Like this:

December 3

Segou is on the Niger, second longest river in Africa: 4200 km long, 1700 km of which is in Mali. We take a boat ride an hour upriver from Segou to Kalabougou, a village of 4444, known for its pottery. Although there is not much work that day, we get the basic idea – mix mud and water, form small bowls over a mold, larger ones by turning by hand, rub on color, fire. More interesting is the construction of a granary which is in progress. Although the men working on it are not happy to have us watch, it is fascinating. They take wild grass and fashion it into boules or thick ropes, then coil these to make the walls of the round structure. This is lined on the inside with plastic sheeting, and coated with mud on the outside. Then the mud walls are covered with a woven grass and the granary is topped with a thatched roof. Everything but the plastic sheeting is made from ‘scratch.’

As we return to the boat we pass two U.S. soldiers who are supposedly there to train Malians to fight Al Qaeda (what’s up with that?) and a courtyard where we see women reading. Ogo explains that it is a woman’s “cooperative” and they are learning Arabic. We go in.

There are eight women, all older, perhaps our age. They are focused, enthusiastic, very into what they are doing. They totally remind me of my friends. They have each copied out a text in Arabic, and the teacher is reading them a Bambara translation. Then they take turns translating it.

These women have formed a cooperative, or club, in which they compile their monies, and give small loans to individuals. It is amazing, in this country in which women don’t go to school, begin caring for babies as soon as they can walk, and then have a child a year, to see how liberating it is to grow to the age where they can do what they want and be who they want.

They finally acknowledge our presence, and ask that we send them copies of the photos. We will!

The ride home on the river is restful and we enjoy a Malian meal (Capitain fish, French fries, haricots verts and beer) along with Malian music. Unfortunately the news of Obama’s decision to send 30,000 more troops to Afghanistan has hit, and the evening is dominated by our attempts to outdo each other in our anger at this.

December 3, 2009

Tonight we camp! The Hotel Djoliba is seeming luxurious, ants and all.

It’s a long drive. We pass a large cotton factory with dormitories, built originally by the Chinese, but now run by Malians. Later there is a huge military base with two-year training for Malian soldiers (officers).  Ogo tells us that there are also Togo, Burkina Faso, French, U.S. and other soldiers there – we can’t figure that out.

Much of the fun of these trips is buying necessities. We cross a bridge over a large dam (the Barrage de Markala, constructed by the French 1933-49). Just past the bridge we stop to buy fish – it’s the occasion for lots of fun and picture taking – and the fish go in a black plastic bag on the roof of one of the vans, to ride along at ~95 F! A few miles later we need gas, so we stop in a small village and drive around until the drivers can find the right price. They settle on a station at ~ noon. It is a small tin shack (~8’x8’) painted red and white, with an awning of branches. In the front. There are three attendants (one in a suit and baseball hat) who watch carefully along with the driver to make sure we get the correct amount. The gas is pumped by hand into a calibrated 4L glass cylinder, then emptied into the car. This is repeated until the tank is full – it’s a long and laborious process.

The station is in the middle of a large flat dirt/dust ground. Dirt roads surround it – motorcycles, bicycles and children walking home for lunch, backpacks on their backs, pass by, watching us as we watch them.

We have a leisurely African lunch – stop the car at ~ 1, sit on a blanket on the river until they serve (the fish, bread, rice, etc.) at ~ 3:45.

Then we drive another hour and stop at a market to buy chicken and bread for dinner.

Here we see a Garibou – a child who has left his family to follow a Moslem teacher from town to town for 5-10 years. Such children beg for food and share with their teacher. Eventually they become teachers of the Koran themselves. This practice has become commercial/political, and has been banned in Burkina Faso. In Mali, the authorities are keeping a close watch on it.

The market is a hoot. There are many children there with their parents and within several minutes they have all clustered around our group demanding pictures. I watch about 30 descend on Jim, As he readies to take a picture of them they crowd toward him – he tries to wave them back just a bit – and then when he shows them the image they literally scream with laughter.

Here I see my first little girl with a headscarf. She is an uninhibited as the other children. Also – a young boy with an Obama shirt (we have seen several of these in every village) but he is also carrying a satchel with the name “Saddam Hussein” on it!

A huge truck is waiting to take one group home when the market closes. The first passenger, a woman with a baby wrapped onto her back and a large basket, easily puts one foot on a tire then throws herself over the high side – as tall as she is. They come in droves after that: eventually there are 30-40 and the truck is packed – women, children and huge bundles. One woman climbs aboard holding a large live bird by its wing. Just as it seems there is no more room, a woman with two children and a wrapped baby comes. She passes up her two kids, then her bundle, then she tries to climb. She can’t make it so she unwraps the baby and passes him up, then goes to the other side where I assume she manages to get herself in. As the sun sets, the truck leaves.

A couple of km and we are at the camp site – a large dirt area surrounded by scrub vegetation. Ogo and the drivers spread the mat for us, then set about making dinner, which we get a couple of hours later – grilled chicken, spaghetti, couscous and tomato/ vegetable sauce they have made. Very good.

It is absolutely lovely here. Cool, magnificent  stars, sounds of birds constant (even through the night.)

Advertisement