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December 15

“Dogon Country” is the collective name for a grouping of hundreds of villages of the Dogon people around a large escarpment in central Mali. The Dogons came here in the 14^th or 15^th century, chasing away the original inhabitants – pygmy Tellem who lived in caves on the escarpment. They stayed mostly on the escarpment, fighting the Fulani who herded the plains beneath it, until the French pacified the situation in the early 20^th century. Now there are Dogon villages extending out into the surrounding flat land and everyone sort of gets along.

We will spend the next three nights on rooftops in Dogon villages. The trip there is a long one, and a bit exciting. As we leave the ferry away from Timbuktu, the one going back is loading with 21 Fulani cows. The Fulani nomads try to get them onto the ferry by hitting them with ropes. But the cows slip on the ramp and fall – some into the shallow water. The herd then turns as one, deciding to walk away from the boat; the Fulani try to convince them to turn back. This is mostly done, except for one that goes away in a dead run – two men catch him – one holding onto his tail and being pulled at top speed and the other trying to grab the horns. When we finally leave ten minutes later, cattle and men are still in a standoff.

The remainder of the trip is 200 km across the desert. The ground is a field of white grasses, African trees at flat angles and huge red buttes. The road is a sand path that meanders through it – splitting and coming together like paths in a forest. Salah drives in his Tuareg turban with Malian music. It’s one of the most beautiful trips I’ve ever made.

But as we drive, we notice that the other car – Cheick’s – is no longer behind us. Salah drives back to discover from a herdsman that they’ve taken the wrong path. No phone signal, no contact. It’s 4 PM and darkness looms in two hours; he does not know the way to our destination. What follows is a comedy of chase. We try to find the path Cheick has taken, which does not, in fact, lead to the village where we plan to spend the night. We race as fast as possible for the conditions, stopping to ask every nomad if they have seen the car. One tells us it is 15 minutes ahead. Another tells us that the only car ahead of us is white, not the black one that we’re trying to find. Ogo is beginning to get angry. We finally decide to drive up a huge sand dune to try to get a phone signal. If the Cheickmobile has gone in the direction we think, it should be near a village, Bamba, which has phone service. Our Salahmobile fishtails through sand to the top, as Ogo counts the bars on his phone. At the top there are enough: 6 PM we make contact. Cheick, Jim, Lee and Ginny are in Bamba. They wait for us there, and we drive together to Yendouma, our first Dogon village, at ~7:30.

We sleep on mattresses on Dogon roofs for three nights. I’m initially skeptical. Getting to an outhouse will involve steep stairs down the sides of the building. Even rolling over quickly could launch us off the edge. Donkeys bray all night (are they having sex?) But it turns out to be worth it. The nights are the only cool weather we have on the trip. Stars of incredible depth and number are in a full circle around us. Sunrise (the roosters make sure we don’t miss it) begins as a slice of deep orange across a quarter of the horizon that gets larger and paler. Amazing.

During the next three days we visit villages in Dogon Country. These are laid out as groupings of families. Husband and wife sleep in separate buildings, and older children sleep together in large groups from several families. Belongings, as well as grain, are stored in granaries – again, separate ones for the men and women. These are characteristically capped with straw roofs shaped like witches hats. Each village has a togu na, a shelter 1.2 m tall with 8 posts, forbidden to women, where the men meet to discuss whatever men discuss that women are not allowed to hear (likely nothing important.) Traditionally each village has a menstruation house, a round building where women are obliged to sit out their impure days. Like all of Mali, children abound, the younger ones riding on their mother’s back, the older ones running along with us and being friendly.

The hardest part of Dogon Country is that most of the villages are up in the escarpment. We have to climb steep rocks, scale log ladders, balance across rock bridges. We are panting in our travel wear and slipping in our high-tech hiking boots as the Dogons, wearing wool hats and flip flops, run in front then hold our hands to help us over the rough parts.

Ogo enthusiastically explains the beliefs and rituals. There are lots of them. Among the more interesting:

• Circumcision is performed every three years at ~16. A cohort of boys from various villages (~60-100) go up into the mountain and wait their turn. They are not allowed to make any noise. Ogo remembers that he started to scream and they stuffed a rag into his mouth. They are tied down by their legs and hands on their back each night (to keep them from hurting the wound) until it heals. They stay in the mountain for a month, learning secret things during the day. Traditionally, at the end, there is a footrace among the initiates. The person coming in first gets a plot of land, the person coming in second gets a donkey and a load of millet. Third place gets his choice of any girl in the village he wants as his wife.
• Excision, or female circumcision, was traditionally practiced in Mali but is now illegal. It was felt to be the way that girls became women, in parallel with male circumcision, and is performed by older women. It is mostly not done today in Dogon country, and Ogo feels that the last of it will die out as the older women do.
• Fox Tables are used to predict the future. The fox was the first creature created. So if you want to know the future, you find a fox divinator and ask him a question. “I am sick, what should I do?” He sets up a design in the sand that has the elements of the possible answers. That night, a fox walks across it, picking the correct path for you. Ogo explains that this has all been verified by the BBC: they set up a camera one night in a local tree and watched all might to make sure that the divinator himself didn’t try to rig things – and they actually saw the fox at work!
• The Sigi. A complicated ceremony that is to atone for sins of the past. It is held every 60 years, at the time of appearance of Sirius B. Interestingly, Sirius B was only discovered by astronomers in 1970, leading Dogons to claim all sorts of justification for their insights. Much of this has been disproved.
• Animism. Although many Dogons are now Islam or Christian, they are also still all animists. They believe that the spirits of their ancestors are active in their lives, as well as the spirits of other living things.

Ogo himself is the most interesting aspect of this trip. He is 28, educated, smart. He has been involved in tourism for many years, and has travelled out of the country to help film a reality show for Dutch TV. Charismatic and charming, he knows many languages, and has guided people from many countries. People in every city we visit come up to say hello to him.

Even so, he is strongly animist. Raised by his grandfather, the Hogon of Tirelli, he believes he will be Hogon when he turns 50, which will include his living as a hermit – alone, no contact with wife or female children from that time on. He bemoans “losing the culture” when he describes some improvements in daily life. When we find a man using a hose to water an onion field, instead of flinging water from a bucket as women do, he calls him “lazy.” I would love to follow him for 20 years to see what happens!

On the last day we attend a traditional Dogon Mask Dance.  2 km up into the escarpment is a stage area. First the elders, dressed in blue robes, come forth and begin to drum. Then the masks come out across the rocks from different directions – men dressed in elaborate costumes and covered with masks symbolizing Kanaga, animals, priests, hunters. Some of the masks are 4 m high, and some of the men are on stilts. They sing and dance for ~half an hour. It is impressive, professionally done, and very enjoyable. I’ve seen lots of masked dances around the world – this was the best by far.

We’re ready to come home, a long process involving three days of driving and 30 hours of flight travel. There are some strong impressions that remain, including:

Malian recycling – we could learn from them! Some examples:

• Nails are made by hammering strips from old oil drums
• Tires are used to make sandals
• Used motor oil from engines coat boats to waterproof them
• Jewelry is made from old tires, bracelets from old plastic, and some very clever little toys from old cans
• Mud for houses is made from mixing dirt, straw, and junk – paper, plastic bags, etc.
• Bricks are made from sand and melted plastic bags.
• Old black iron is shipped to Dubai and China to make new motorcycles
• Aluminum from batteries is used to line cooking pots

Malian greetings – they are the best, a delightful ritual that happens many, many times a day. Basically, two people meet, do a slap handshake, then rapidly:

Good morning                                                             Good morning

How are you?                                                                        Fine

How is your mother?                                                          Fine

How is your father?                                                            Fine

How are your kids?                                                            Fine

Then it goes back the other way from person two to person one. The greeting varies depending on the time of day and how long the people have not seen each other!

Tribal rivalries – tribes that are traditional enemies, such as the Dogon and the Bozo (fishermen) maintain a joking animosity. When Ogo meets someone who is Bozo, he gets a big smile on his face and calls him a “stupid Bozo.” The Bozo retaliates with some slur, also jovially. And so it goes. Maybe we could do that between Republicans and Democrats?

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