Three weeks ago I and another of the Fulbrighters, Andrea, left for Tombouctou, Mali and we just returned this weekend. The trip was amazing but also the most difficult traveling that I have ever done.
I had a meeting for the end of the second term on Monday that ended around 1:30 and by 3 I was on a bus going to the northern regions of Ghana. After 3 days of buses, trotros and sleeping in stations, we made it to Bobo-Dioulasso, Burkina Faso. Bobo was cool. I did the same thing as in Nigeria and found a little restaurant, Chez Ellie, had dinner there one night and then marched in the next with ingredients, fresh from the market, and cooked for everyone in the kitchen. They loved it and were very grateful. Another full day of travel and we were in Mopti, Mali. The trip into Mali was breathtaking and frightening at the same time. Throughout the trip north from Accra the landscape changed from very green and vibrant with rolling hills to browner and more flat. By the time we crossed the Mali border we were well into the Sahel. For as far as the eye could see there was dry, cracked earth with the occasional shrub and flatness that does not compare to Illinois or even the “flatlands” of Kansas. For a guy from the green pastures of Illinois where a pond or a stream is almost always within a stones throw, a water deprived landscape is a bit daunting.
In Mopti, we found a “pinasse” (a large canoe) that was going down the Niger River to Tombouctou loaded with sacks of millet. They told us that the trip from Mopti to Tombouctou would take 5 days and 4 nights. The trip sounded pretty cool and so we decided to do it and that is when the real adventure began.
It is necessary to say that the hottest months in Mali are April and May and the river is also at its lowest point (the rains come in June). Large boats cannot navigate the river during this time of the year and at most points along the stretch between Mopti and Tombuoctou the width of the river (roughly the same as the Mississippi) can be walked across.
We got the supplies we would need for the trip and got onboard. The captain of the boat, Ali, told us that the boat was already fully loaded, and the only people on the boat would be himself (who spoke decent English- way better than our French), another “captain”, a cook and her child. Six altogether on a cargo boat seemed fine. After we pulled out of dock we soon realized that Ali had no intention of making the trip, but instead we would be traveling with two different captains and two children- none of whom spoke a word of English and very broken French. No sooner had the realization hit us that Ali had not told us the whole truth than we again docked just down stream, took on an extra 20 bags of millet (all well over 100 pounds) and a Malian family of 3; mother, father, and baby. Despite the conditions now being incredibly cramped, we were determined to make the best of the situation. The baby was cute, the temperature nice, and the view pleasant. Then the real, real adventure began.
As we got on the river we proceeded to get stuck every 50 yards or so because the river was so low and our boat (with the extra cargo and people) was so low. Then the sun came out and it turned hot. It is hot in Ghana, but in comparison to Mali, it is nothing. In April temperatures reach up to 115 degrees and here we were in the middle of a river, stuck, with no breeze, during midday sun. There was a canopy on the boat, but when you got under it you could not sit up straight because the millet sacks were piled high. By the end of the first day we had traveled a grand total of maybe 3 miles. In the evening the glow of Mopti was still very visible and bright.
The adventure continued for not only 5 days and 4 nights, but instead for 8 days and 7 nights. The days were hot and the nights cold but the scenery was stark, stunning, and beautiful. During the 8 days I saw some gorgeous handmade sailboats going up the Niger, amazing sunrises and sunsets, a horizon, that at times, appeared seamless with the sky, and even at least 50 hippopotami. Excluding my traveling companion, I did not see another white person or hear any other English outside of the words we taught to the two children on the boat, Mousha and Galicka (Mousha, who was maybe 13, turned out to be the cook on board and Galicka was his younger sister who was by far the cutest and coolest Malian I met on the trip). Although there were some incredible things on the trip, there were also some rough spots; being cramped on a small boat with 8 people can get a bit claustrophobic, millet sacks do not make good mattresses and the baby on board was not only cute, but the smelliest baby of all time. The parents had a porta-potty for her and she seemed to be on it more often than not (I feel asleep one afternoon and when I opened my eyes the baby was on the potty a foot from my head, staring at me and smiling; an image that won’t soon leave my memory). Each day Mousha cooked rice and fish for lunch and dinner. Now, I love cooking and this has perplexed me since the trip; the rice that Mousha cooked was, by far, the worst rice I have ever eaten in my entire life. I have no idea why. It was simple white rice, but it tasted terrible. The only explanation I have conjured is that instead of cooking in vegetable oil, he used animal fat, for everything. This became an issue as after 3 days I just could not stomach it any more and Andrea is a vegetarian. For the rest of the trip out diet consisted of stale bread we had brought from Mopti, tomato paste, and mangos (I cannot complain too much because they were the best mangos I have ever eaten in my entire life).
After 8 long, but amazing, days on the river, we reached the fabled and (what seemed after more than a week on the river) mythical city of Tombouctou where the adventure continued.
I had a meeting for the end of the second term on Monday that ended around 1:30 and by 3 I was on a bus going to the northern regions of Ghana. After 3 days of buses, trotros and sleeping in stations, we made it to Bobo-Dioulasso, Burkina Faso. Bobo was cool. I did the same thing as in Nigeria and found a little restaurant, Chez Ellie, had dinner there one night and then marched in the next with ingredients, fresh from the market, and cooked for everyone in the kitchen. They loved it and were very grateful. Another full day of travel and we were in Mopti, Mali. The trip into Mali was breathtaking and frightening at the same time. Throughout the trip north from Accra the landscape changed from very green and vibrant with rolling hills to browner and more flat. By the time we crossed the Mali border we were well into the Sahel. For as far as the eye could see there was dry, cracked earth with the occasional shrub and flatness that does not compare to Illinois or even the “flatlands” of Kansas. For a guy from the green pastures of Illinois where a pond or a stream is almost always within a stones throw, a water deprived landscape is a bit daunting.
In Mopti, we found a “pinasse” (a large canoe) that was going down the Niger River to Tombouctou loaded with sacks of millet. They told us that the trip from Mopti to Tombouctou would take 5 days and 4 nights. The trip sounded pretty cool and so we decided to do it and that is when the real adventure began.
It is necessary to say that the hottest months in Mali are April and May and the river is also at its lowest point (the rains come in June). Large boats cannot navigate the river during this time of the year and at most points along the stretch between Mopti and Tombuoctou the width of the river (roughly the same as the Mississippi) can be walked across.
We got the supplies we would need for the trip and got onboard. The captain of the boat, Ali, told us that the boat was already fully loaded, and the only people on the boat would be himself (who spoke decent English- way better than our French), another “captain”, a cook and her child. Six altogether on a cargo boat seemed fine. After we pulled out of dock we soon realized that Ali had no intention of making the trip, but instead we would be traveling with two different captains and two children- none of whom spoke a word of English and very broken French. No sooner had the realization hit us that Ali had not told us the whole truth than we again docked just down stream, took on an extra 20 bags of millet (all well over 100 pounds) and a Malian family of 3; mother, father, and baby. Despite the conditions now being incredibly cramped, we were determined to make the best of the situation. The baby was cute, the temperature nice, and the view pleasant. Then the real, real adventure began.
As we got on the river we proceeded to get stuck every 50 yards or so because the river was so low and our boat (with the extra cargo and people) was so low. Then the sun came out and it turned hot. It is hot in Ghana, but in comparison to Mali, it is nothing. In April temperatures reach up to 115 degrees and here we were in the middle of a river, stuck, with no breeze, during midday sun. There was a canopy on the boat, but when you got under it you could not sit up straight because the millet sacks were piled high. By the end of the first day we had traveled a grand total of maybe 3 miles. In the evening the glow of Mopti was still very visible and bright.
The adventure continued for not only 5 days and 4 nights, but instead for 8 days and 7 nights. The days were hot and the nights cold but the scenery was stark, stunning, and beautiful. During the 8 days I saw some gorgeous handmade sailboats going up the Niger, amazing sunrises and sunsets, a horizon, that at times, appeared seamless with the sky, and even at least 50 hippopotami. Excluding my traveling companion, I did not see another white person or hear any other English outside of the words we taught to the two children on the boat, Mousha and Galicka (Mousha, who was maybe 13, turned out to be the cook on board and Galicka was his younger sister who was by far the cutest and coolest Malian I met on the trip). Although there were some incredible things on the trip, there were also some rough spots; being cramped on a small boat with 8 people can get a bit claustrophobic, millet sacks do not make good mattresses and the baby on board was not only cute, but the smelliest baby of all time. The parents had a porta-potty for her and she seemed to be on it more often than not (I feel asleep one afternoon and when I opened my eyes the baby was on the potty a foot from my head, staring at me and smiling; an image that won’t soon leave my memory). Each day Mousha cooked rice and fish for lunch and dinner. Now, I love cooking and this has perplexed me since the trip; the rice that Mousha cooked was, by far, the worst rice I have ever eaten in my entire life. I have no idea why. It was simple white rice, but it tasted terrible. The only explanation I have conjured is that instead of cooking in vegetable oil, he used animal fat, for everything. This became an issue as after 3 days I just could not stomach it any more and Andrea is a vegetarian. For the rest of the trip out diet consisted of stale bread we had brought from Mopti, tomato paste, and mangos (I cannot complain too much because they were the best mangos I have ever eaten in my entire life).
After 8 long, but amazing, days on the river, we reached the fabled and (what seemed after more than a week on the river) mythical city of Tombouctou where the adventure continued.
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