity president only worsens the feelings. Seeing cans of sardine sold in Malian boutiques that are clearly labeled "Gift from the People's republic of Germany, Not for Resale" makes me question the effectiveness of food relief organizations. In the Mopti region of Mali there are over 60 peace corp volunteers, and numerous missionaries. Yet the people in that area hardly look like they suffer from malnutrition. I have never seen a people who are in better physical shape than I have seen in Mali. Driving through villages, overweight woman abound, and since they are far from sedentary I can only imagine their caloric intake must be quite large. The average Malian woman would beat 98% of the men I know back home in arm wrestling and push ups. A majority of the Malian woman would beat their husband at arm wrestling as well. All due to the traditional hand pounding of the millet. Anyway, getting back on the PCV and Missionary rant... The beauty in Mali is it's cultural diversity. It's my favorite country in Western Africa because of the well preserved tribal identities. Each tribe has a system that works for them that is their culture. Outside influences such as peace corp and missionaries serve to erode their culture homogenizing them to Western values. I find towns where this has happened, the least attractive and least interesting of Africa. In the opinion of the fly-by observer, food charity is not what's needed, but rather health care and education. I very delicately brought up the issue of missionary impact on culture with Mac. Being the third generation of missionaries, and only not continuing because of being expelled from the missionary due to a divorce from his wife, I was treading on egg shells. I asked him what he thought of missionary portrayal in movies such as "Black Robe", "The Mission", "At Play in the Field of the Lord". In particular how they portrayed how missionaries had such a negative impact on the culture, and in some cases led to extinction of a people. Before he could say anything, I further pointed out that having been in contact with missionaries over the past couple weeks, I can see that it appears to be a Hollywood simplification exploiting a stereotype since the missionaries I've met seem very low key. He was clearly sensitive to this subject. I guessed he may have had heated discussions in the past. He said while those movies do exploit worse cases, bad missionaries like that do exist, as well as non-imposing missionaries that provide services to the community in addition to churches, such as schools and public work projects. Leaving Mali, was not much of an issue. We had to get our carnet de passage for the motorcycle stamped out. I had expected the border town of Kouri which is located before the actual border, about 15 miles earlier by my odometer, and so when I saw a check points I might normally drive through. I stopped and asked if this was the aduana. The waking officer said yes, and pointed to the sleeping officer I needed to talk to. Everywhere there seemed to be people in uniforms sleeping on cots. I asked if I could get my carnet stamped here, and again the response was the same. As that officer woke up, I pulled my carnet out of the bike. I handed my carnet to him. He had woken a third officer who was to take care of business. Meanwhile other officers were waking up due to the commotion. The third officer didn't want to start with the carnet, but rather the passport. I gave it to him. Barely awake, he opened my passport, signed his name and wrote something else across an entire blank page (4 spots), stamped it and handed it back. The second officer explained that normally at this point they ask for 1,000CFA. When I saw they didn't have a carnet stamp, or want to have anything to do with it, I realized this was a wasted police check point stop. It took up an entire page of my passport, woke up 8 sleeping officers, and I almost had to pay 1,000CFA for the privilege, when I could have just driven on. *After* the town of Fo. there is a blockade that one must stop. I got my exit stamp in the passport, and they asked to see my vaccination card. This was the first time in Africa showing this card. Odd that they wanted to see this upon leaving, and not on entering. Further down the road, there is a building that can't be mistaken for anything but a customs building. The friendly but badly farsighted clerk took care of our carnets, with someone over his shoulder reading for him. Burkina Faso, required three stops. The first was passport control, the second 100 meters down the road was for vehicle information, and then 25km down the road in Faramana I got my carnet stamped in record time. The Burkina Faso officers were all very friendly and polite, and doubled as a welcoming committee. Just over the border, it was clear I was in a new country. The landscape changed to more and more trees with a much greater variety. The landscape had more topology than just flat plane, and the people changed both in cultural dress, and in race. The faces and bodies were noticeably different from those of the various ethnic groups of Mali. I assumed these were Bobo people. The equivalent of driving from France to Italy.... I saw an African map of referring to this region as black africa. To a P.C. person this sounds funny... I think it would be odd to see a map of Europe that refers to Blonde Europe, Red-Hair Europe, dark-hair Europe,etc. We arrived in Bobo and stayed at Casa Afrique which was highly recommended in our guide book, and looked to be very tranquil. Jim pointed out their was a section on hippos in the area of Burkina Faso.... Cool, I thought, I was interested in seeing that... I read the section. turned out not to be over encouraging. There is a place 66km away and down a dirt road where I can bargain hard for a boat, and if I spend a day and am lucky, I might see one. Also, "A fact to ponder as you glide across the lake: more people are killed in Africa every year by hippos than by any other animal." The happy hungry hippo is a friendly icon I grew up with. The idea of a swimming cow being more dangerous than a lion, elephant or rhino is something to get used to. A Quebecan couple we talked to had been at the hotel for the past couple days. He had been recovering from Malaria. With an exception of Timbuktu and Segou, every place we have stayed since Bamako, we were aware that others staying there had malaria. Tomorrow is Larium day. While driving, I spent the whole day worrying about the rear tire falling off. I was worried the lug nuts would come loose like they did on the way out to Dogon country. Notes: On gasoline prices 122Ougaya per liter in Mauritania 415CFA per liter of Super in Mali 405CFA per liter of Super in Burkina Faso December 12 ,1999 Bobo, Burkina Faso - Casa d'Afrique The city of Bobo is the center of the Bobo people who happen to speaks a language called Bobo as their mother tongue. This is not to be confused with the Bozos who speak Bozo, and live around the Niger river in Mali fishing for a living. ... different ethnic and cultural group. Bobo, the second largest city in Burkina Faso with a population of 350k, is flat, shade-less, and dusty. However it doesn't feel overcrowded like Bamako, and I don't see any big city seediness appropriate for it's size. People on the street seem friendly. It feels like a small town that's spread out. A building as high as two stories seems tall amongst the majority. Some of the streets are paved, but a majority are dirt. A cool wind continuously gusts which helps cool against the direct sun. The lack of trees and mostly one story building makes hiding from the direct sun difficult. I stopped at a cyber cafe, and caught up on e-mail. I stopped in next door to have the daily special which was almost the same as what I had last night. Couscous with a meat sauce poured on top, and a big beer. 65cl beers sell for between 500-750CFA each. Best price in Africa so far. Flag and Burkina are the locals, but Castel and Guiness (bottled in Mali) are also available. After lunch, I went back over to the cyber cafe, and got caught up on financial news. and decided to do a bit of profit taking and sell off some stock. I placed a market order to be executed on Monday to sell off all my WGAT stock, and then chuckled at the idea of being able to manage a portfolio from as far away as Bobo, Burkina Faso. Can't remember ever having so many problems with dirt incrusting on my nostrils and upper lip... to the point where my nostrils were sore... some locals wear dust masks as they ride around town. The humidity seems very low, and the dust blows often........ ---- Dave Thompson http://www.roadkill.com/~davet/worldtrip ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com