Dogon Country

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Tonight it was time for cucumber salad and hommos, something light and refreshing for dinner after the intense heat of the day. I figured it was time to really unwind and had a d’jino Pamplemousse with vodka, my first drink of the entire trip. The grapefruit flavored carbonation of the d’jino mingled with the vodka made for a lusciously perfect treat. Other students seemed to have the same idea and pretty soon many of the others were enjoying vodka, gin, and rum. To Fahd’s delight his stock of gin and vodka were soon depleted, but several students had purchased their own liquor at the market earlier in the week and quickly brought their supply to the table. Several rounds of the telephone game ensued and ten fingers, as well as extreme laughter, and some drunkenness from Drew people, many of which left us quite surprised. Steph and I enjoyed our beverage and wisely kept in mind the drive to Bandiagara, a factor a few others seemed to have forgotten. A hangover in the heat on the bus would be an unpleasant experience indeed.

Monday, July 28, 2008

This morning the sunlight filtered into the garden through the countless spaces between the foliage. It was a sign of the intensity of the sun in the approaching hours. After a brief pause at Songo to view the men’s circumcision area and wall paintings we continued on our journey to the Bandiagara Escarpment. My only disappointment for the venture was that I carried my camera and water bottle up the climb into the area of the men’s secret initiation but soon realized I had forgotten to replace the batteries after recharging, thus I was unable to take photos of the amazing view and the incredible paintings. People are planning on posting their pictures to a photography site online for everyone to view, download, and enjoy and so I should be able to get a few images. It was still disappointing but once I returned to the bus I put the batteries in the camera so the same mistake wouldn’t happen again.

After a bus ride filled with more heat hallucinations, even the small curtain failed miserably at blocking the sun, we arrived at the Campement where the electricity is not turned on until six thirty. Thus, we have over three hours in the darkened interiors of our rooms without the use of the ceiling fan. There is no air conditioning and the windows are merely a mesh rather than glass so you can hear everything outside, as well as the myriad of smells, and the glaring heat. There are mosquito nets for our beds and already we are getting a sense of the large number of mosquitoes present in the area.

The inside of the Campement is rather lovely with flowers and dry dirt paths, a covered verandah area with carved Dogon togona posts, and a restaurant. It would be a lovely place with the addition of a pool. I would even say the room, minus the mesh windows, is a step above the Byblos, but nothing could compare to the hospitality and warmth of our place in Sevare.

It is extremely hot in the rooms, outside even worse without the presence of a gentle breeze. It is like we are chocolate bars of candy melting into puddles on the beds and the floor. I know you could fry an egg on the road! I am looking forward to dinner actually as the menu at the Byblos has become too familiar and the options a bit bland.

At four o’clock we left for the local market to get a feel for daily life. The market takes place once a week, every five days. After sampling some fried bread, reminiscent of gulab jamon I had in India without the syrupy sweet sauce, we headed into the village of Upper Ogol to see the sacred cult shrines of Lebe. We were given strict instructions to remain in a single file line and not touch anything, doing so would result in necessary sacrifices and rituals at a heavy expense. We were able to see the hogon, the eldest member of the community who is not allowed to wash himself until his death. Lebe, the snake and a part of Dogon cosmogony, comes each night to lick him clean. The sacredness of the village and its interior shrines heightened the experience although I was quite nervous to mistakenly defile or insult any holy place of the community.

Leaving Upper Ogol we walked to Lower Ogol to see the compound menstruating women live in for five days each month, a blacksmith, and a granary before returning to the Campement where electricity had been resumed for the evening. The fan does not make a huge difference in the temperature of our accommodations and I am told the electricity is shut off promptly at six o’clock in the morning.

Dinner is at seven thirty and tomorrow we are headed down the cliffs of the Bandiagara Escarpment. I can’t imagine a cliff with such a steep descent and I have to admit to a little apprehension.

After onion soup, rice, beef, and mangoes I went back to my room for sleep. It was roughly nine thirty but I knew I would be getting up at five o’clock for an extremely busy day. Promptly at six o’clock in the morning we will head out to hike the cliffs and by late morning return for lunch. After a masquerade performance in the afternoon we will witness the first part of a fox divination ceremony before dinner. The following day before our departure to return to Sevare one last time we will attend the second half of the divination.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

The alarm sounded at five o’clock announcing the start of the day. After a cold shower, I pulled my hair up in a pony tail and threw on my olive cropped pants with a racer back tank top. Two granola bars, a piece of bread, and a cup of tea later it was time to trek to the cliffs. The landscape was immensely beautiful, so majestic in the light of the early morning that I imagined myself as Karen Blixen with a farm in Africa and the graceful notes of the opening theme song from the movie playing regally for my journey down the escarpment.

The Bandiagara Escarpment reaches a height of six hundred meters and is roughly parallel to the course of the Niger River. The vast sandy plains below are known as the Seno where baobab, acacia, and kapok trees are abundant. It looked like a vast expanse of verdant green foliage, sandy dirty paths, and rocks.

It was a four hour grueling climb I never anticipated. At points there were small passages with steep drop-offs and I was absolutely fine when Amadou, a Dogon guide decided to take my bag and camera and help me along the path. There were many points his guidance and quick hand was a blessing. I never fathomed I would do anything like this in my entire life, and I doubt I will ever again. Honestly, it was liberating in the splendor and dignity of the pays de Dogon, or Dogon country. I couldn’t help but imagine myself on the Amazing Race at some arduous challenge along the route. Overall, it was absolutely incredible and utterly terrifying all at the same time.

The four hours surprisingly seemed to elapse rather quickly. Along the route there was mangosteen and our guides brought them down from their branches for us to enjoy. It is a sour fruit, rather like eating a sour skittle, but the cool juices were a welcome treat. At the village we were able to see the Tellem caves and burial chambers with a large grouping of vampire bats soaring in and out of the darkened crevices. Once we returned to the hotel after ten I thanked my guide and gave him five thousand francs, more than generous for his aid.

I quickly purchased another one and a half liters of water and went to my darkened room to get relief from the sun. The heat rash is back on my hands and spreading from the arch between the thumb and forefinger to the second finger as well. Even in the unlit interior of room thirty eight my hands radiate an intense heat and I constantly rub them on the cold bottle of water.

After my second shower of the day, and unlikely to be my last, I was more than eager for lunch. Lunch consisted of frites and roasted chicken, a dish that seems to be quite typical. The afternoon was spent in the confines of my room where I desperately tried to escape the heat. With a two and a half hour nap I was ready for the remainder of the evening and headed out around four o’clock for our Dogon masquerade.

The masquerade, while certainly a tourist spectacle, was absolutely amazing. The men of the village, having finished their farming for the day, donned their raffia costumes and masks and the elders dressed in indigo dyed bogolan played drums and chanted. The movement of the Kanaga had me breathless and it was incredible to witness the grace and skill of the dancers performing with such heavy structures on top of their heads. The Kanaga would bend and twist, the tips of the masks slapping the group in a wide sweeping motion.

After the performance we trekked down to the diviner’s field where he prepares the questions in the sand for the fox to come and walk across, his prints revealing the answers. The old man reminded me of Rafiki on the Lion King, moving small twigs and stones in various patterns in the earth. Several students asked personal questions, including myself. As a group we decided to have the diviner answer whether age and experience would win over youth and energy in the next presidential election. Apparently, he was able to read the fox’s prints and divine that Bush would be re-elected when a political question was posed previously. The last three political questions posed for the diviner have all been accurately foretold.

After the diviners we stopped at a bar and restaurant for some drinks. I took the opportunity to browse a small shed of carvings and found the most amazing Kanaga mask complete with raffia headdress. The patina and age of the fibers and wood is incredible and it is a piece that has been performed for years by the men in the village but no longer needed so it has been hidden in some dark corner for a willing tourist to purchase. Many of the people in my group were astounded at the genuinely utilized mask and my price of twenty thousand francs. At the moment it is wrapped in an old sack the man thought served as a decent bag. I’m not sure exactly how to get my largest purchase home but I figure it isn’t worth stressing over. I will try to keep it separate from my luggage during our drives back to Segou and Bamako and then wrap it in all my clothing extremely well and layer on all sides with textiles. In the bottom of my luggage it should be fairly secure.

Dinner included vegetable soup, beef, couscous and mangoes, and after nearly falling asleep in the plate of food I went to the roof of the hotel to look at the stars. The darkness of the environment makes it seem like the stars are barely a foot away on their heliocentric path across the night sky. Zach, Steph, and I decided to walk away from the hotel and its numerous lights where we found a large empty rock, still warm from the day’s heat. We laid down on its tepid surface and stared up at the stars for several hours before returning to the hotel.

We were all extremely exhausted and the rooms were still ungodly hot so we decided to be adventurous and carry our mattresses to the roof to sleep. Under the light of the stars and the area of the roof with a ceiling we conversed and laughed until after midnight, watching several bats come and go in their search for their nightly feast.

Overall, today was a day of countless firsts – climbing down the Escarpment, trekking five miles in the blazing heat, lying out under the stars, and sleeping on the roof in Dogon country. I don’t think I will ever forget how incredible this experience has been. Today, more than ever, I wish I could call Heather to share my stories, especially when it would have been so amazing to share with her. The climb was so arduous and I believe everyone should experience the beauty of Dogon country once in their life, although the heat and the laborious trek I think are best for able bodies, it is surely worth every ounce of sweat I had cascading off my flesh.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

I awoke to the light of the morning, the sounds of animals, and a cool gentle breeze. Once I realized I was on the roof I decided to watch the sun finish its ascent and then headed for a cold shower. In several hours, after returning to the diviners, we will be driving back to Sevare and I can’t wait to get there and resituate some of my luggage, take the Kanaga mask out of its sack, and hopefully go to the Cyber Café once I’ve managed to download my amazing pictures of the masquerade.

The diviner in his clay colored bogolan garb kneeled on the earth beside the pit where a maze of fox prints marked the interior. Reading through the various questions, even from Dogon dialect translated to French most of us were able to gather that youth and energy would be victorious and age and experience would lose the election. While it has been foreseen in the divination pit that the race will be a close margin, Obama will win the presidency. I guess we have only to wait until November to find out if the diviner was accurate. We were all given the news that we would return home safely to our families, however one person will be given news of a death, not of a family member, but someone they knew. My question, while not a specific answer, is one I shall have to give a great deal of thought in the next several weeks.

We stopped at a traditional medicine center on the way back to Sevare and then continued on in the most concentrated heat yet. Upon arrival home at the Byblos Steph and I returned to chamber neuf. A lot of people seem on edge today, especially with the nabbing of smaller rooms. It wasn’t until three o’clock that we were finally served lunch and perhaps after rest and a decent meal people will return to their upbeat dispositions. It is the last seven days of the trip and I believe this is the time we should be bonding the most and remembering our time in Mali.

It would seem the remainder of the day is at our leisure and the sky is becoming quite overcast. If I were Malian I might be correct in predicting an approaching storm. This has me a little concerned on being able to go to the Cyber Café, especially if electricity goes out. My Kanaga mask has made it safely to Sevare where I will wrap it much better and put it inside my luggage, after that it is up to careful packing and fate. I am still hopeful to purchase a few pieces of bogolan and otherwise am not certain what opportunities there might be for smaller masks. I am expecting a delivery tonight of my purchase from the Tuareg leatherworker here in Sevare and hope all of my design choices were executed to my taste.

I guess I predicted a storm only slightly accurate. In a matter of minutes a huge sandstorm arrived. The sky was nothing but a vast wall of orange dust. Inside our room we are waiting out the phenomenon. After the storms passing a heavy deluge of rain replaced the sand followed by massive amounts of lightning and thunder. I am keeping my fingers crossed that it passes within a few hours. Of course, as I type this the power goes out and I am surrounded in a sea of darkness, which I prefer to the sea of sand and rain.

Sevare

Friday, July 25, 2008

Babo Toure, a bronze caster came to the gardens of Hotel Byblos for a demonstration this afternoon. He, of course, brought all his products to display and sell. He spent a good hour making two figures out of beeswax, demonstrating the process before the rest of the mold is applied and the bronze poured inside. He also showed us the various methods of antiquing the bronze to give it an aged patina with sulfur and a particular kind of leaf. It was an incredible process to watch the image come to life in material form.

I was more than happy to browse his creations and even picked out a few, a seated Dogon with a Kanaga mask for me, a man with a walking stick and a fabulous leather satchel over his chest, and a nice size Akua-ba pendant. I bargained from twenty-five thousand Malian francs to twenty and I guess he felt he overcharged me and presented me with a present as well, a small frog gold weight. From what I have gleaned from other students who made purchases I certainly seemed to get the best deal for the number of purchases, plus a rather lovely gift.

I have ordered spaghetti for dinner, avec fromage, with cheese, because apparently you have to make the distinction. I am looking forward to some pasta for a change and hope it at least satisfies my taste buds.

Overall, the day was pretty relaxing and it has helped to prepare me for the next several busy days before Dogon country. Tomorrow is a boat ride to a potter’s village and then a visit to a blacksmith. I am assuming the following day we will finally get a chance to visit the leatherworker.

Saturday, July 26, 2008

The weather was extremely cool this morning, with a wonderful zephyr that seemed to have a certain repartee with the mass of foliage in the garden. It was an enjoyable breakfast of baguettes, butter, and mango preserves. I had a cup of tea and, sadly, had to get a Sprite and baguette for Stephanie who seems to be fighting a fever and diarrhea.

Without my companion for the day I paired up with Zach and we stopped at the market for water, Lebanese apples, cheese, bread and Pringles. It was a short drive to the boats where we boarded another small craft for our forty-five minute cruise on the muddy Niger.

I think there are certain days you just don’t feel capable of dealing with the children, like turning off and on a light switch. Today was one of those days. As soon as we docked outside the village in the slightly muggy temperate late morning I was pestered, without even a Bon jour, or Sava, but “Bic!” With a downward glance I trudged the incredibly long distance into the village, avoiding donkey droppings and the grubby hands of grabbing children along the way. I’m not interested in taking the photo of a child who says, “Photo,” and wants to take the camera from your grasp, just to ask for a bon bon or Bic afterwards. I think I have become a little disillusioned with villages that have been influenced by tourism in such a manner.

The children today were extremely pushy and fought with each other vying for attention. After watching the potter, the blacksmith, and the jeweler practice and demonstrate their skills for four hours, all amazing processes, we headed back towards the river and our boat. Two small kids, very quietly walked beside me for a moment holding each other’s hands and then both taking my right hand. They each managed to grasp rather tightly several fingers each, their short little legs making it difficult for them to keep a brisk pace. Thus, with my heavy messenger bag on my right shoulder and my camera in my left hand, I trudged forward, quickly losing pace with the rest of the group. It almost felt as if I were dragging them along at one point.

Finally, we reached the river. They really were sweet though, just talking to each other, never speaking directly to me but just laughing, giggling, and smiling. I boarded the boat and was soon surrounded by kids with mud-covered, mucky river water on their hands, grabbing at my arms and bag for various items. It was a welcome relief to finally distance ourselves from the shore where we promptly found sanitizers and began to enjoy our lunch.

We returned to the hotel around four and the remainder of the afternoon was at our leisure. Zach, Steph, and I talked for quite a while during the afternoon and soon it was time to head down and order dinner.

Tomorrow an indigo dyer is coming in the morning, class is at eight thirty, and a visit to the leatherworker is at eleven. Afterwards I assume the remainder of the day is at leisure so we can pack and prepare for our trip to Sanga.

Sunday, July 27, 2008

This morning a woman from Guinea arrived at the hotel with her indigo. Barely finished with my baguette and tea I leapt out of my seat and hurried out the front gate to see her twenty pieces of fabric. Women dyers sell in this fashion before taking the remainder of their textiles to market; oftentimes good dyers never see their fabric make it to market because they are sold out beforehand.

I settled on three lovely pieces of indigo and she convincingly pushed a fourth, “For your brother,” she said, of which I have none, and so I purchased the lot for twenty thousand Malian francs. Once I had made my purchases the word was out with the rest of the group and everyone else slowly trickled out, leaving her with only six or eight pieces left to sell before heading back to Guinea.

After breakfast it was time for a class session on the Dogon and then a trip to a leatherworker. The leatherworkers seemed to think we were only there to buy and it took quite a bit of translation to get the artisans to demonstrate their process. It was incredible to witness the supple goat leather made into key chains and small knives and incised with various patterns.

Once the process was complete we browsed their merchandise and I settled on one piece, not for myself, and it is actually a special order which will be delivered to the hotel Wednesday night. We ventured back through the labyrinth of streets in the blazing sun, children following us like flies and upon arrival home at the Byblos promptly ordered a Coke and poullet rotie for lunch.

The remainder of the afternoon is at our leisure to prepare for our trip to Sanga tomorrow. We will be staying at a Campement, basically a room with two beds, a cold shower and toilet, and no air conditioning. Once again, after the trip we will return to the Byblos and the thought of returning to our small room, once so unfamiliar and unnerving, is a satisfying notion. It is amazing how this place in its aged patinas, dirt, small bugs crawling on the beds, and the garden swarming with agama lizards can seem so restful, a pleasant respite from the outside world. The Lebanese family is incredible and it feels like a home even with the awkward language barrier. I wish there were some way of making a small gesture to them after our final stay here, perhaps a little additional cash. The only thing to make this place perfect would be the pool at the Hotel Independence and since I have not enjoyed a pool up to this point I intend to make it a priority.

Home Sweet Byblos Hotel

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

I went to the Cyber Café, another fabulous experience on a French keyboard, and was thrilled to receive messages from family and friends and comments on my blog. Unfortunately, the connection is ungodly slow and I was only able to quickly skim the photos and text of Heather’s blog from Mexico before the site was blocked and I was out of minutes. I can’t wait to give it the time that it deserves, but Stephanie and I loved all the fabulous pictures of Chichen.

Not feeling overly adventurous for dinner I had a warm soup with peas, carrots, noodles and onions. It was well seasoned and I personally believe that broth always does the trick for many ailments. Now I am back in my room and ready for sleep, after a cold shower – only the Mande and Hotel Independence had hot water so you can imagine the Byblos Hotel and here at La Colombe has been interesting shower experiences. You always long for the cold shower during the day but when you wake up in the morning it is the last sort of luxury from your mind.

To answer one or two questions I remember from the comments. Frites are basically fried potatoes, or sort of like French fries, only way better. They are the most amazing potatoes fried in peanut oil. The Coke in Mali is pretty awesome as well, being made with sucre, or sugar, rather than the high-fructose corn syrup in the United States. You really can taste the difference! Meals are usually beef or lamb or some sort with frites, rice, couscous, or pasta. At this point, my personal request for my return home entails peas, peas, and more peas!! I am not certain what sort of provisions we will find for our drive tomorrow, but I can’t wait to get back to Sevare and the small market to buy baguettes, cheese, Pringles in a can, and tuna fish in oil. I want peas so badly that the canned peas look very promising and I will just open the container and eat them with my spoon. The cheese is always warm and melted by the time you eat it and so it spreads rather nicely onto the baguette. It is fabulous by itself or with the addition of tuna fish makes a nice sandwich. I avoid most vegetables and they are what I long for the most.

I am hoping to go with Zach to see a drummer in Mopti. The musician makes his own drums and I would love to see them made. Zach purchased a drum after watching the fresh goat skin stretched across the top. He said it was an amazing opportunity and a once in a lifetime experience.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

I awoke early for our drive back from Timbuktu. You always dread the return venture, knowing this time what lies ahead, but in some ways it is nice knowing as well. This time only one unfortunate accident – on the trip to Timbuktu one land cruiser broke down and we had to squeeze into three. About half-way through the drive our car, being the last in the line, was losing speed and sight of the other three vehicles. It meant only one thing, a flat tire. So while our driver expertly changed the flat I went for a walk in the bush to a rather nice outcropping which I thought made a lovely spot for a ladies room. The entire trip into Timbuktu and the return was like being engulfed in a turbulent sea of sand, cleft by narrow sand valleys which happened to be the road and broken by wave-like ridges of rocks and bushes. The only shelter had to be within our land cruiser, and even then faces and bodies were scoured by the sand with which the air was laden. In one particular stretch everything was mottled by the rains and the heat, and the walls of homes in the villages were stippled like the skins of pachyderms.

It took roughly seven hours for the return, much shorter than the drive to Timbuktu, but it was rather nice to return to the Byblos Hotel and the friendly faces of the owners. Of course, the electricity was out for the first half an hour and everyone raced for room neuf, or nine, which was ours the first time and the smallest and coolest of the rooms. We were able to get our little icebox back although some people did manage to snag smaller rooms then their previous accommodations and that sent people into small disagreements.

Tomorrow morning is free, we seem to have deviated and mixed around our schedule for Mopti quite a bit. I took the longest shower once the electricity had returned and included all the personal amenities and niceties that I haven’t indulged in since my arrival in Mali. I will most likely sleep in tomorrow and I have even considered straightening my hair and letting it be straight for several days. It sounds like such a novelty but at this point I could use a reminder of my lifestyle at home. Journals are due tomorrow and I have to finish my question for this week, just three days behind. The journal is nothing like my blog but responds to a sheet of questions so I spend a lot of time each day on journaling for both class and pleasure.

It is Kathryn’s twenty-first birthday today and because of the free morning tomorrow people are taking the opportunity to party, and I believe heading out to a club at some point. I am so exhausted and drained from the drive, along with the heat, that the mere thought of celebrating is lost. Not to mention a club in a foreign country, let alone my own, is not my cup of tea, or shot of tequila!

I am looking forward to the leatherworkers visit tomorrow afternoon and cannot wait to learn more about their process and witness their technical skill. And, before ending for the night because I know I will most likely send my last several entries tomorrow at the Cyber Café I am feeling much improved and aside from being tired and drained from the heat have no other ailments to report.

Friday, July 25, 2008

Today I woke at eight thirty and decided I needed some sense of familiarity, if only for five minutes. I proceeded to straighten my hair which only took half an hour. The straightened tendrils now reveal a rather dry and parched amount of damage I am sure will have to be remedied once I return home. Regardless, it feels good to run my fingers through my hair and I plan on letting my hair be straight for the next four days if possible.

Plans have already changed for today. The bronze caster wants to visit and so we will do the leatherworker on another day. He will come here around four o’clock and until then we are at our own leisure. Apparently we aren’t allowed at his village so he will come here to demonstrate the wax process and probably sell his merchandise.

I want real food so badly, a pizza or pasta and I can’t decide what I will do for lunch today, most likely something here at the hotel. It is really fabulous to have a slow day after the last two weeks and I look forward to soaking up every ounce of relaxation possible, too bad they don’t have a pool. I can’t wait to get back to the Hotel Independence where the pool was so inviting.

Djenne Disappointment

Monday, July 21, 2008

Last night had to be the worst night of my entire life. Yes, I was hurling more than I ever thought my small body could hold. This morning I knew immediately that there was no way I could physically endure the two hour bus ride, the Saharan heat, or the smells of the market. I am completely nauseous and my body feels like it is quivering. I have sun poisoning, though I am not actually burnt, minus my nose being a slight tint of red. I have been more than diligent in applying my lotion and so I am left more saddened than I think I have ever been. It’s as if I was just told Semester at Sea would not be docking in Kenya on the Fall 2005 voyage, only this time I don’t have my closest friend in the world to deal with the news.

I have been told that my dosage of doxycycline is slightly high. Stephanie is on doxy as well for malaria prevention and she takes one hundred milligrams once a day, whereas I take two one hundred milligrams twice a day. The result is an intense reaction on my hands that has left the inner arches between the thumbs and forefingers red, which when in the sun begins to feel as if they are on fire, the most intense heat imaginable.

Today, I am lying in bed drinking as much water as possible. I took Tylenol, and then Pepto, but they have all come back up within minutes. Stephanie has been fabulous, getting me things I would require for the day and I could tell she was extremely saddened by not being able to go on this adventure to Djenne together. She warned me before closing the door to our room, “You better finish all that water before I get back,” which happens to be about three and a half liters!

I am not sure what the remainder of my day will entail, not having been able to eat anything. I am sure it is best if I just recuperate because tomorrow we have a long drive to Timbuktu. I just have to keep telling myself that missing the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Djenne is not the end of the world and there are so many other incredible experiences on this trip to be had. It is better to miss one day than to push myself too hard and miss more. This is my blog for the day, though I doubt I will get to the Cyber Café as I had hoped before leaving for Timbuktu.

After a few more sessions with the porcelain god and the return of the group from Djenne around six thirty I knew it would be a bad idea to watch the video for class when I felt too nauseous to even look at a computer screen or too weakened to walk to the bathroom. Around ten, after dinner had been served, Jerry arrived with a doctor. No official diagnosis to my knowledge, as Jerry had to translate our entire conversation. I didn’t have a fever, though I was physically sweating buckets. It seems heat exhaustion, sun poisoning, and a possible allergic reaction are the culprits. Though I’ve been told I am the first legitimately sick student on the trip it didn’t help alleviate my guilt at not being present for Djenne or attending class. The rash on my hands is either a side effect of the anti-malarial medication, especially from the over-dosage, or from something else such as the skin of a mango. While most people can eat mangoes there are people who react to the skin of the fruit. I’ve been given an anti-allergen and told that rest and water are the best cure. I couldn’t possibly have malaria because I haven’t been here for seven days, so the doctor says.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

After a decent night sleep I awoke feeling a good deal improved, just weak from lack of nutrients. So after getting dressed I headed down to breakfast for some bread, butter, and mango preserves, or what we think must be mango preserves. People have told me I look very skinny today, my stomach completely flattened from the vomiting. I certainly feel thinner; my pants barely stay up on my waist. I am not sure I packed appropriately for Timbuktu. And after packing my safari shirt dress and being hours away from my luggage, I remembered the dress has a belt which I didn’t pack in the overnight bag. There is also a pool at La Colombe, but I didn’t bring my suit. It is probably just as well. I should get as much rest as possible because we will be facing another torturous drive in two days.

I couldn’t post just one blog where I thought my state of health would have everyone concerned without continuing my adventure. While I am still pretty exhausted and weakened I was able to make the trip to Timbuktu. We departed at nine o’clock on a paved road but within two hours we headed off into the bush on a barely marked path. According to Jerry the “roads” have never been this deplorable and normally the trip takes several less hours than our ten hour drive!! That’s right, it is seven o’clock as I try to rest before dinner and we have only just arrived at our hotel.

The accommodations are nice but I question the fuzzy patterned blankets on the bed. Tomorrow will probably be exhausting going out to visit the city and I wish more than anything to be back in Sevare, even though the room and questionable electricity are not as desirable.


Stephanie’s professor from the University of Florida, Vicki Rovine, is here doing research. She is a specialist on textiles and has offered, if my grapevine is trustworthy, to take us to where the embroidery specialist is located in the city. I am hoping that maybe this will provide an opportunity for some textile purchases.

After eating couscous and a small portion of lamb, drinking a Coke, and showering I am ready for sleep – now if I could just remove that fuzzy blanket.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

I am a little disappointed that I have yet to find a place to make an international phone call, though I most likely shouldn’t be surprised. There aren’t even phones in the hotel rooms, so I’m sure the only means is via a cellular phone with the appropriate devices.

Today we went out for a tour of the city, on foot, in the dry sand and Sahelian heat. For nearly four hours we viewed the mosque, manuscript libraries, and historic points of interest before pausing for a Coke and an artisan market. I have thus far not been able to find any textiles on my trip, but I know that in the next few days there should hopefully be a visit with dyers. Perhaps I missed my chance at the Djenne market. One rather friendly vendor wanted to sell me a t-shirt and I believe he is now on a mission to find the right size and will end up outside the hotel waiting for me at the next opportunity. I don’t honestly believe they will have the size I am looking for, although I would love to have the opportunity to find some musical instruments instead.

At the market there were plenty of people begging you to come into their shops so I did happen to make a few purchases. I am not sure what other opportunities I will have later so I didn’t want to miss the chance. I’ve also gotten my passport stamped in Timbuktu, which is pretty cool!

For the next three hours I am planning on resting and hope that the gurgling in my stomach isn’t a sign of things to come, which it was. I took some medicine and it seems to be starting to alleviate the problem. I guess it is better now than tomorrow when we are on the road for another ten hours!

I can’t wait to get to the Cyber Café tonight and hope there aren’t any complications in my plan. It seems that is the only way to communicate with home and so I am more eager than ever to hear from everyone.

Mopti

Sunday, July 17, 2008

It was a cloudy morning with an enjoyable breeze that rustled the leaves overhead in a gentle rhythm. We departed at seven thirty in four land cruisers for our trip off the paved road to Nando, a Dogon village with an incredibly unique mud mosque. The village does not receive tourists normally and so it was quite a different experience.

Once we drove through the uncharted bush and over a field of boulders we parked at the bottom of a large rocky mountain, certainly not as massive as the Bandiagara, but a test in itself. It took nearly forty minutes to reach the flat plane at the top where the Dogon live. Once we entered inside the walls of the village children came running. We watched women working on various tasks and finally emerged at a large baobab tree where the mosque stood. It is the only mud mosque you can enter, barefoot, and I walked the darkened interior, climbed to the mud roof, and circumambulated its circumference.

After two hours we were headed back out of the maze and descending the steep embankment once more. This time however I apparently had my souvenir with me, a small girl, who insisted on holding my hand for the entirety of the stay. It is difficult to take photos with one hand but everyone time I took an image she giggled and put and lens cap back on the camera and pushed down the flash cap. I was rather surprised by this and when she asked for Bic at the bottom I couldn’t help but sneak her one of my pens while the other children weren’t looking. It is so difficult to give anything to anyone without attracting a crowd.

We drove a little ways so as to be inconspicuous and hopped out of the cruisers for a picnic lunch. Stephanie and I had purchased tuna fish, in a can, cheese, and olives and quickly made ourselves a delicious sandwich. I was quite the hit with my can opener when everyone realized they needed one to open their tuna, anchovies, or sardines. I crave steamed vegetables so immensely, especially peas, and the canned peas in the supermarket are looking more and more delectable every day. I believe I will purchase some tomorrow and just eat them with a spoon out of the can. My meals mostly include rice, frites or meat, but no vegetables because I don’t want to get sick.

I am a little concerned about our accommodations here. Since arriving my nose has become completely congested and I can barely breathe. There are two other students who are experiencing the same problem and we have come to the conclusion with Mary Jo that the rooms are heavily affected by the rainy season, thus the air conditioners are a veritable trap of mold and mildew to the extreme. This bothers me because we are staying at this hotel the most throughout the remainder of the trip. I also have a horrible heat rash of sorts on the arch between my thumb and forefinger on both hands. They burn immensely at all times and my hands have now started to tingle as well. Hopefully it will pass. I thought I had brought more medication with me but can’t seem to find the majority of the containers.

Class is at four o’clock and we are planning on watching a video on Djenne to prepare us for the trip tomorrow. I would like to get to the Cyber Café again today, but we’ll see. I washed laundry for the first time and there happened to be, rather conveniently, a clothesline right outside on our balcony area. I don’t have clothespins so I hope my clothes don’t blow away!

Segou to Mopti

Thursday, July 17, 2008

After bidding the Hotel Independence a fond farewell, with a promise to enjoy its sparkling pool upon my return, we boarded the bus with our luggage piled once again on the top. It was to be a lengthy journey to Mopti, prolonged suffering in the sun and a lingering anticipation of our next hotel accommodations. We will be spending most of our stay at various points throughout the next three weeks in Mopti at the Byblos Hotel.

It was an extremely uneventful ride, the first three hours passing in the glare of the sun on what felt like burning flesh. Not the sort of warm fire you feel when you are burnt from a day at the pool, rather the feel of a small inferno within every pore of your skin. With my clothes drenched through much like my three hour train ride to Agra, I could feel the heat reaching a peak when we finally pulled over at Campement Tireya for a meal.

Under the canopy of the establishment we were given Coke in a bottle, which seems to be the norm, and roasted chicken, frites, and rice. The chicken here is so wonderful, seasoned and cooked to perfection and the frites taste absolutely amazing.

Following our meal it was nearly time to board the bus. Stephanie and I ventured to the restroom, neither of us wanting to wait outside alone or enter the small room unaccompanied. Thus, we entered together, shut the door, and took turns guarding the entrance and doing our business. I guess pissing in the middle of nowhere together makes entering a ladies room together pale in comparison.

Back on the bus the sun promptly resumed to cook my flesh like I was in some rotisserie oven. We passed village after village where sheep and cattle were grazing or people were going about their daily tasks. The vegetation seems to have become a little sparser and Stephanie and I have both experienced what we have deemed “sleeping heat hallucinations.” It is not really sleep although your eyes are shut. In essence it is a slumber ranging from several minutes to half an hour in which you are slightly aware of your surroundings. When you “awake” it is the result of some figment of the imagination that parallels the reality of the world around you. I awoke from one of these experiences terrified that she and I were in our hotel room suffering the most violent of storms. In actuality it was the bus rumbling and quaking so horribly that it took a minute to realize it was nothing more than in my mind.

Finally, we arrived at the hotel where vegetation, agama lizards, and geckos roam the grounds. We were told the keys were in all the rooms up on the top floor so off the entire group went to choose our accommodations. Stephanie and I opened door number nine, or neuf in French, where we were greeted with a small room, and an even smaller bathroom. The shower is practically positioned over the toilet. It is rather dirty and aged but as long as the agama and geckos stay outside I am satisfied. The air conditioning unit makes horrible squeaking sounds incessantly and we both are wondering how to sleep through the unpleasant clamor.

Internet seems to be unavailable here, at least until I find an internet café or other equivalent, as well as any phones, quite the opposite impression I was given. I wish we were returning to the Hotel Independence and its larger rooms, free Internet, and welcoming pool. We are here for the next five nights I believe before heading to Timbuktu and then returning.

While getting situated in our new accommodations, more than ready for a trip to the ladies room, I stepped up into the interior of the small space. The smell of urine and feces is rather prevalent, especially when the lid to the porcelain throne is raised. Within thirty seconds after pulling the door closed the lights went off. I called to Stephanie thinking she made a mistake and turned the light off, but no response. To no further avail from my questions, I found the latch and opened the door to total blackness. Not only was the bathroom the darkest black imaginable, the entire scope of my vision was confronted with complete and profound obscurity. I called to Stephanie, who called back from the area of the balcony. We played this cat and mouse game until we found each other’s outstretched hands. As my laptop was on the bed I stumbled until I found the familiar keyboard and the button which would illuminate the screen. Once we had a little more light we found flashlights and proceeded to find everyone else before heading outside to the patio area to wait for dinner and the generator.

After a late dinner, grilled beef kabobs and frites, I stayed up with Tessa, Zach, Ben, Stephanie, and Drew quite late. Stephanie and I returned to our room to get some sleep, however in the process of our conversations we spotted a rather large mosquito. Watching it fly for several minutes we both lost sight of the creature until it landed on my shirt above my left hip. Barely a second later, and without further thought or hesitation, Stephanie whacked the insect quite precisely. To my astonishment, and hers, I soon had the outline of her hand and fingers on my flesh. This entire scene sent us into laughter, tears soon rolling down our cheeks.

Friday, July 18, 2008

Breakfast was rather early this morning, Jerry afterwards sharing an introduction to Mopti and our plans for the next several days. It sounds like tomorrow we will take a river boat to a Fulani village, where I hope to purchase some Fulani gold earrings. Over the next five days we will ultimately visit weavers, potters, blacksmiths, and various other artisans.

Following our session we drove into Mopti as our hotel is on the outskirts in Sevare. Descending the steps of the bus into a bustling city across from a mud mosque we listened to information about the area and the construction and preservation of the architecture. Soon we were invited into the village chief’s house where we ascended a steep set of stairs to the roof. The sun was blazing but it was fantastic to view the panorama of the city atop the mud residence.

Afterwards, we roamed the maze of streets, hiding underneath trees in the shade whenever possible. At the end of our excursion we ventured into a market where meat and produce are sold as well as arts and crafts. My only disappointment was that it all seemed so overwhelming. The abundance of masks mass-produced makes me hesitant and I feel less inclined to purchase anything. I think I will know what masks to purchase for people when I finally see them. Although there are several fabulous really small chi-wara masks with lovely embellishments I think people would love I wonder if they would prefer a frontal mask to hang on the wall rather than sit on a shelf. It is all about bargaining in the market and I found one, yes, just one, Akua-ba and ultimately concluded that 5,000 Malian francs, or twelve dollars roughly was a fair price. He had originally requested almost forty! I feel guilty having just one of these fertility dolls, knowing there are a few people who are quite interested in their unique appearance. I know I will see more and then it will be just a matter of fairly dividing. I didn’t want to purchase any bogolan cloth or indigo until Djenne because I have heard the cloth is a much nicer quality. I am also hoping to find some nice leatherwork from the Tuareg in Timbuktu.

On our way back from the city we stopped at a small market to purchase food for lunch. Fresh baguette, cheese, and green olives were my purchase for the day! The largest baguette you have ever seen is only 300 Malian francs, or seventy five cents! The cheese was melted due to the heat and spread nicely into the softened bread. Even the olives, with their large pits, were delicious!

We have three hours until we meet for class, although I am not sure what that will entail. My face is a little burnt and I will have to remember to put a little extra lotion on my forehead and nose.

Arriving at four thirty for our class session we soon realized the flexibility this trip would require and the sort of adventures that arrive in a mere matter of moments. We headed toward the bus and climbed on board to drive back into Mopti. The heat of the Sahara was not hindered by the glass of the window and it was a welcome respite to arrive at Aly Cisse’s residence. Recently published in the Smithsonian’s Middle Eastern and Venetian Glass Beads, 8th-13th century by Augusto Panini, I was greeted with row upon row of ancient and rare beads, natural and manmade. It was like being back at Kazurie Beads in Kenya, but knowing the prices would be quite costly.

I listened to Aly for quite some time, picking up his French explanations of various strands. It dawned on me that not even the best of mass produced carved masks could compare and so I began asking prices and picking up some fabulous one of a kind pieces. Aly Cisse buys each bead individually as he happens across them and then repairs and reassembles many of them into necklaces. While I still plan on looking at several smaller masks as gifts, I came to the realization that so much of what I have been given the opportunity to purchase is one of a kind. While it makes it difficult to ultimately purchase one of something so incredible, the most difficult element will be deciding who the receiver of each remarkable piece will be – a chore I am not thrilled to accomplish.

A Baule Cote d’Ivoire bronze piece in the lost-wax process, achieved with bees wax, in a shape reminiscent of traditional drums and a second Baule piece of brass delicate balls I knew from the moment I caught sight of them would be added to my pile. In addition, I chose a strand of aged red beads from the Bozo fishermen of Mali – the vibrant red beads a sign of fertility and marriage. To make the situation even more difficult, I couldn’t seem to let a strand of white ostrich shell beads, very valuable and used by mosques to represent fertility in their architectural designs, out of my grasp. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity and I don’t regret even one of my purchases!

If that hadn’t complicated my already premeditated shopping list we headed back to our hotel where a famous jewelry designer and friend of Mary Jo Arnoldi’s was awaiting with a feastly spread. Amadou, who has designed for Hermes of Paris, had bronze and silver jewelry spread across three tables, and if that weren’t problematic enough, each item had exclusive prices to match. I wanted one of everything, but knowing I will be in Timbuktu, and wanting to purchase their intricate silver jewelry, I chose two small items, one for myself and the other for my closest friend.

At this point I was completely drained from the heat. When the outside of your body feels such enormous pressure from the immensity of the ungodly temperature, the inside just seems to exist without sensation. I experienced neither hunger nor desire but knew I would need some provisions. I opted for frites, warm and fried in peanut oil, and an enormous mango. I ate rather expediently guzzling the syrupy sweet Coke I had ordered to accompany my meal. Soon I was headed up to my small room where the size contributes greatly to its pleasant coolness. Tomorrow we are headed to a Fulani village and for the time I am thankful to be out of the heat.

Saturday, July 19, 2008

This morning we headed out to the riverfront market where produce and meat are sold to the locals. From there we hobbled hesitantly across a small plank to a boat for our trip upriver to the Fulani weaving village of Guimbe. It was a rather pleasant trip in the shade of the thatched roof and the next forty-five minutes passed with a satisfying breeze.

We were warmly welcomed by the Fulani children, all speaking in French and asking us questions. “Bic, Bic,” they say, asking for pens. One small girl, with a baby strapped to her back, grabbed my hand and would not let go for what seemed the majority of the trip. Sadly, I had no Bic pens to share, or an empty water bottle. They also implore quite diligently for empty plastic water bottles and candy. We watched the family of weavers at work on wedding cloths and after several hours in the shady overhang we ventured back through the winding labyrinth, catching glimpses of the elegant women with their jewelry and elaborate dress.

It was another thirty minutes back down river to the docks and through the market of unpleasant aromas before I was back on the bus. Completely drained and covered in a pool of sweat I don’t think I can ever recall being so incredibly hot and suffering the effects. I drank nearly two liters of water even before reaching Mopti again and heading back to the hotel for a much needed visit to the restroom.

The last three days have been severely stifling and oppressive and this only leads to one conclusion, there is a massive storm approaching. It was as if the rainy season hadn’t announced itself to us completely and the winds hastily swept over the dry landscape to welcome us to Mopti. We stopped at a Liberian restaurant for a meal and by the time we finished the well-seasoned dishes the walkways and streets were flooded several inches.

Arriving at the hotel drenched and drained I was relieved to have two hours before class tonight to rest. Assuming the storm does not cause the electricity to fail, as it did twice during lunch, I will spend time in the coolness of my room and shower. I don’t think I have ever felt this foul and unclean in my entire life. I need to start doing some laundry but with the recent storm I am concerned that things will not dry and, more importantly, there isn’t a spot to hang my garments.

I was planning on going to the Cyber Café with some other people immediately following lunch, they apparently have bizarre hours, but my plans were ruined with the electricity failures and deluge of rain accompanied with lighting and thunder. Several people suffered the effects of dehydration yesterday, one even remaining at the hotel. Headaches and diarrhea, the side-effects of a major lack of fluids are two things I want to avoid at all costs. It would be fabulous to be able to get to the Cyber Café today, but I doubt that will actually occur. The smell in the hotel room is unbelievable and Stephanie and I have concluded that the drainage is horribly inadequate.

Class at five o’clock was entertaining and everyone shared their thoughts about the experiences of the last several days. Soon it was time to order dinner, oeuf and hommos, and then Drew and I had to go meet with Jerry and Mary Jo to discuss our graduate requirements and final papers. Jerry’s only requirement is the final paper, that and taking notes and attending all the visits. Mary Jo and I spoke extensively about various paper options – the Bamana chi-wara as a cultural, national, and international symbol or a topic on the Bogolanfini with the same cultural to international focus. Basically, I am leaning towards the chi-wara, being my favorite ethnic group and mask. I think on my free days in Segou and Bamako I will go out with Drew to photograph ads, billboards, street signs and paintings that include the chi-wara. Mary Jo was also interested in helping me get to the see someone at the university who has studied extensively about the cultural production of the mask. She also thought it might be possible to find some local carvers who produce them for the tourist trade as they are not performed in traditional agricultural rituals anymore.

After my meal a group of us sat and talked, laughing about certain events throughout the day. We headed upstairs for some sleep after watching Liz model a pair of pants she had purchased earlier in the week. It was quite hilarious when we were all laughing and Stephanie said goodnight and turned around to go into our room, only it wasn’t our room. The two girls inside, also on our program, were reading in their beds and Stephanie quickly shut the door. As you can imagine hilarity ensued.

Tomorrow we are going to Nando, a Dogon village and I am looking forward to another adventure.

Bamako to Segou

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

As the rainy season has entered its prime I awoke to the sound of rustling leaves and the dribble of rain coming off the roof. I knew I would have to roll my luggage across a muddy path and condensed everything into my one large duffel so I only had to carry my messenger bag for the day. It was another leisurely morning where I enjoyed a small breakfast followed by a ten o’clock departure to visit a local artist.

We drove to a lovely neighborhood, arriving at eleven o’clock due to the congestion of city traffic and the crossing of cattle on the main road. We also spent a rather long hiatus at the gas station where this commodity is roughly eight dollars a gallon. And I thought four dollars and forty-nine cents was pricey in the windy city!

Abdoulaye Konate, a famous Malian artist of the last two decades, welcomed us into his large residence and studio where he offered bottled water, soda, and hot tea while proudly revealing some of his well-known works and recent products for private collectors. The local woman from which he purchases his damask fabric for some of his work came to display her intricate dyed cloths. The colors were so vibrant and for fifteen thousand Malian francs I purchased a gorgeous blue fabric I imagine having made into pillows and a small quilt for a guest bedroom with an African Cape Verde theme.

After our two hour visit we stopped at a local restaurant for lunch where I enjoyed a chicken, lamb, and couscous dish. The couscous was absolutely delicious with chick peas and yellow raisins. It was soon time to depart on our five hour drive to Segou, passing twisted baobab after baobab. We drove through Bingegoudou, Zamgoudou, and Sirigoudou before arriving in Segou for the night at the Hotel Independence.

After three hours aboard the bus several ladies decided a restroom stop was in order, the only problem being that we were in the middle of nowhere! So the rickety bus pulled to a lurch and off we went to find our separate bushes. Stephanie and I were thrilled to be wearing skirts and I was even more thankful for biodegradable wipes. We found a rather secluded alcove of bushes and were both laughing so hard as we stripped off our underwear and squatted low to the ground! Oh boy, what an experience. I am sure to repeat this several times during the ride to Timbuktu!

The accommodations, thus far, are actually greatly improved than the Mande Hotel. I had roasted chicken and potatoes for dinner, was persuaded to try the local dish of frog legs, sorry Heather, and a chocolate crepe for dessert.

Tomorrow we depart for Mopti, this being just a brief respite before our six hour drive to Mopti tomorrow. I am feeling slightly behind in my schoolwork, the only problem being that we don’t actually seem to have any. We have journals for both classes, and mainly I just need to spend a little time journaling for both of those in my notebook. I also need to consider my final paper topic.

Arrival in Mali

Sunday, July 13, 2007

After a frenzied morning of resituating luggage and saying farewell to my twin sister who had only just arrived home from six weeks in the Yucatan, I climbed into my checkered cab. A congenial face smiled back at me from the rearview mirror, a Somalian who was quite interested in my present journey to Bamako, Mali.

Upon checking in at O’Hare, not quite certain if my luggage had been weighed, I proceeded to my departure gate. It was an uneventful flight, which is to say that the flight itself was typical as far as flights are concerned. It was prior to departure from the terminal that my soon-to-be-bad-luck would begin. Once boarded on the plane we were informed of an hour and fifteen minute delay. Thus for the ensuing timeframe I read a little of my only book and anxiously waited to be free from the restricted confines.

My arrival in JFK, too, was without incident and monotonous, the dizzying walkways and escalators in due course revealing the Air France counter. With another three hours until Chieck Cisse would arrive with my passport I found a seat within eye-shot of the ticket counter. I met up with University of Florida student, Stephanie Yelverton, and we became instant friends, laughing and passing the hours. She had made small bracelets with beads to give as gifts in the country and I was quite surprised when she handed me a brown and gold beaded bracelet complete with an elephant charm, for the three elephants I foster with the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust.

Once the Cinderella hour had arrived I was eagerly re-acquainted with my passport, with the newest addition of a Malian visa. Once through the terminal with our group we went to our gate to wait once again for departure, this time to Paris, France. Aboard the mammoth aircraft, seat 44L, I had the misfortune of sitting beside a man with the worst body odor imaginable. He soon realized he had sat in the wrong seat and no sooner was I able to breathe a sigh of relief than another man sat beside me, quite amiable and pleasant, with a heady French accent.

It seemed my misfortune was to confront me yet again, and now aboard the aircraft we sat in the black of the runway for yet another hour and thirty minutes, at least. This meant two things, my friend next to me was missing his connection to Morocco, and I had to wait in an aircraft once again. I slept rather objectionably in the limits of the seat for the following eight hours.

Now, I have arrived in Paris, France, actually walked on the gravel of the runway before being whisked off on a bus to the main terminal. No, no sighting of the Eiffel Tower, much to my disappointment, unless you count the pewter counterparts in the souvenir shop.

My next flight departs in about three hours and by the end of the night I should be refreshed from a brisk shower and sleeping, with any luck, in a comfortable bed. My thoughts are an untidy heap at the moment, a hodgepodge of remembered last minute phone calls to loved ones and the excitement and frustrations of actually traveling to your destination. I have a feeling that the next four weeks will pass in the blink of an eye and so many weird and wonderful sights are just several hours away.

I wish I had some magnificent descriptions or powerful imagery to call witness to at the moment, but travel can be such a test in patience and ultimately exhaustion ensues.

An eternity has passed since my arrival in Paris and after boarding my final flight to Bamako, Mali we waited, once again, forty-five minutes in the plane for take-off. Beside me is a man, a musician from Mali who speaks only French and the challenge commenced rather quickly as we attempted to learn information about each other. His jacket reads, “Mundial On Tour,” with the website www.mundialproductions.nl written beneath. He says to me, “Vino good, good,” with a thumbs up while we eat the cold provisions provided.

It is always difficult to arrive in a foreign place at night because you always get an incredibly different impression. My only comparison is Cambodia – from the airport, the mosquitoes, and the arrival at the hotel. The airport, one building, was a frenzied fight to the one small strip of luggage rotating around and around, carts moving left and right, pushing into you. Once I found my luggage, had my passport stamped, and passed my luggage through the security machine I was outside in the dark. We waited for everyone to perform the same unusual routine of arrival and boarded a jalopy old bus where our luggage was stacked immediately on the top. Only one person had the misfortune of not receiving their luggage, Patricia Kuntz, who happened to be my companion traveler from O’Hare to JFK. She thought her rather intelligent maneuver of having the luggage go completely through American Airlines to O’Hare and transfer to Air France through Bamako would be efficient and easy. It is regrettable that she will have to hope for its arrival, if not her time here just became rather disastrous.

We rode to the Mande Hotel, which until the light of an early sun I will reserve my thoughts. All I will offer is that the room is faded with hard tile floors, the bathroom quite distinct with a shower, but no curtain or glass, and one towel! The room appears well closed off to the outside for the most part, although there are dozens upon dozens of crawling little bugs that Stephanie and I have taken to stepping on when the opportunity presents itself. I am longing for a shower, a clean pair of clothes, a restful night sleep, and crossing my fingers that the Linksys in the main lobby will actually provide an internet connection, as it doesn’t seem to in the far reaches of my room across the pool and outcropping buildings. I have one more night in this hotel before departing for a one stop in Segou and then on to Mopti. At this point, I am exhausted and nothing else but sleep matters, that and the one bottle of water I have, and hoping to contact family members at some point tomorrow. And yes, there is a gecko in my bathroom! Not to mention the vibrant chartreuse frog that hopped out of the shower drain while I was enjoying the cool refreshing deluge of water for the first time in two days!

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

After an enjoyable breakfast of eggs and sausage, not to mention water, we leisurely conversed for nearly two hours in the main lobby before heading out to the covered deck for the introduction to the program. Jerry Vogel and Mary Jo Arnoldi familiarized everyone with the course requirements, especially helpful were my graduate student requirements which entail more analytical journal entries concerning the art historical aspects of the culture and a more developed final paper. Everything seems so laid back and mellow.

After exchanging my money for the local currency and going to the supermarket equivalent for bottled water we were on our way to the National Museum of Bamako. The Director of the museum came to greet us and we toured the three exhibits for nearly three hours. We stopped for a late lunch at Los Byblos Restaurant, an American-style cuisine locale if I ever saw one, even though the menu was in French. Afterwards, it was time to visit the griots house.

We entered the darkened interior of his home, small children playing the yard, and sat on the seats surrounding the wall. He came out with the assistance of two cane-like supports, clad in robes of burnished bronze. He explained in French, with Jerry Vogel translating, that griots prefer the term jeli. Griot was given by the Portuguese who considered them clowns or public informants. Jeli, in the local dialect, means blood. In essence, the jeli are to the society what blood is to the body. They maintain customs as guardians of tradition and it is tradition that gives meaning to culture. As preservers of the peace he pacifies social issues and creates social cohesion.

“You cannot become a jeli, you must be born one,” he says. Since 1236 when Sundiata won the war with the Sosso people a constitution was put in place in which the mission of the jeli was permanently fixed. They are the masters of speech and never learned to write, all history is remembered.

After thanking the jeli we returned to the hotel where it was almost 6:30pm. As the program is quite unhurried I am not certain what tomorrow will bring, nor my activities on a daily basis. And, I think, I’m okay with that! For now, I am hoping that the torrential rain that woke me up last night at 4:30am will not be a common recurrence, though the breeze seemed to cool the room and the long rolling thunder a rather pleasant sound.

We ate dinner at Le Pili-Pili outside in the waning light of day. Jerry Vogel had taken it upon himself to order the meal earlier in the afternoon and soon we were eating fried caramelized plantains, seasoned and grilled chicken, beef kabobs, capitaine fish dishes, rice, and fresh mango, the sweetest, most wonderful I have ever had. The preparation of each dish was incredible and I don’t think I have ever tasted such a wonderful meal. The meal was on Jerry and the program so it was quite a surprise that we did not have to pay for dinner.

We arrived back at the hotel close to ten thirty and I desperately wanted to send emails home so I purchased thirty internet minutes for four dollars and brought my laptop to the main lobby so the wireless connection would work properly. Once I sat down and was ready to send my pre-typed messages home, the computer ran out of juice. My disappointment was short-lived because I logged onto the computers provided and sent a few quick emails on a French keyboard, Stephanie and I laughing at the ridiculous difficulty of getting certain symbols and letters. My messages I am sure were like some cryptic SOS and I hope they were well received. I am charging my laptop tonight so that I may make a second attempt in the morning before heading to Segou.