the final frontier- Tombouctou- its just like any other desert town- sandy with hot, sunny days and cold, dark nights. its the mythical notions that the name conjures up that drew me to mali, the familiarity yet the anonymity of it. beyond it stretches the sahara.
the path i take to tombouctou is the long, winding niger. the public pinnasse is packed as i step aboard carefully with a massive camera pack on my back. the boatman points to the vacant mattress in a corner 'ici'. one full size mattress for 3 adults- 2 travelers i met in mopti- dao, martijn and me!
earlier in the day, as i had passed by the pinnasse on my way to the market, a bespectacled, wiry man starts talking to me emphasizing the need to reserve a spot to sleep on the pinnasse, lest it runs out of space. so, as suggested, i hand him and the boatman $7 to put a mattress to reserve a spot for me.
my friends already have a mattress as promised- the full size in sight. when i ask about my mattress, the boatman points to half of a straw mat! while i didn't expect a pillow-top sterns and foster, i certainly was hoping for one of those cushy shocking green cotton mattresses with pink flowers i saw in the market, especially since i paid more for the journey than anyone i had met so far!
this does it. a angry shouting match ensues, much to the amusement of the fellow Africans, who cannot understand a word of what i say but give a thumbs up- apparently we are not the only victims here. Dao joins in with her own complaints about the size of the mattress! finally, after some commotion arrives that shocking green mattress. the best arguments, i decide, are in the language that the opponent doesn't understand. you can go on saying the same thing over and over again without ever losing its effect :) and we are off to a fiery start!
the journey on the Niger was unforgettable, even if an aurally challenging experience.
the river stretches wide as if awakening from a deep slumber, at every bend. we pass by forsaken mud houses, perhaps inhabited during the dry season. children wave and shout 'toubabu' for foreigners.
a woman in a village shows off her baby on her back, extends her hand and shouts 'cadeau'. a lady with big fula gold earrings, her mouth tattooed black, haggles for the price of tubers.
four naked boys splash around in the niger without a care in the world. an old man holds a radio to his ears, as the latest salif keita number tunes in and out.
a lady with blonde highlights plays with an ipod, clearly one of the elite malians.
a man questions my religion and nods disapprovingly when i say hindu. paape, the 2 year old who i decide to call dennis (the menace), always without his pants, makes it his personal mission to make trouble in every possible way he can. his mother spanks him constantly. another is enamored with martijn's feet, even sleeps next to them. he departs the pinnasse with a fanta in his pocket, a bright mischievous smile lighting up his face.
every village it stops at, the pinnasse is surrounded by boats selling bread, african potatoes, stale fried fish- there's more mayhem, chaos, shouting.
a bathroom visit is a painful effort, so we set a limit of two per day on them. it involves holding on to the railing and step by step making it to a little room in the back with a hole, the niger at the receiving end of it. the pinnasse, overloaded with people, smoothly glides away.
night arrives early and thus, begins the encroachment of space. soon we are surrounded by children sleeping on every free inch of our mattresses. i spend the night, cold and awake, trying not to hurt the little girl stretched out next to my legs.
day breaks and by midday there's a welcome respite, as passengers reach their destinations. the pinnasse reaches tombouctou at the break of dawn, after 36 hours, the second night cooler than the previous due to the thinning crowd.
we walk the sandy streets to the tourist office to get our passport stamped with the magic of Tombouctou. two Touaregs walk with us, helping us every step of the way. on our return we are invited to their tent opposite our hotel for the delicious Touareg tea- three cups of tea--the first strong as death,the second sweet as life, the third light as love, as they say.
after the first cup, the souvenirs are spread in front of us- ebony, agate studded Touareg silver jewelery. we politely decline, they are gracious, and tea time continues. we part with a small piece of salt from the Sahara, a gift from our Touareg friends.
the following day, as we are hounded by a mob of children selling souvenirs, an SUV comes to a halt and a man in an American accent offers us a ride. our rescuer- Scott is a journalist who is covering a couple stories in town- including the threats to foreigners in the area (as is another Swiss journalist staying in our hotel). the recent kidnappings of a french citizen from a remote part Gao in Eastern Mali and three Spaniards in neighboring Mauritania have hurt the tourist industry tremendously- i personally didn't feel threatened at all during my short stay in tombouctou.
the station wagon bound for Mopti honks at the hotel door at 5 AM the next day. the landscape by road on the way back to Mopti is breathtaking- vast grasslands, grass an unnatural hue of pastel green, dotted with women pounding millet in colorful african block prints, babies still slung to their backs, shepherds and cow herders in touareg outfits hurrying the animals off the road as our 4*4 passes by. once in a while the driver squints and speeds past people wanting a ride, as i take photos through the cracks in the windshield repaired by permit stickers. we overtake vans with people sitting on the roof along with firewood, straw mats and an occasional goat.
Africa just as I imagined it! i sit back and savor delicious pink guavas i bought in bulk for lack of small money.
the path i take to tombouctou is the long, winding niger. the public pinnasse is packed as i step aboard carefully with a massive camera pack on my back. the boatman points to the vacant mattress in a corner 'ici'. one full size mattress for 3 adults- 2 travelers i met in mopti- dao, martijn and me!
earlier in the day, as i had passed by the pinnasse on my way to the market, a bespectacled, wiry man starts talking to me emphasizing the need to reserve a spot to sleep on the pinnasse, lest it runs out of space. so, as suggested, i hand him and the boatman $7 to put a mattress to reserve a spot for me.
my friends already have a mattress as promised- the full size in sight. when i ask about my mattress, the boatman points to half of a straw mat! while i didn't expect a pillow-top sterns and foster, i certainly was hoping for one of those cushy shocking green cotton mattresses with pink flowers i saw in the market, especially since i paid more for the journey than anyone i had met so far!
this does it. a angry shouting match ensues, much to the amusement of the fellow Africans, who cannot understand a word of what i say but give a thumbs up- apparently we are not the only victims here. Dao joins in with her own complaints about the size of the mattress! finally, after some commotion arrives that shocking green mattress. the best arguments, i decide, are in the language that the opponent doesn't understand. you can go on saying the same thing over and over again without ever losing its effect :) and we are off to a fiery start!
the journey on the Niger was unforgettable, even if an aurally challenging experience.
the river stretches wide as if awakening from a deep slumber, at every bend. we pass by forsaken mud houses, perhaps inhabited during the dry season. children wave and shout 'toubabu' for foreigners.
a woman in a village shows off her baby on her back, extends her hand and shouts 'cadeau'. a lady with big fula gold earrings, her mouth tattooed black, haggles for the price of tubers.
four naked boys splash around in the niger without a care in the world. an old man holds a radio to his ears, as the latest salif keita number tunes in and out.
a lady with blonde highlights plays with an ipod, clearly one of the elite malians.
a man questions my religion and nods disapprovingly when i say hindu. paape, the 2 year old who i decide to call dennis (the menace), always without his pants, makes it his personal mission to make trouble in every possible way he can. his mother spanks him constantly. another is enamored with martijn's feet, even sleeps next to them. he departs the pinnasse with a fanta in his pocket, a bright mischievous smile lighting up his face.
every village it stops at, the pinnasse is surrounded by boats selling bread, african potatoes, stale fried fish- there's more mayhem, chaos, shouting.
a bathroom visit is a painful effort, so we set a limit of two per day on them. it involves holding on to the railing and step by step making it to a little room in the back with a hole, the niger at the receiving end of it. the pinnasse, overloaded with people, smoothly glides away.
night arrives early and thus, begins the encroachment of space. soon we are surrounded by children sleeping on every free inch of our mattresses. i spend the night, cold and awake, trying not to hurt the little girl stretched out next to my legs.
day breaks and by midday there's a welcome respite, as passengers reach their destinations. the pinnasse reaches tombouctou at the break of dawn, after 36 hours, the second night cooler than the previous due to the thinning crowd.
we walk the sandy streets to the tourist office to get our passport stamped with the magic of Tombouctou. two Touaregs walk with us, helping us every step of the way. on our return we are invited to their tent opposite our hotel for the delicious Touareg tea- three cups of tea--the first strong as death,the second sweet as life, the third light as love, as they say.
after the first cup, the souvenirs are spread in front of us- ebony, agate studded Touareg silver jewelery. we politely decline, they are gracious, and tea time continues. we part with a small piece of salt from the Sahara, a gift from our Touareg friends.
the following day, as we are hounded by a mob of children selling souvenirs, an SUV comes to a halt and a man in an American accent offers us a ride. our rescuer- Scott is a journalist who is covering a couple stories in town- including the threats to foreigners in the area (as is another Swiss journalist staying in our hotel). the recent kidnappings of a french citizen from a remote part Gao in Eastern Mali and three Spaniards in neighboring Mauritania have hurt the tourist industry tremendously- i personally didn't feel threatened at all during my short stay in tombouctou.
the station wagon bound for Mopti honks at the hotel door at 5 AM the next day. the landscape by road on the way back to Mopti is breathtaking- vast grasslands, grass an unnatural hue of pastel green, dotted with women pounding millet in colorful african block prints, babies still slung to their backs, shepherds and cow herders in touareg outfits hurrying the animals off the road as our 4*4 passes by. once in a while the driver squints and speeds past people wanting a ride, as i take photos through the cracks in the windshield repaired by permit stickers. we overtake vans with people sitting on the roof along with firewood, straw mats and an occasional goat.
Africa just as I imagined it! i sit back and savor delicious pink guavas i bought in bulk for lack of small money.
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