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.