Good Golly, It’s Mali Visit This West African Country For Its People, Not Its Wildlife
Animals? Well, I did see one partially submerged hippopotamus, a gray fox and numerous zebus (Asiatic oxen distinguished by a large fleshy hump over the shoulders).
But, Mali, West Africa - part of the dry savannah area between the Sahara desert and the West African rain forests - isn’t about animals. It’s about people.
It’s about ancient cultures hanging on to ways of life threatened by deforestation, disease, drought and 20th-century encroachment.
It’s about mud villages, nomad encampments and straw huts. And it’s about spiritual beliefs, family values, community spirit, hard work, acceptance and determination.
It was November when I joined 11 other westerners on a cultural odyssey to Mali. Organized by Mountain Travel Sobek, we were promised an introduction to a fascinating handful of cultures including the Dogon, the Tuareg, the Fulani and, my husband’s favorite, the Bozo. And it included a stop at one of the world’s most tantalizing sounding destinations, Timbuktu.
Alberto Nicheli, a transplanted Italian who has lived in Africa for the past 12 years, shared tour leading responsibilities with Barbara Wagner, a petit blond with a German accent from Colorado. Nicheli had a casual, enthusiastic and unflappable approach to life, and his unmade-bed appearance suited him perfectly.
On our way to our first campsite in the Dogon lowlands, we stopped at several villages. Nicheli’s respectful approach toward the locals made us welcome visitors.
Each village was punctuated by rectangular mud buildings with conical straw covers that resembled Asian-style hats. These whimsical looking structures were granaries. The straw topknots protected the millet inside from the rains. We sat with village elders on covered, pillared platforms, or togu’na, as they communed over village business. And we began to hear what became an all too familiar chant. “Ca va (how goes it)? Cadeau (gift)? Bonbon (candy)? Bicky (referring to Bic pens)?” Well-meaning French tourists have given gifts of pens and candies to the village children, and now they besiege every passing traveler with cries for more.
Mali is amongst the five poorest countries in the world, and by our standards the living conditions in the villages are shocking. Villagers cook over open fires in tiny one-room mud huts. They are dependent on a harsh environment for water and food. They haven’t the benefit of any modern medicines. And their material possessions are limited to a couple of cooking pots and utensils, a few rough-hewn tools and some baskets and gourds. Yet, there is a strong sense of family and community, a well-structured spiritual life, be it Muslim or animist, and the people have dignity and humor.
After bouncing over a non-existent road through a millet field, we arrived at our first Mali campsite. We were in the heart of the Dogon lowlands - seldom visited by tourists - where unmapped villages are tucked into the cliffs.
The Dogon fled to these remote cliffs in the 14th and 15th century to escape invading Muslim forces. Here the Dogon preserved their cultural and spiritual traditions. They remained animistic and still worship objects they believe to possess spirits, like rocks, trees and sacred sculpture. They also perform animal sacrifices and ritual dances. And Dogon art, particularly woodcarvings and masks, has influenced many modern artists, including Picasso.
We spent the next couple of days clambering around the cliffs, visiting villages that could only be reached on foot.
Yet, no matter how exotic and remote as all this was, groups like ours couldn’t help feeling a shared responsibility for such bizarre sights as a local woman pounding millet wearing a sweat shirt reading, “Don’t bother me now, I’m watching the game.”
More accessible and well traveled are the Bandiagara Dogon lands, where villages are clustered along the 90-mile Bandiagara escarpment.
It was at Sanga, one of the largest of these villages, that we were treated to a traditional masked dance. Towering wooden masks depicting various animals topped off orange grass-skirted men with wooden bullet bras and strings of cowry shells. Most eye-catching were the dancers on 12-foot stilts that frolicked around with the rest of the group. Though certainly staged for us tourists, it was, nonetheless, an impressive show.
Leaving the Dogon country we drove to Mopti, a thriving metropolis on the Niger River. Here we boarded a pirogue (a long, dugout canoe with a motor in the rear) for a three-day sojourn down the Niger to what use to be the ultimate in remoteness, Timbuktu.
We cruised lazily down the river, occasionally stopping at riverside villages for a visit. Bozo fishermen in small pirogues with patchwork sails waved as they tossed nets into the greenish water, and children on the bank yelled to get our attention as we passed.
The wind provided a wet ride into the harbor town of Kabara, about nine kilometers from the fabled town of Timbuktu, where we met our local guides, two elegant West Africans. One was a Tuareg named - would you believe? - Mohammed Ali. He had mahogany skin and was garbed in a flowing green robe, matching turban and brown leather sandals studded with gold metal. The second man, ebony colored Mahamoudou Djitteye, was wearing a gold-colored robe with satin trim and the height-of-chic gold-rimmed dark glasses.
Given a choice of staying in the hotel or hopping on a camel and venturing out into the desert for an overnight stay at a Tuareg encampment, five of us rose to the challenge.
Tuareg nomads founded the city of Timbuktu in the 12th century. Once proud warriors who owned slaves, today the Tuareg struggle against drought and food shortages to maintain their nomadic lifestyle.
The encampment consisted of open-air shelters, where the women cooked and took care of the children, and crude stick-and-wire pens for goats and sheep.
After a dinner of undercooked lamb and sandy rice served by the men, the women joined us. They began a mournful singing, while the men brewed tea over a hibachi-type charcoal cooker.
Except for the glow of the tiny fire and an occasional burst of light from a Tuareg’s flashlight, we were enveloped in darkness. Sitting in the blue-black night listening to the keening women, drinking thick, sweet tea, seeing the nomads silhouetted against the desert sky was like being dropped into another world.
The next morning, we rode back to Timbuktu. No longer the remote outpost that it once was, Timbuktu even has an airport. It long ago lost its luster and became a dusty way-station in the desert.
But I had already experienced remote. Though it may have been only a couple of hours camel ride from town, the Tuareg encampment had a remoteness that couldn’t be measured in mere distance. And that’s what I will remember when I think of Timbuktu.
Map of Mali
MEMO: This sidebar appeared with the story: IF YOU GO The best time of year to visit West Africa is from November to February. Getting there: Both Air Afrique and Air France fly from Paris to and from Mali and Burkina Faso. Air Afrique also has non-stop round-trip flights from New York to Dakar, Senegal. Guided tours: Mountain Travel Sobek, 6420 Fairmount Ave., El Cerrito, CA 94530; telephone (800) 227-2384, fax (510) 525-7710, e-mail info@mtsobek.com. This company offers 18-day trips, for a maximum of 12 people, to Mali and Burkina Faso. The land portion cost starts at $3,990. Wilderness Travel, 801 Allston Way, Berkeley, CA 94710; telephone (800) 368-2794 or (510) 548-0420. This company offers 14-day trips, for between 10 to 15 people, to Mali. The land portion cost starts at $3,000. Born Free Safaris, 12504 Riverside Drive, North Hollywood, CA 91607; telephone (800) 372-3274 or (818) 981-7185, fax (818) 753-1460. This company designs group and individual tours to most of West Africa, including Senegal, Burkina Faso and Mali, using local guides and tour operators. The price varies according to the itinerary and group size.