timbuktu and back again

Two weeks ago I set off on one of the most exciting, thrilling, and challenging adventures I’ve ever had. I saw places and things I never even dreamed of witnessing, I encountered dozens of genuine, heartfelt people and every physical, mental, and emotional boundary I thought had existed for myself in the past was stretched, tested, and re-formed.

The majority of the trip consisted of me being wet with sweat. And when I wasn’t it was only because the Sahara sun’s thirst quenched rays soaked it up greedily before it had a chance to soak me. We spent hours on varying forms of transportation. We were carried to Timbuktu and back again by dusty tro-tros with just as much on top of the car as was in it, making you question the stability but having no choice but to hop in. Tro-tros deceivingly plastered with cheetah decals or other references to speed and efficiency and always accompanied by a bundle of chickens or a cluster of sheep. Crammed 4x4’s armed with strong and able men to push and pull us out of any sand trap we may find ourselves. Pick up trucks with hard, wooden benches graciously inserted for seats but lacking any sort of relief from the wind, therefore usually resulting in a new hair do and an extra layer of grime to help protect me from the sun. (there’s still plenty of dirt and sand there even though I did manage to take a considerable amount with me wherever I went). And finally by ridiculously untimely STC buses, which seemed a luxury by the end.

I never could seem to take enough water to make up for the harsh, hot wind or dust and sand filled fields. My lips were dry and cracked and, for the first time since coming to Africa, my skin was dry and scratchy, deprived of the humidity and moisture filled breezes of Ghana.

More nights than not were spent sleeping on roadsides outside closed borders or checkpoints, having arrived too late to cross before morning. A foam mattress on a rooftop became standard sleeping arrangements and we trained ourselves to sleep through the rain, the donkeys, the roosters, and with time even the relentless sun that dared to show its face before my night of sleep was over.

But in all those things there was beauty too and with time the sweat, dirt and aches will fade away. Each sleepless hour on the side of the road, on the Sahara or on a roof could be spent staring at the most star-filled sky I have ever seen, with no pollution from smog or light to blot them out. In the midst of each crammed and aching ride images that still seem surreal flashed by my window with an occasional afro-beat tune pounding through the fuzzy speakers for the ideal background music. Scenes of a bare, desolate field sprawling out in front of me. Crevices and gorges in the earth where men have hewn out chunks of clay to form in to bricks. Then out of the monotony a simple, beautiful mosque will emerge and with it an enclosed circle of huts full of people I will never know beyond the flash in my window. Naked, laughing children, donkey carts burdened with water barrels, caravans of camels, proudly and expertly guided by blue clad Tuareg men.

Even the sun, while abruptly interrupting my intensely desired sleep was welcomed after a chilly night spent by the Niger River on the cooled sands of the Sahara.

Each day was filled with uncertainty, but far surpassed expectations. A 26 hour bus ride got us up to Ouagadougou, the capital of Burkina Faso. We rested for a night (and managed to find a fabulous Italian restaurant with absolutely heavenly sorbet) then set off the next morning for Koro in Mali. In Ouigahalya we found that the bus we were riding didn’t actually go all the way to Koro. At that point we piled in to the back of a pick-up truck and barreled our way through the dusty roads of Southern Mali. No one in the pick up spoke a word of English but it was so wonderful how we found ways to relate with them; the little boy who would get so so excited every time we passes a goat, the old man in the purple turban who could not manage to keep the dust off his face, the little girl sitting next to me who really enjoyed the candies I kept sneaking her. We finally made it in to Koro after a rather confusing and bumpy ride.

In Koro we had a few problems getting a car to Bankass, as the last tro for the day had left already. We found a man who would drive us, for a rather hefty price. But it got us there in one piece and we were exhausted and just wanted to be settled for a night. While hassling with the driver we also managed to find ourselves a guide for the next few days. We were going to be touring the Dogon Country and needed an English speaking Dogon native to show us the way. Soolaimon was perfect! He found us a great place to stay in Bankass, it was off the road and very quiet and cheap, the staff was great, the food delicious, and the biggest plus – an outdoor shower! After washing the dirt off our bodies we relaxed for the night with some mutton and couscous and chatted with Soolai about how the next couple days would look.

We left early the next morning and headed for Koni-Kombole, one of the Southern most villages that make up the Dogon Country along the Bandiagara embankment. Our mode of transportation: horse and cart. It was so cool to be traveling the same way they do in the area versus plowing through in a car or truck. We had plenty of time to take in the scenery and chat with children as they chased after us.

After getting to Koni-Kombole we toured the village for a bit and hiked up in to the embankment to visit the homes the Telum people had built there. It was unbelievable how these “primitive” people had built this fabulous structures in absolutely impossible to reach places on this cliff. The Dogon people believe the Telum must have had wings in order to get to their houses perched in the crevices high up. More realistically, it was probably that at that point in time there were vines that had grown along the cliff when the climate of the area was a little more arid.

The next two days were spent much the same way, hiking and horse carting between villages in the Southern most point of the Dogon. The people we met were so friendly and welcoming and the children eager and adorable. Lucky for us it was market day in Koni-Kombole the day we were there. Market day is as much a time for the people of the Dogon to purchase and trade for their essential needs and a few treats as it is a social function. Families and traders from all up and down the Dogon and surrounding areas gather in one city a day, bring their goods, sprawl them across a blanket and prepare for a day of laughing and bartering. It was such a colorful sight to see. Kids running in between mothers selling strings of beads or bowls of spices, men wandering aimlessly through the crowd, leaving the purchasing to the women but enjoying the company of friends from the area, and the women with their produce layed out before them pulled between visiting with friends, making a sale, and scolding the screaming children. I’m so glad we got to see this!

Leaving Bankass a few days later, we headed for Mopti where we could catch a 4x4 to Timbuktu. We’d heard it was touch and go trying to get transport in and out of Timbuktu so we left ourselves plenty of time. As it turned out a man Berkeley and I met on the bus (who actually didn’t speak a word of English so we’re not sure how he figured out what we needed) knew a guy who knew a guy who had a car that was going up that day. After buying some bread and water for the ride we were able to hop in a car a little less than 2 hours after we got there. We left Mopti around 1:30 that afternoon. We had no idea what was in store for us.

The ride was hot to begin with, but somehow it always managed to get a little bit hotter. By the end of the ride the water we purchased, now very literally boiling, was such a refreshment after the wind and relentless sun. Throughout these two weeks I came to believe there was no such thing as ice cold water. We only got stuck a few times on the way up, but luckily mostly at night. So as the men heaved and hoed to get us out of the rut, us girls took advantage of the cooling air and stretched our legs a little bit.

One of the things we’d been warned about by previous travelers was the inexplicable stops along the route. And there were plenty of them. One such stop was around 2:00am at a little encampement of huts. Everybody piled out of the car and made themselves comfortable in benches or on mats. We sat up for a while trying to figure out what was happening, eventually realizing that there was a large body of water running next to the camp. Process of elimination identified it as the Niger. Apparently we could not cross until morning, so we were sleeping here. Surprise! Somehow the Oburunis seem to miss the important points every once in a while. We had nothing with us and we were informed the bags wouldn’t be taken down tonight, so we found ourselves a soft patch of sand and a nice man kindly offered us his blanket, curled up underneath the Sahara stars, and slept that night next to the Niger River.

The next morning we woke with the sun, eased our truck on to one of the first barges to cross that morning, and crossed the Niger River as the sun peaked over the horizon. It was less than an hour from there to Timbuktu, but already the sun was beating down. We made it in, found a great little place to stay, and grabbed some breakfast. We made a friend along the way; a Tuareg man, Aboya (pronounced like Aladdins little monkey friend), who was in Timbuktu for a week before he made the 7 day camel ride back to his village in the desert. We spent the day exploring the city museums and historical houses and managed to get in a mid-afternoon nap to avoid the hottest part of the day. Then Aboya took us to see his family. And this may have been one of the coolest experiences I’ve ever had. We had tea with Aboya and his family in their tent. As tradition goes, you share three cups of tea with your visitors. The first is bitter like death. The second, sweet like life. And the third, sugar like love. At that point you can commence any business you have to discuss. For us it was jewelry. After tea with his family they unrolled their cloths and showed us some of the most gorgeous, intricate hand made jewelry I’ve ever seen. We were able to pick things out we liked, get it resized, have new ones made…anything! Needless to say I probably got a little too excited, but hey…you’re only in Timbuktu once.

At 4:00 that afternoon we met our camels. We were taking a sunset ride through the Sahara atop our own personal camel. Abigga was my camel and Aneely was my guide. Neither made a noise the entire time. Aneely however, was an adorable old man who would just turn around and smile at me every 5 minutes or so. I don’t think he spoke any English. The rest of our group was so fun though. They were all desert people. When you asked where they were from they responded with “from the desert”. Pretty sweet. Berekely’s guide was talking about the 52 day trek to Morocco he was going to be going on pretty soon. It all seemed like something from a story book or a movie. But I was actually meeting them! They took us to Muhammeds camp and again we were given the opportunity to have tea with his family. These were not just normal cups of tea. It was rather like an espresso shot, but tea style. So after three of these in a row I was a little jittery. I managed to hop back on Abigga though in time to catch the sun slipping below the dunes. It was a rather magnificent sight.

The trek back to Mopti was pretty similar to the ride up, although our driver was a little more reckless so managed to shave off a little time. We got dropped in Sevaré, just outside of Mopti and found a wonderful place to stay in Hotel Via-Via. We arranged a ride out for the next afternoon so spent most of that day relaxing in the outdoor restaurant, playing cards, and visiting with other travelers. Everyone always has such an interesting story! From Sevaré we bused to Bobo-Dissalou in Burkina Faso. We’d heard really great things about the city and wanted to check it out and relax there a couple days to help break up our trip. It was nice to finally be in one place for more than 24 hours without having to hop on another bus or tro or truck. Bobo was great – decently quiet with patisseries every few feet. We took advantage of our last opportunity to enjoy crescents, baguettes, and pan au chocolat. We explored the Grand Marché (the grand market), visited some shops and relaxed at the patio restaurant at the hotel. It was exactly what we needed to make getting on the next bus bearable!

It took us two days to get back from there with all the ‘inexplicable’ stops and delayed buses. But we did make it! I never though Ghana would feel so much like ‘home’. It was such a relief to pull in to Ghana and see the familiar fanmilk man with his little bicycle cooler, bowls of pure water available every two feet, and to have the majority of people understand English. Showering and sleeping in ISH had never felt so good.

It was good to be back, but strange realizing that I would be leaving again so soon. And this time to really go home. It’s unreal thinking how time has flown and that in less than 3 weeks I will be back and Grinnell, then Ames starting jobs and the process of catching up with everyone. It’s exciting and weird all at the same time!

Ok, this is far..far…too long. And honestly, this time if you have made it this far, I commend you. There are so many more details though that I left out so I hope that I get the chance to tell you about all of this in person too. Thanks for sticking with it though :).

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