Month: December 2008

Categories
Mali photo religion

Religion in the Pays Dogon

Village of Ireli, on the main escarpment, cliff on left and plains on right

As noted in my posts of 12.04 and 12.07, the bend in the Niger made now Mali, in particular Timbuktu, a sort of gateway between Arab/Berber North Africa and black sub-Saharan Africa. As a gateway, Sahelian Mali also became a sort of transition zone between the two, where North African people and culture mixed with sub-Saharan African people and culture, resulting in composites. While for most ethnic and cultural aspects it seems the pivot point is around Timbuktu, there is another transition in the country, which takes place significantly further south–the transition from Muslim West Africa to Christian West Africa.

It is easy to imagine Africa, at its most colorful and “primitive,” as an animist society, a wild land of masked dances and worship of idols. But of course such a representation would be grossly inaccurate. North Africa and most of the countries on just the other side of the Sahara, such as Senegal, Mali, Niger, the Sudan and Somalia, are overwhelmingly Muslim, reflecting the reach of the religion’s conquest and transmission from the seventh century onward. Other countries in this middle part of Africa, such as Ethiopia, Eritrea and Nigeria, are approximately half Muslim, while further south the reach of Christian missionaries from the nineteenth century onward have resulted in a largely Christian populations. There are pockets of animism and traditional beliefs still left, but Africa is, largely, a Muslim and Christian continent.

Given the dominance of those two world faiths, some of the animist populations of Africa have received much notoriety and anthropological and tourist attention; among the foremost of such groups is the Dogon of Mali. With their complex cosmology, colorful rituals and historical resistance from the Muslim populations further north, the Dogon have survived to the twenty-first century as a vestige of animism. Trekking around the Dogon villages, one still sees the houses of the elder priests, or hogons, and the houses in which the village women are sequestered during menstruation, villagers still warn you not to step on this rock or that one, and phallic fetishes are still white from millet offerings. In Youga Dogourou, there was a basket for collections for the next Sigui, the traditional celebration which takes place every sixty-five years (the next is supposed to start in 2032).

Traditional hogon house, Sanga

An animist fetish, white from the grain offerings recently poured over, Youga Na

But while traditional Dogon culture is animist, it would be a serious mistake to say that the Dogon as a whole remain animist, that they uniformly subscribe to their traditional beliefs at the level of religion. No, for better or for worse, many or most of the Dogon have adopted religions of the outside world, namely Islam and Christianity, and conversion away from their traditional beliefs is ongoing.

Christian church, Sanga, in the background left, a mosque

The animist beliefs of the Dogon are certainly the main draw for tourists and quite a point of interest, yes, but what I found perhaps even more interesting is this incursion of the outside monotheistic faiths into Dogon society, how the Dogon Country thus serves as a modern battlefield for the two great Abrahamic faiths of Christianity and Islam. Just as Mali, especially around Timbuktu, acts as a transition zone between North African and sub-Saharan African culture, the Dogon Country acts as a transition zone between Muslim Africa and Christian Africa.

Mosque in Sanga

One story of the Dogon as a race is that they fled southward into their current home, the Bandiagara Escarpment, to escape slave raids from Muslim kingdoms to the north. In doing this they were able to preserve not only their freedom, but their animist faith. But the Dogon have not been immune from Islam’s general advance southward in Africa. In the villages that we visited, Muslim places of worship were by far the most visible, more so than sites of traditional worship or Christian churches. While we read in one guidebook that all Dogon villages had Christian, Muslim and animist populations, separated into their own quarters within the village, our (Christian) guide told us, and it certainly appeared, that at least one village that we visited was essentially entirely Muslim. Connections to the greater Muslim world were also peculiarly visible.

A Dogon mosque, in traditional Sudanese architecture, Yendouma. In the second picture, note the ostrich eggs, a feature common to traditional Dogon houses of worship and Malian mosques (as well as, historically, churches and mosques elsewhere).

While most Dogon mosques were constructed in a “local” style, by which I mean the typical Sudanese mosque architecture of the West African Sahel, at least one mosque in Sanga was built in an “Arab” style. This may fit into a pattern of money from the Gulf having a homogenizing or orthodoxizing effect on Islam’s more remote outposts–one person told us that Saudi money was used for much mosque construction in Mali, and that West African Muslims were returning from the hajj with quite conservative/orthodox views, with more and more local women appearing in burqas.

This Fulani Muslim missionary, presumably originally from Mali somewhere to the north of Dogon Country, greeted us near the village of Banani with great enthusiasm, pronouncing his almost overly Arab name with glottal/guttural fervor. In his hand, the Quran.

Muslim man in the Dogon, in keffiyeh

Christian missionaries have also been incredibly active in the Dogon. With a large presence in Sanga, an American protestant group based in Burkina Faso, just a few miles south of the Dogon Country, has been actively spreading the Christian faith among the Dogon since the 1930s, it appears with great success. We were told by our Christian guide that some villages were entirely Christian. (The hotel we stayed in in nearby Sevare was operated by a former missionary and son of missionary, known as Mac.)

Christian church, Sanga

Religion is largely what makes the Dogon so unique, and so it is easy to feel sad about the tremendous loss of culture that the conversion of the Dogon represents. Given that most of the Dogon customs relate back to their religion and cosmology, it is hard to predict how much of the unique elements of their culture will persist if all of the Dogon convert to Islam and Christianity. While of course the Dogon should be free to follow their conscience, it seems that both the Muslims and the Christians see the animist Dogon as ripe pickings, or perhaps low hanging fruit, and one wonders what material incentives are being provided by the more powerful faiths. No doubt, affiliating oneself with an American Christian outfit can lead to educational and work opportunities that might not otherwise be available in this impoverished corner of West Africa, while becoming a Muslim may help a Dogon become better integrated into Malian society outside of the Dogon Country. Perhaps, rather than decrying the missionary work of the Christians and Muslims, it is best to take comfo
rt in the fact that, to a certain extent, converted Dogon have succeeded in keeping some of their own traditions (the Christian faith in particular can be notoriously syncretic) and that the brew of religions in this Christian/Muslim transition zone does not seem to have led to conflict, such as the recurring violence in, say, central Nigeria, central Sulawesi or the former Yugoslavia.

Grain harvest, Youga Piri

Categories
Mali photo

How to Plan a Dogon Country Trek, the Easy Way and the Hard Way

Village of Banani, off of the falaise

As a rule, we don’t like taking guided tours. We generally find that guides lack much knowledge (or perhaps we can’t afford the high quality guides), destroy any sense of discovery or serenity by leading you around like a dog and talking incessantly (perhaps some tourists feel they are getting their money’s worth the more their guide says, however useless and uninformative), cramp spontaneity and flexibility, and take you to shops and restaurants based largely on the kickbacks offered to him for bringing you. In an ideal world, of course having a guide could provide tremendous value and insight–but most guides are far from ideal. In place of a guide, I much prefer the more accurate and specialized information provided by a book. Besides, I love route finding and logistics–some might even argue that that’s what I like best about travel–and guides would steal from me that role!

Anyway, there are some trips in the world for which a guide, or even joining a guided group (for sake of economy), is necessary. Off of the top of my mind, hiking the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, exploring the Salar de Uyuni and southwestern Bolivia in a jeep, African safaris and our trip to Iran, where Americans must be guided, come to mind. And, truth be told, we end up really enjoying most of these trips, if not due to our guide then to the fellow travelers with whom we are sharing the experience. Still, we do avoid guides and groups whenever we can.

Which is why we were somewhat stressed by our trip to the Pays Dogon, or Dogon Country, of Mali. The Dogon Country is a region of Mali where a unique ethnic/lnguistic group known as the Dogon make their home. Believed to have arrived at their current homeland in medieval times, the Dogon are famous for their animist faith, in particular its convoluted cosmology (of Robert Temple’s Sirius Mystery fame), their mask dances and their architecture, including the yet older architecture of the tellem people who preceded them in their current home. Located along a cliff known as the Bandiagara Escarpment, the Dogon Country is on anyone’s list of the highlights of Mali for travelers, and a 2 to 10 day tour, with guide, is considered an essential part of a Mali trip.

But, oh! how to choose the right guide and route?

Mali is, believe it or not, a fairly touristy country, one in which there is a well-established tourist circuit with all of its attendant conveniences and hassles. One of the most persistent of the hassles is the constant presence of would-be guides. Like most African countries Mali has many different ethnic groups, but almost all guides who approach you claim to be one of the two which add the greatest amount of value for the tourist: In and around Timbuktu, all of the young men who approach you are “Tuareg from the desert,” all the better to pitch to you desert trips (or, if that fails, “Tuareg jewelry from my village”). In the rest of the country, including in Bamako, all would-be guides announce themselves as Dogon, and thus well-equipped to take you on a tour of the Dogon Country.

Now, of course, there aren’t even all that many Dogon (less than a million), and certainly some of the would-be guides not only are not Dogon but neither speak Dogon nor know much about Dogon Country. Guidebooks warn that such guides will actually contract an actual Dogon guide upon arrival in Dogon Country–which means not only that you picked the wrong guide to start with but that you paid much too much. And so, we were extremely wary of the entire situation, and very anxious about finding the right person, someone who was not only actually Dogon and knowledgeable but also a person with whom we would actually enjoy spending four or more uninterrupted days.

Our first opportunity to hire a guide came, as with most tourists, in the capital city of Bamako. As a foreign tourist walking around Bamako, it is assured that you will have at least a handful of young men approach you, telling you that they are Dogon and trying to arrange for you a Dogon tour. Of course, being extremely distrustful of the whole situation (every guidebook tells you not to arrange Dogon tours in Bamako, to wait for cities closer to Dogon Country), we ignored all those who approached us, even though one young man in particular seemed knowledgeable and sympathetic (more on him below). The bottom line is that we had just arrived in the country and needed to get a better feel before we made any commitments. Although one of the guides we met might not have been a bad choice, as we figured out later, we think that this is generally sound advice–a Dutch couple we met in Timbuktu told us that they had arranged their Dogon trip in Bamako, and had a mediocre experience, with very little actual trekking (2-3 kilometers/day) along a poorly planned itinerary with little scenic or cultural variety.

Djenne was the next big hub of guide activity, but we found the would-be guides there far too aggressive. We met some Peace Corps volunteers who had a great experience (at an even better price) with a guide, but he was booked solid with other Peace Corps folk, and so unavailable. Eventually, we decided that we should head up to Timbuktu for Tabaski (see post of 12.08), and defer our guide selection for our return.

We took a boat to Timbuktu (see post of 12.07), but took a jeep back, through the city of Douentza. A French couple with whom we were sharing the jeep arranged a three day trip starting in Douentza and approaching Dogon Country from the northwest, a recommended itinerary, but we did not join them as 1) we wanted a greater selection of guides (particularly important because English language ability is scarce in Mali relative to French) and 2) we wanted to go on a longer trip.

Our next opportunity to hire a guide was in the city of Sevare, the city closest to Bandiagara, which is the most common starting point of a Dogon trip. In Sevare we stayed at Mac’s Refuge, a slightly overpriced but very comfortable hotel whose principal appeal is the affable Mac, an American former Christian missionary turned innkeeper who holds court every evening over delicious home-cooked dinners, one of the best meals we had in Mali. Mac offered us a list of English-speaking guides. While he told us that this was a “screened” list, it also seemed clear that he wanted no part in mediating the transaction–he was not running a travel agency and did not want to take responsibility for our choice. The morning after, we had a few of Mac’s suggested guides over for little interviews, but none seemed right. The first started at an overly high price, especially for transport (we didn’t really want our guide profiting from our jeep transfers), the second seemed lethargic and unenthusiastic and the third seemed to think, bizarrely, that our proposed itinerary, which we had arrived at after conversations with Mac and the first two guides, was simply not feasible in the time we proposed–perhaps he just didn’t want us as clients.

Around noon, after the failed negotiations with the Sevare-based guides, we headed to the share taxi stop for Bandiagara, hoping to maybe catch onward transit to Sanga for its market day, and sort out the guide situation there. Getting from Sevare to Bandiagara ended up being a mini-fiasco.

We arrived at the share taxi stop to find that a taxi had just left, and that seven more people (paying 1600 CFA or USD 3.20 each) would be needed to fill our car. The driver flatly refused any amount less than the full fare for all nine seats. Unwilling to pay that amount to go the short distance on the paved road, we crossed the street and attempted to hitchhike. There were almost no vehicles, but we figured that one tourist vehicle would be enough. While we were waiting, several people annoyingly walked up to tell us that we should pay for all nine sea
ts of a share taxi, it’s unclear what their stake was in the situation but they clearly had one.

After a bit more than an hour, a green Mercedes pulled up with heavy bass thumping out American rap. We asked through the window if the car was going to Bandiagara, and a reasonably well-dressed man asked us what our plans were, whether we had a guide for the Dogon already, etc. He explained that he owned the Hotel de la Falaise in Bandiagara, and said that he could drive us there, if we stayed at the hotel and considered using one of his guides for our trek. The hotel being reviewed quite positively in the Rough Guide, we thought this a good plan. As we were putting our bags in the car, however, we were interrupted by a number of people associated with the share taxi business, who came up to complain that we were rightfully their customers and that the hotel owner could not provide us transportation, which is their line of work (as if they had some sort of monopoly on all travelers on this road). The argument quickly escalated, with people yelling at each other tussling over our bags and generally getting in each others’ faces. Some money was exchanged, from the hotel-owner to the taxi drivers, but apparently not enough. Eventually, we grabbed our bags and told the hotel owner in English (which only he among the group understood) that we would walk up the street and wait for him there.

A few minutes later, the Mercedes passed us, with the driver yelling out the window for us to go to the Hotel Flandres, which we knew to be a good 20-25 minutes away by foot. Having all of our luggage on us, and it being mid-day, we were uncertain whether to follow these instructions for what might not even end up being a good situation. Nonetheless, since we were offered a free ride (and there was a good chance that there was no other ride available at all that day, especially since we had just gotten into a fight with the share taxi cartel), and because the driver seemed so confident, we headed over. At the town’s main intersection, a blue van drove up and lectured to us, in French, that we should take the transportation offered by the cartel. We ignored him, but the van continued to follow us. About mid-way to the Hotel Flandres, when we had briefly stopped to check on a Wi-Fi connection, a man we recognized as one of the passengers in the Mercedes came up to us and told us that he had come to make sure that we got to the Hotel Flandres. We proceeded, the blue van following all along at a distance of maybe twenty-five yards. (No doubt we would have been charged a fortune for a taxi ride that distance, let alone in a big van, but here he was wasting his fuel just to enforce the transportation cartel’s monopoly.)

We waited at the Flandres for the hotel owner to come with his Mercedes. Fifteen minutes later, he arrived and said it was time to go. When we took our bags to the car, however, we saw that the blue van had blocked us into the driveway, and that quite an active dispute was underway over our ride. After more arguments, the hotel owner somehow prevailed, and with a little fancy driving to get around the van we were on our way.

About five minutes into our ride, the hotel owner first instructed us, if the police were to ask, to say that we had hired him to drive us to Bandiagara, at a cost of 20,000 CFA. After more discussion with his friend, he told us instead to say that we had a hotel reservation and so were being driven over. All this suggested that the checkpoint would be, um, sympathetic to the interests of the cartel. However, the police at the checkpoint seemed quite content with the bag of baguettes that was handed over by the driver and required no other explanation, and our host seemed quite happy with himself for getting through without a hitch.

The Hotel de la Falaise is certainly a pretty smooth operation. The rooms are comfortable and good value, the food tasty and well-prepared and the setup for hooking up tourists with Dogon itineraries and guides very efficient. After we had lunch and made clear that we were ready to discuss our Dogon trip, a smartly dressed man sat down with us. We explained what we wanted, and he elaborated our itinerary, filling in one more town he thought worthwhile (but which we previously had thought too distant). He said that our itinerary would cost a little more than alternative ones, but the price quoted (20,000 CFA or USD 40/person/day) was still lower than anything else we had been offered as a “first price,” and well within the range of the prices suggested by guidebooks (15-30,000 CFA or USD 30-60/person/day). The man introduced us to our guide, who we were assured was a qualified guide from the guide association, and wrote out a contract with our routing and a list of everything included in the price (guide fees, transport, food, lodging, village taxes, etc.). We chatted with our guide some, found him amiable enough, and agreed to leave at 7 AM the next morning.

Tellem buildings near village of Ireli. The Tellem were the predecessors of the Dogon in their current home, and traditional beliefs of the Dogon ascribe all sorts of mysterious properties and powers to the Tellem, such as dwarfism and the ability to climb the rock walls like mini Spider-Men to reach their mysterious homes or granaries built into the cliffsides. To American eyes, there is a resemblance to the Puebloan villages of the Southwest, such as those at Mesa Verde.

Tellem architecture near Youga Dogourou

I am sorry to report that we were not, in the end, very pleased with our trip. While our guide was friendly enough, he was too passive and did not assure that we received the standard of food that we felt we should at campements en route (other tourists seemed to be getting better at the same establishments, and at one point even he received a visibly better meal than we, which I found incredibly irritating). Around mid-day, he would get a bit lazy, and suggest shortening routings or longer breaks than were really necessary. Explanations were overly succinct, and, while I believe he had a good understanding of Dogon culture (he certainly was Dogon himself), I did not feel that we received very good “guiding.” Finally, his familiarity with the route was not 100%, as at one point he hired another man to help lead us (and carry his bag–thus our guide had a porter, though not we). I don’t think these faults would apply to all guides represented by the Hotel de la Falaise, but it certainly did not work out as the foolproof method of finding the right guide that we hoped it would.

So what should you do? Well, you could try your shot at the Hotel de la Falaise–just be very clear (even to the point of rudeness, like asking how long lunch breaks will be, how many meals will come with meat) exactly what you are expecting from your guide and trip. Depending on the luck of the draw, you may still have to be somewhat aggressive with your guide, as we felt we had to be, in order to have the trip you expected. But perhaps your luck will be better than ours, or your expectations lower.

Or, you can try contacting one of the these two guides:

Pebelou Dolo, 7 408 33 07, dolobelou@yahoo.fr

Seck Dolo, 7 874 78 43, seckdolo@yahoo.fr  (the phone actually belongs to a friend of Seck’s named Toube, but he can locate Seck)

The first is a man we met in Sanga, within Dogon Country proper. Of all of the guides we talked to on our Dogon trip, he seemed to have one of the best commands of English and also a very sophisticated worldview, suggesting that he would probably give good explanations and be otherwise agreeable on a long trip. The second is the guide we met in Bamako. At the end of our Mali trip, we were back in Bamako, and ran across the young man who had followed us around the first day suggesting that we hire him for our Dogon trip. We explai
ned what had happened on our Dogon trip, and he recognized the various problems, and assured us that, had we gone with him, things would have been better. Now having been to the Dogon, it was clear to us that Seck really was quite knowledgeable, and we had always had confidence in his language ability and general demeanor. Seck also assured that he could arrange affordable transport from Bamako to the Dogon (using public transportation as desired), or arrange to meet him there, and that his clock could start ticking once the trek started, not from Bamako. And so we think that both of these guides would be worth checking out. (If you try either, please let me know how your experience was so we can add it to this blog entry. Or, if you’d like to offer a plug for another good guide, please let me know.)

Carvings on the toguna, or case a palabres, the main meeting place for the men of a Dogon village, Kundu

The problem with our Dogon trip was not with our guide alone. To be honest, we were disappointed by the experience as a whole, including especially with the reception of tourists by the Dogon themselves. This may sound somewhat harsh to read, but we find that some peoples seem to take to tourism (or to being touristed) better than others; I would not place the Dogon at the top of this list. Compared to other places that are heavily touristed, Dogon Country, I would say, is more “ruined” than most, with relatively few opportunities for genuine and meaningful interaction (as opposed to, say, trying to be sold things) and a lack, on the part of the Dogon, of reciprocal curiosity and friendliness. Some concrete tips so that your experience is better than ours:

– Buy extra food. While there is no shortage of campements offering tourists food and lodging along the main routes, the standard of food is surprisingly low. Part of this was due to passivity on the part of our guide, but part is also due to lack of cooking skills and ingredients. Even though food is likely included in the price of your tour, you should supplement generously. Taking along a can of tuna or sardines (those red cans sardines are really quite tasty) for each meal will augment it tremendously, far better than the super-scrawny chicken, some of the thinnest and stringiest in the world, that is on offer in the Dogon. As in other parts of the former French colonial world, La Vache Qui Rit (Laughing Cow) processed cheese is also widely available, and tasty on a trek. Conveniently, such items can be purchased in the bigger Dogon villages themselves, as well as at the trailheads.

– The trail from Sanga to the town of Banani, using the staircase, is strikingly beautiful and should not be missed. One of our greatest annoyances with our guide was that he did not indicate this path to us.

– The three Yougas are definitely worthwhile. Youga Na, in particular, was, to me, the most beautiful of the villages that we visited and boasted the very best campement, with ice cold drinks and almost “boutique” decor, established with the assistance of the French (though oddly the food was horrible). If I were to suggest an itinerary, for someone in a reasonable state of fitness, I would suggest basing out of Youga Na, taking one day to get there from Sanga through Banani, another day to do a loop through the other two Yougas and then the third day stopping by Yendouma and Tiogou on your way back to Sanga. This is basically what we did, except that we hiked through Ireli on the way to Banani and slept in Banani, and also slept in Yendouma on the way out.

– In Sanga proper, which you can visit quite well without a guide at all, the Hotel Kastor is quite comfortable and good value, and offers great meals.

– Do not plan on taking a lot of pictures. The Dogon seem to be under the mistaken impression that photographs of them are highly marketable and valuable, and so treat the taking of photographs something like petty larceny. Now, we’ve encountered pay-for-photo regimes in the past, including most notably with the tribal people in Ethiopia’s Omo Valley, but the truth is that the Dogon people, as a visual matter, are not all that interesting, generally not a people Derek would pay to take pictures of. When women start demanding money because they happened to get into a picture you were taking of a building, or when children who are clearly not in the picture (five feet to the right of you when your camera is pointing straight ahead) start yelling, “No! No! No!” it gets pretty irritating. (Older men generally do not mind, especially if bribed with a few kola nuts, post to come.) Dogon Country is simply the worst place in the world we have been, for ease of photo taking.

View of Youga Na

Categories
Mali photo politics Senegal United States of America

Obama in Africa

Dakar, Senegal

As everyone knows, Barack Obama is popular all over the world. He is popular because he is not George Bush and repudiates Bush’s failed policies, because he gives everyone new hope for America and the world, and because his victory itself seemed to restore a sense of righteousness and justice to the world, to set something straight that was so gravely out of kilter. Part of Obama’s mystique is, of course, his skin color and biography. Even without understanding the details of his domestic or foreign policy, one knows right away that Obama represents a different kind of America, is from an ethnic/racial background and generation that has not yet been represented in the highest seats of power. He is black, he is biracial, his father was a Muslim, and he grew up in Hawaii and also in Indonesia. So many things about Obama seem fresh and different, to offer new perspective and hope.

The whole world is excited, yes, but Africa particularly so. When we mention these days that we are American, we are often met with “Obama” as a response. We’ve seen Obama stickers on shop signs and one Obama t-shirt. One American living in Mali told us that there is even a hair salon named after Obama in Bamako; the hand-painted business sign, characteristic of such signs all over West Africa, went up just days after the election.

Dogon Country, Mali

Ile de Goree, Senegal

Why the excitement? For one, Africans can with some justification claim Obama as one of their own. Obama is not only black, but far closer to Africa than the typical African-American, whose ancestors came to the American continent centuries ago as slaves and lived through the horrific and heroic African-American experience; Obama’s father was himself a Kenyan, a true African and citizen of Kenya, and essentially all of Obama’s father’s family (however poorly he may know them, given that his father left Obama and his mother when he was a baby) still lives in Kenya. For Africans, even Obama’s name is a very tangible reminder that he is just one generation away from the continent, that he is almost one of their own. Religion also serves as a common link. So many in the Muslim world seem to know that Obama’s father was a Muslim, and many even erroneously believe that Obama himself is a Muslim (as some Republicans so badly wanted Americans to believe). As Muslims themselves, the West Africans of Senegal and Mali seem to find it easier to identify with Barack Obama, and hope that Obama will usher in foreign policy that is not as anti-Islam as Bush’s appears.

But, perhaps more powerfully, Africans’ identification with Obama comes not only because of Obama’s specific ties to the continent but for similar reasons as African-Americans’ exaltation. For African-Americans, Obama’s election was tangible evidence that black Americans can make it to the very top of American society, that racism, while still alive, did not stop a clear majority of Americans from voting for a black man as President of the United States. Obama’s election was tangible evidence that anything is possible, despite race. This sort of affirmation was likely necessary in part because African-Americans have had a long-held suspicion that it was not possible, or almost impossibly difficult, for a black man to succeed in America, because there were too many barriers, including possibly race-motivated violence, in the way. To a population that is often made to feel downtrodden, Obama’s election was an event for great jubilation.

Africans recognize that they live in a continent that is, economically and politically, well behind the rest of the world. They recognize that Africans make up a significant percentage of the world’s most poor and that many African governments are among the world’s most corrupt and oppressive. This mild sense of shame is tangible–a hotelier showing us the relatively primitive plumbing of his bathroom described it as “toutes africaines” and a taxi driver described his nearly-falling-apart car as “une voiture africaine.” There is some pan-African pride, too, yes, but more often there is a sense that Africa, unlike North America or Europe or Asia, is a place that is backward and dysfunctional.

And so, just as an African-American may be sorrowful for all of the problems blacks face in America, and take pride and comfort in knowing that, despite it all, blacks can still rise to the very top of American society, some Africans we have met see in Obama proof that an African or a near-African, despite all of the problems the continent faces, can become the most powerful man in the world. As a young man in Dakar explained to us, now anything is possible, not only for African-Americans and other minorities in America, but also for Africans from Africa.

Will people be disappointed? Perhaps. Obama can’t be everything that the American left expects and desires, and everything that Europeans want of America, and everything that the Muslim world and the developing world think may come from a black President whose father was an African Muslim. He simply can’t please everybody. But as we keep telling people, everything may not be good after 4 or 8 years with Obama as our President, but everything will be better. Given the fiascos and disasters of the last eight years, everyone seems to be content with this expectation, with much nodding of heads, heartfelt pats on the back and even a few inshallahs. The African people, like the rest of us, are tired. They need what we all need, for America to lead again.

One funny story. We met a couple of Peace Corps volunteers who are working in a small village in Niger. Early morning on November 5, they woke up to the sound of great cheering as the villagers heard on the radio that Barack Obama had been elected the next President of the United States. The Americans, too, were overjoyed. Also living in their village was an American Christian missionary, who was apparently, as evangelical Christians were likely to be, a McCain supporter. Later that day, one of the villagers approached the Peace Corps volunteer, confused because Missionary Mark wasn’t excited and happy for Barack Obama. The villager just assumed that everybody wanted Obama to win, and couldn’t understand why one of the actual Americans among them wouldn’t be celebrating. Grinning broadly, the Peace Corps volunteer answered simply, “Because he’s dumb.”

Djenne, Mali

Categories
Mali photo religion

Tabaski, or On Sacrifice

For the most part, our itinerary within the Muslim world has been planned based on visa procurement, climate and, most of all, routings to minimize air travel and maximize our ability to see related places in close succession, the better to compare and contrast them. However, there are some detours we have made for the sake of experiencing special days, such as holidays and festivals, in special places. Perhaps our most significant such planning was to spend Ramadan in Egypt, where it is said to be the most festive (which in hindsight might have been a mistake, see post of 9.23). We arranged our time in Mali to spend Tabaski, also known as the Eid el-Kbir (and countless other names, depending on from where in the Muslim world you hail), in Timbuktu.

Tabaski is a commemoration of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son to God. According to Jewish, Christian and Muslim tradition, God ordered Abraham to sacrifice his son, and in full obedience Abraham took his son up the designated mountain, the son carrying wood for the fire to follow the slaughter. At the last minute, after his son had already been bound and as his throat was about to be slit, an angel announced that the whole thing was a test, and Abraham offers God a ram in place of his son. Now, every year, Muslims around the world slaughter a ram (or some other animal) in the name of God, and celebrate a feast, which is shared not only with friends and family but with less fortunate neighbors.

Tabaski is, as I mentioned above, sometimes called the Eid el-Kbir, which means the “Great Feast,” and indeed it is one of the largest holidays in the Muslim calendar, at least by nomenclature even greater than the festival ending Ramadan, Eid ul-Fitr, which is also known as the “Lesser Feast.” The build-up to Tabaski is tremendous. All over Senegal and Mali, we saw huge herds of sheep and makeshift sheep markets (consisting of adult rams, the only animals considered suitable for the sacrifice), the vendors often Fulani, the nomadic herding people seen all over Africa, in their characteristic hats. We were told that, predictably, the price peaks prior to the holiday, with the leftovers sold at a discount starting the late afternoon of the night before. (To clear confusion (we certainly were confused in the beginning), the animals pictured here are all sheep–West African sheep do not have the woolly fleece that most of us are accustomed to, and so look like goats.)

Sheep on the Faidherbe Bridge in St. Louis, Senegal

Sheep being washed at a market in Bamako, Mali

Sheep at the Monday Market in Djenne, Mali, chased from behind by Fulani herders

Sheep being led to market in Timbuktu, Mali, past the Sankore Mosque

Sheep market, Timbuktu, Touaregs in their blue bubus

I do not recall the name of the author, but it has been postulated that man created religion in order to explain how we could eat other animals. Especially in the case of domesticated animals, such as sheep and cows, to whom we as fellow mammals can grow attached, we needed some kind of justification for why we had the right to kill them, in order to consume them for food. Just as a young child growing up on a farm may be disturbed the first time he sees what he thought a household pet go to the slaughterhouse, our distant ancestors saw a moral conflict and created the framework of religion in which to couch it. It may all have started as a ritual or ceremony to commemorate the life of the animal, the sacrifice that it is making for our survival; from there, the slaughter developed into an offering of the animal to the gods, although of course the meat generated would turn up in our stomachs. This theory would explain why animal sacrifice has played and continues to play such a big role in many religions–because the slaughter of animals was the reason that the religions developed in the first place. I personally don’t take much stock in this theory–the religious impulse seems much more primal and less rational–but I like it because it paints such a sympathetic picture of mankind. We are, at some deep level, all ethical vegetarians, and had to create the tremendous byzantine construct of religious dogma in order to justify our murder of fellow living creatures.

And so, today, that is how I will think of Tabaski. Not as the celebration of a Judeo-Christian-Muslim God who would order his subject to commit filicide–to a nonbeliever such a lord, urging his follower to act against all sense of decency, would not seem to represent a religion worth respecting, let alone believing–but as a sort of tribute to the animals we eat. Not a statement on the expendability of the life of living things as a gesture of our subservience to some master, but as recognition that an act that may seem ordinary, slaughtering an animal for meat, is actually one that is fraught with moral problems, one that is to some extent comparable to killing a fellow human, though perhaps not your own son. Yes, the animals are being killed in the name of God, but the “animal sacrifice” here is neither primitive or savage (neither I nor likely you, dear reader, are vegetarians, and contribute to the deaths of hundreds of animals each year); that in the case of Tabaski (and all halal meat, for that matter) the slaughter is (quickly) performed in the name of God makes it if anything less barbarous, an attempt to place the slaughter within an ethical framework that is conscious and takes note that a life is being taken and to justify it with the loftiest aims.

Our Timbuktu Tabaski experience? We began Tabaski by attending prayer just north of the town, in the desert location preferred by the town’s Touareg/nomad population (the black African population prays in the mosques in the town itself). At first we weren’t sure to what extent we would be welcome to observe, but any such concerns were quickly allayed by the number of people telling us exactly where and when to go to see the prayer and happily mimicking photo-taking by clicking an imaginary camera. Our primary concern, it turned out, was to be the breakdown in discipline we seemed to be causing when dozens of boys, not much interested in praying, crowded us for pictures.

After prayer and a brief sermon was the time of the sacrifice, when the families returned to their homes for the preparation of the feast.

Pools of blood were a common sight in the sandy streets of Timbuktu.

We took our Tabaski meal with our generous hosts, Shindouk and Miranda of Sahara Passion (link), who welcomed us to join them for Tabaski as they did for all meals during our stay. We were told that the extended family would slaughter two rams, one on Tabaski and one on the next day, all to be shared with family and neighbors.

As we ate our meal in the courtyard of the house, we heard the plaintive cries of Sheep #2, who was tied to a post a few feet away–did he know what had happened to his friend? did he know what was to come? He seemed thirsty, and hungry, as he bleated and tugged at a nearby thatch basket, as if to unravel it for food.

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Timbuktu

We made it–to Timbuktu. In a sense it was inevitable–Timbuktu is the sort of place that most travelers aspire to have on their travel resume; even if there were nothing to see, tourists would flock here for the sheer cachet of its name alone. Timbuktu is a byword for distant, for remote, for that place to which, if you have been, perhaps you have been everywhere else as well. As a souvenir t-shirt on sale here puts it, “I’ve been to Timbuktu and back”–no other destination sounds like such an achievement. It is one of those places, like Zanzibar or Samarkand, that everyone has heard of, even if they’re not sure whether it really exists and don’t know its location. Well, the legendary city of the Mali empire, the city of Mansa Musa, the city so long closed to Western explorers, does exist, even if it has seen better days, deep in the Malian Sahel, a few miles from the Niger River.

But there are a couple of ugly truths about Timbuktu. The first is that, in some respects, it’s not so remote at all. Few places in this day and age are all that remote, and this is true even for Timbuktu, as infamous as it is for its remoteness. Timbuktu has an airport with regular flights to the city of Mopti, the second biggest city in Mali, and, believe it or not, Mopti has direct flights to Paris (not to mention connecting fights through Mali’s capital Bamako to various other destinations). I don’t know the actual schedules, or how good the connections are, but possibly you can fly in from Paris in the morning, change planes once, and be in Timbuktu by the afternoon. If you’re willing to fly, Timbuktu is just hours away, however unadventurous that may be. (Flying to Timbuktu, in my opinion, largely defeats the purpose of going.)

For that matter, we didn’t even have to get on a plane to arrive at Timbuktu in an unusually (for Africa) carefree and comfortable manner–we took a cruise. Well, perhaps cruise slightly overstates the situation, but COMANAV, Mali’s state boat company, operates a weekly boat service up and down the Niger, from Mali’s capital Bamako, through Mopti, Timbuktu and Gao, in the far east of the country, and back. The boat’s not a sure thing–it runs only when the river level is high enough and is sometimes subject to serious delays–but it offers a level of comfort that one doesn’t find too often in West African transport, let alone for a destination as exotic as Timbuktu. The fares are not cheap (about USD 100 from Mopti to Timbuktu, a 36 or so hour run, in a first class cabin for two with sink but shared bath), but the ride allows one to enjoy the traditional route to Timbuktu from the south–the Niger River–while maintaining a sense of journey and adventure and without having to shell out for a private pinasse (up to USD 1000) or suffering the conditions on a public pinasse (see post of 12.04).

There are many classes of service on the boat, but the most luxurious (which we did not take) includes your own spacious cabin with air conditioning, mini-fridge and bath, while a few of the classes include decent meals served in a basic but spacious dining room, complete with karaoke machine. A second class cabin, with four bunks.

And quite a journey the COMANAV is. Even if your immediate surroundings are almost luxurious, and out of keeping with general conditions in West Africa, I can think of few better ways to witness life on the Niger than from the comfortable deck of the COMANAV ship.

With ample deck space–the boat was surprisingly uncrowded, especially considering that fourth class tickets are actually quite affordable–you can peacefully survey the natural beauty of the Niger, as it expands into its inland delta and then contracts toward the top of its bend.

Villages passed en route provide glimpses of traditional Sudanese mud-brick architecture, with its elaborate ornamentations and textures. At some stops, there was enough time to take a short walk into town. Following the route on our map, we found ourselves chuckling as we described ports as “halfway to Timbuktu” or “three quarters of the way to Timbuktu.”

The voyage is especially notable for the amount of commerce that it facilitates. The first picture shows villagers selling prepared food to the passengers on board. While meals of decent local food were included in second class and above (the classes that most foreign tourists take), those in third and fourth classes either prepared their own food or bought food from ladies who rowed pirogues up to the boat with plates of (usually) dried or fried fish. We even saw a few live chickens change hands, but it was unclear whether passengers were actually slaughtering and cooking them onboard. The second picture shows a procession of women departing the ship with baskets of produce. The boat acts as a sort of moving market, and these women seemed to be riding not to go anywhere but to sell merchandise. At each stop, regardless of time of day (or night), the boat would play loud dance music, letting people know that the boat had arrived, and the ladies would set up a sort of market right in front of the boat, selling produce to the villagers. The third picture shows a sort of convenience store set up on the lower level of the boat. Apparently, in addition to certain fruits and vegetables, the villagers on the boat’s route lack pomades, matches, cigarettes, candy and toothpaste (some of these items may also have been for sale to the boat’s passengers). Villagers would board the ship, when in dock, to purchase items from these onboard stores.


When going to a destination such as Timbuktu, the journey should be at least half the fun, and our COMANAV trip did not disappoint. We arrived well-rested and well-entertained, having enjoyed the scenery, interactions on board and brief village stops, and even having gotten a little work done (as there was electricity on board).

What is the second ugly truth about Timbuktu? As the guidebooks warn you, there is actually very little here. The state of Timbuktu of today speaks more to its remote location and less to its past glory as the great city of a fabulously wealthy empire. Back in the 14th century, Mansa Musa, ruler of the Mali Empire, was so rich from the gold mines of West Africa that on the hajj, or pilgrimage to Mecca, his spendings depreciated gold prices in Cairo for over a decade. It was starting from those times that Timbuktu became, in the eyes of much of the rest of the world, a city of great exoticism and allure. Now? Yes, there are some ancient mosques, which have been lovingly restored and are fine examples of Sudanese mosque architecture, but the Great Mosque of Djenne [post to come] is far more impressive and, like the Djenne mosque, the mosques of Timbuktu are closed to non-Muslim tourists. Yes, there is something like an old city, but it is nothing compared to dozens of other old cities we have seen, and certainly far smaller and less interesting than, again, Djenne. How about the desert? Well, as any world atlas can tell you, Timbuktu is not located in the truth Sahara, but in the Sahel transition zone, a sandy area yes, but one with regular hardy vegetation and not too many of the high dunes of one’s childhood fantasies. Just as one would not go to Timbuktu for its architecture or a tangible sense of history, one would not go to Timbuktu solely for the desert scenery.

Foremost among the sights of Timbuktu are three ancient mosques (the Djingarey Berre mosque is pictured below), “explore
rs’ houses” said to be the buildings in which the first European explorers to Timbuktu stayed (that of Rene Caillie is pictured below)and libraries holding the medieval manuscripts for which Timbuktu is famous (the Ahmed Baba Institute is pictured below).


Typical Timbuktu street scene: more sewage than romance

So why go to Timbuktu at all? Is it even worthwhile? Well, our stay in Timbuktu was greatly enriched, perhaps even redeemed, by our choice of lodging: Sahara Passion (link). We saw the two proprietors, the unlikely husband-wife team of somewhat grizzly Touareg Shindouk and youthful Canadian Miranda Dodd, advertising their hotel at Timbuktu’s port when we arrived into town. They were embarrassed at trolling for customers at the port but due to recent and confusing changes in location, they needed the additional visibility despite being recommended in multiple guidebooks. The two drove us to their guesthouse-cum-family home, located on the northern outskirts of town. On the way there, we were afraid that the location might be inconvenient, as it was located a good kilometer or more from the “old city,” and at first sight we were concerned about the relatively spartan conditions (e.g., the city’s power grid does not reach their home, posing difficulties for travelers as electronically dependent as we (see post of 8.20), though they do have solar power for smaller items and can charge larger items in their town office on request). But if the charm of the two hosts and the insights they offered into life in Timbuktu weren’t enough, and they would have been (we were especially impressed by Shindouk’s wise and cosmopolitan worldview), we soon realized that their location was also a tremendous benefit, for it helped us to understand and appreciate what is special about Timbuktu.

Shindouk

The edge of town–to the north, the wilderness and the way to the Maghrib

As I mentioned in my post of 12.04, much of the strategic significance of Mali, the reason it played such an important role in medieval African history, is the bend in the Niger River, which facilitated communication between Arab/Berber North Africa and black sub-Saharan Africa. The swoop of the Niger northward to Timbuktu allowed for camel caravans to relatively easily cross the Sahara to a sub-Saharan port, with access to goods such as gold, ivory and slaves. Timbuktu is, in other words, the gateway between North Africa and sub-Saharan Africa. From Sahara Passion, this is demonstrated more clearly, more plainly, than I thought possible.

Just south of us is Timbuktu, largely an African city, not dissimilar from the mudbrick town of Old Djenne or others in Mali. The residents are mostly black and dressed in colorful clothes, their markets (and behavior) also colorful. The heart of the city is surprisingly dense, crowded in the way that African cities can be.


To the north? Still the Sahel, yes, but mainly sandy desert, a wilderness of emptiness. We were told that a day’s drive away there were some settlements, but even there encampments are said to be scattered a great distance apart, so that there is essentially nothing in the way of dense neighborhoods. And the residents? Almost all Touareg, a fiercely independent and historically nomadic North African Berber group, in skin color tan and not black at all.

Nomad-style encampments on the edge of town. These were mostly populated by people who were ethnically/racially black but culturally Touareg, presumably the former (some would say current) slaves of the Touareg.

Touareg camel caravan on its way out of town

Even if the history of Timbuktu is not palpable in the city’s remaining monuments, the significance of its location, the role it has played as a transition or pivot point between North Africa and sub-Saharan Africa, is still very much tangible, especially from the northern edge of town. Topography, ecology, mode of living, race–everything seems to shift from the few miles south to the few miles north of Timbuktu, and the city, just as it has often switched hands from black African powers (the Mali Empire and the current state of Mali) to North African ones (the Touareg and the Moroccans), is truly halfway between the worlds of sub-Saharan Africa and North Africa.

Two of the many shades of TImbuktu’s residents

There are many other interesting points of interest surrounding Timbuktu, which make it a place far more fascinating than it superficially appears. One of the most intriguing is the 40-day salt camel caravan, which brings mined salt from Taoudenni in the Sahara to Timbuktu to be sold in other parts of Mali and beyond. Another is the status of the former slaves of the Touareg, black Africans who have been culturally integrated into Touareg society, with some clinging on to a familial/employee role, if not still outright chattel. We were told that, to this day, the people working at the Saharan salt mines are black in skin color. Then there are the famous manuscripts, thousands of volumes bearing evidence of Timbuktu’s past history as a center of education and culture (however hard it seems now to believe). But my knowledge on these topics is limited, and many websites touch on them, and so I encourage you to use google to learn more.

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Mali

What’s in Our Bags?

Of course, before starting a year-long journey, one has to do some hefty preparations. We prepared packing lists months in advance, making sure that we were carrying all of the essentials (and some desirable extras) with maximum weight- and volume-efficiency. Even on the gadget front alone (see post of 8.20), this was no easy task. However, things wear and tear, and different places can require different supplies, requiring the picking up of additional items along the way. So, you might be curious–what are we carrying now? Where did everything come from? Not quite a comprehensive list, but close:

– Two backpacks and two duffels. One of the backpacks was acquired in New Haven, the other in Chicago. We use the duffels to protect our backpacks during bus and train rides and flights, to keep the backpacks clean, avoid damage caused by hanging straps and deter opportunistic theft. One duffel was purchased in Chicago, the other provided to us in New York after an old one was damaged by an airline. We almost had one of the backpacks (filled with approximately half of everything below) stolen at Damascus airport in April, but that’s another story.
– Guidebooks. I am carrying Bradt Mali, Rough Guide West Africa, Lonely Planet West Africa and Rough Guide Morocco, all purchased from Amazon.co.uk and shipped to a friend in Milan, where we picked it up in November. I had to quickly order and pay for these books a second time after a poste restante shipment (see post of 4.1) from Hong Kong failed to show up at the post office in Istanbul. I am also carrying a map of Mali purchased in Dakar.
– Other printed matter. I am carrying a non-fiction history book to read for pleasure (gifted to me by a friend in Hong Kong, during our August visit there), a map of UNESCO World Heritage Sites (ordered for free on the internet and shipped to me in New York), a book on New York purchased by a friend in Hong Kong and brought to Uzbekistan and New York postcards purchased by a friend in New York and brought to us in Hong Kong. All of the books (other than the guidebooks we are currently using) are carried in a sturdy plastic shopping bag from an electronics store in Sharjah, one of the United Arab Emirates.
– In addition to the gadgets and supplies mentioned in my post of 8.20 (including a hard drive from Sharjah), we are carrying an extra hard drive purchased in Istanbul and GSM SIM cards purchased in Cairo and Aqaba. My cell phone was stolen in Aswan, and so I am also carrying a new Motorola purchased in Cairo. One of the watches we are carrying was purchased at the border market between Afghanistan and Tajikistan (see post of 6.23). Derek’s camera bag was replaced during our August Hong Kong visit with an identical one, as the first was worn to the brink in our first six months of travel.
– Ultralight sleeping bags (0.5 kg, 10 degrees Celsius), purchased in Hong Kong. Handy for the crappiest of hotels (especially those that double as brothels).
– Small DVD case and blank DVDs, most recently restocked in Istanbul.
– My clothes. I have two t-shirts, one pair of shorts, one pair of lightweight pants, one pair of lightweight jogging pants and a couple of long sleeve shirts. These were purchased in New York, Seattle, Xinjiang and Hong Kong. The pair of pants I started the trip with, purchased years ago in Singapore, wore through and so were discarded. I have several pairs of underwear and socks, including socks from Dakar. I’ve lost my hat twice, and am now traveling with a handmade straw one purchased at the famous Monday market of Djenne, Mali. I’m traveling with my original pairs of shoes–Tevas and Merrills purchased in Seattle. One of my t-shirts has worn thin and has a few small but growing holes, helping me blend in here in Africa (well, not really, as calls of “Jackie Chan” still abound).
– Derek’s clothes. Derek has a pair of convertible pants, a pair of lightweight jogging pants and a few long sleeve shirts. He also has several pairs of underwear and socks, including underwear from Slovenia and socks from Dakar. Derek lost his hat once, and the current one is from Xinjiang. Derek’s hiking shoes were replaced during our Hong Kong visit with a pair that he had had brought from Texas. He also has a new pair of Birkenstocks from Kuwait City and a pair of flipflops from Dakar. Derek and I both have Montane ultralight packable windbreakers purchased in Hong Kong. All of our clothes are in wetbags purchased in Seattle. We keep dirty laundry in a plastic laundry bag from Sharm el-Sheikh.
– Some food from a Venice supermarket.
– Small bottle of whiskey from Jordan duty-free.
– Half carton of cigarettes from Sulawesi. These were intended as gifts that we’ve had a difficult time giving. Numerous bedouin suspected us of trying to drug them–has tourists’ drugging of unsuspecting bedouin been a problem?!
– Ziploc full of receipts, tape flags, pens and coins, from everywhere.
– Toiletries. Our toothpaste is from Cappadocia, our toothbrushes from Flores. We have hotel soap and shampoo from a bunch of places, including Dead Sea mud soap from Sharm el-Sheikh.
– First aid kit, including bandaids and gauze from Iran and iodine and ointment from Flores.
– Medicine, including Mefloquine–the only antimalarial that our Hong Kong pharmacist who gives us pills without prescriptions had on hand–and Aleve, brought to us in Hong Kong from Texas.
– Secret pockets, purchased many years ago from the Savvy Traveler in Chicago, perhaps the world’s greatest travel store. We have two that fasten onto our belts and are worn on the inside of our pants and one that can be velcro’d onto our shin, should we not be wearing beltable pants.
– Swiss army knife, purchased in Hong Kong.
– Headlamps and flashlight.
– Various other supplies, such as a laundry rope from India, laundry soap and detergent from a bunch of places, a pair of scissors, a notebook from Iran, photocopies of guidebooks, many passport photos, an extra pair of glasses purchased in Ba
ngkok, disposable contact lenses, etc., etc.

Isn’t it amazing, the distances goods travel to satisfy our modern consumer lifestyles? Not included in the above list is a bunch of 3-in-1 instant coffee packets. We carried one particular packet, a Malaysian brand of Colombian beans that we picked up at an Iranian hotel, all the way through Central Asia and China, eventually back through Malaysia and the Middle East, and ended up drinking it in Dakar. What a journey!

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Mopti Harbor

We know we haven’t seen it all, but we’ve seen a lot, and so when we see something that qualitatively or quantitatively stands out compared to things we’ve seen before, we are all the more impressed and astonished. Such a place is the port of Mopti.

Mopti is a medium-sized city on the banks of the Bani and Niger rivers, halfway between Bamako, Mali’s capital, and the legendary city of Timbuktu. The Niger River is the lifeblood of Mali–as the country is located at the edge of the Sahara, largely in the transition zone known as the Sahel, the river is an essential source of water, food and transport in the country, a sustainer of life and commerce. The northward horseshoe turn of the Niger River in particular, known as the “bend” of the Niger, has acted for centuries as a conduit for communication and trade between “Arab” North Africa and the savannah and jungle of sub-Saharan “black” Africa, helping now Mali become a center of several empires. Timbuktu is at the northernmost part of this bend; Mopti can be seen as its westernmost point, the base from which trips to or from the north and east started or ended.

Link to map of Mali at the Perry-Castañeda Library
Map Collection

Mali’s river ports have the same significance today that they had in the past. Much of the population lives along the Bani and Niger Rivers, and given Mali’s relatively primitive road infrastructure, river travel is still competitive in time and cost, and the choice for many, making the Port of Mopti one of the busiest, most hectic centers of river transport we have ever seen. On market day, the level of frenetic activity is comparable to that of transportation centers in urban India and the lack of development and filth comparable to Indian cities or, what came to our mind, the watery slums of Jakarta–but what makes Mopti stand out is that, compared to similar hubbubs in India or scenes in Indonesia, the setting is more rustic and the conditions more primitive, making Mopti altogether more overwhelming, especially given the relatively small size of the city compared to those of urban Asia.

Walking around Mopti’s harbor, especially on market day, is an unforgettable experience. The harbor is shaped something like a square, open to the Bani River on one side with boat access by paved ramps all along the other three. The heart of the city lies on one of those three sides, and market districts on the other two. Starting from the city corner, it is an easy walk around the three sides of the square to the refuge of bar/restaurant Bar Bozo on the fourth corner, a ramble that can take anywhere from 20 minutes to a few hours, to take in the diversity and energy of the many activities of the harbor.

Primary and most important is the loading and unloading of cargo and passengers from the many pinasses that travel up- and downriver. As I mentioned above, given Mali’s relatively poor road infrastructure, river transport is an essential means of getting around, and getting goods around, the country. Given the high cost of fuel and the poverty of the country, unsurprisingly Malians try to maximize the utility of any transport run. We had become accustomed to the fact that minivans and buses in Mali generally do not run until absolutely full, and that any vacant space is used for passengers or cargo. For example, on one minivan ride, our driver insisted on stopping for every single opportunity to carry extra freight, whether it was a sheep or a bunch of wood waiting at the side of the road, and squeezing passengers into every available space, with some sharing the floor with an adorable tiny lamb. We were still incredulous, however, at the extent to which the pinasses of Mopti are loaded, well beyond any reasonable capacity.

When a boat can no longer be filled at shore, because the weight of the load makes it sink into the mud in the shallow of the harbor, it is floated to the middle of the harbor, and loaded further.

Two thoughts immediately come to mind. The first is safety. An overloaded car or bus may be uncomfortable, yes, but at least there isn’t the danger of sinking. With the boats crammed so full that they float just inches above the water, and with cargo and passengers sitting on top of their roofs, it is all too easy to picture the boats tipping over, with the passengers left to swim to shore or drown (it goes without saying that there are no lifejackets on board).

The second is the overwhelming discomfort of a long pinasse journey. A typical pinasse ride from Mopti can take anywhere from 6 to 36 hours–destinations and fares are often painted on the boat–and it is hard to imagine the physical discomfort of such a journey, given that each passenger has barely enough room to sit, let alone sleep. The trips grow even longer if the ships, overloaded, run aground in shallows, in which case the ship has to be unloaded, freed to deeper waters, and then reloaded, a process that can means additional hours of delay. Hardier backpackers than we opt to take such public pinasses from Mopti to Timbuktu–we opted for the big COMANAV ship, with our own private cabin.

Smaller pirogues for intracity journeys. Some of these are clearly lived-in, like the floating homes of Vietnam or southern China.

There are many more activities, however, than just the loading and unloading of ships. On one side of the harbor, salt is sold. Now, this is not just any salt, but salt from the Sahara, brought by camel caravans some fifteen or so days from Taoudenni to Timbuktu, and then by river to Mopti, to be cut and sold to Fulani herders. The salt trade is an ancient one, and one of the principal commodities North Africans offered in exchange for gold and slaves. It is simply amazing that this trade still lives on, that this is still the most economical means of obtaining salt in Mali.

On another side of the harbor, fish is dried and sold. Entire clans, it seems, from elder to juvenile, are involved in the preparation and sale of river fish, dried or smoked to an unappetizing black. Fish is an essential source of calories and protein for Malians.

While walking along, it can be difficult to take pictures because at any given moment, in any given frame, the camera is likely to catch a man, woman or child squatting (urinating or defecating) at the water’s edge. The amount of garbage and general filth is depressing, and it is heartbreaking to see those responsible for the port’s upkeep.

Finally, starting just above the water’s edge and stretching several blocks inland, there are markets, with a wide range of goods being sold, urban goods for those boarding ships and products from the countryside unloaded off ships and sold to the residents of the city.

The pinasse pictured here seemed to be traveling back with a tremendous stack of empty containers, which presumably brought goods for sale at the market.

Tourism is a big industry in Mali, and many try to make a living through dealings with tourists. One of our walks around the harbor w
as nearly ruined by a young man who we think must have been on drugs, and rattled on incessantly about absolutely nothing (including about how black Africans are now free, and get paid to have sex with white women), eventually becoming quite belligerent when we asked to be left alone. (A while later, he came back to apologize.) Other times, men would come up to us announcing themselves as “captain pinasse,” saying that they have a “big pinasse” and asking if we wanted to ride–no pun intended, but nonetheless inducing much giggling on our part. Derek’s favorite was the boat tout who approached saying, “I have a big pinasse with two tourists on it, but I need two more.”

At the end of the walk, at the corner most distant from town, lies Bar Bozo, a neo-colonial perch of foreigners seated to watch the sunset and the endless show of the port, located next to a workshop for the repair of pinasses and pirogues. As the sun sets, one can see not only the activity of the harbor but the relative calm of the river just beyond, with fishermen bringing in their nets.


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Secondary Cuisines

Traveling through the world, one gets to taste some terrific (and some not-so-terrific) food. Considering the wide availability of many of the same ingredients all over the world, it’s astonishing how much cuisines vary, from East to Southeast Asia, Southeast Asia to India, India to Iran, Iran to the Levant to Turkey, Turkey to Europe. The food, and the types and availability of restaurants, tell you a great deal about a place–the level of economic development, historical trading patterns and contacts, maybe even the character of a people. This post is, however, limited to one small category of food, which I call “secondary cuisines.”

A secondary cuisine is a cuisine once removed. Not Italian food as served in Italy, for example, but American Italian food. Not Chinese food as served in China, but Korean Chinese food. Not Indian food as served in India, but British Indian food. Secondary cuisines have interesting histories. Sometimes, they are just adaptations of an immigrant class, perhaps modified for broader consumption in the country of immigration. Other times, they are local visions of what a foreign cuisine is, or attempts to create such cuisines without proper training or ingredients. However they originate, some secondary cuisines develop lives of their own, perhaps not exceeding in quality and variety the primary cuisine, but differentiating itself sufficiently that even the primary cuisine would not serve as a substitute for someone looking for that particular secondary cuisine dish. An American tourist could easily be disappointed by pizza the way it is served in Italy, and I have heard from many who prefer American Chinese food over food in China. There have even been cases of transplantation of secondary cuisine dishes into the country of the primary cuisine, whether for consumption by locals or foreigners. Lest this sound rather abstract, let us move on to concrete examples.

The country in which the widest range of secondary cuisines exists is probably the United States, a country of immigrants. Chief among these is probably American Chinese food. Ever since Chinese workers first arrived in the United States in the 19th century, they have been cooking food (as Chinese emigrants do all over the world–see below), and a unique cuisine developed. The greatest concentration of American Chinese food restaurants is probably in San Francisco, the oldest Chinese community in the United States, where restaurants have big signs advertising that most American Chinese dish, Chop Suey. But not far behind are restaurants in big cities all over the U.S., and even in rural areas–Chinese food is omnipresent. Other dishes of American Chinese cuisine include such classics as General Tso’s and Sesame Chicken, and an entire range of American Chinese food is often available in cheap buffet or fast food restaurants in strip malls across America. I read that General Tso’s Chicken, originally a Taiwanese-American invention, has made it back to Taiwan–but I have not seen it on a menu in the Mainland… yet.

There are numerous other American-XXX cuisines. After American Chinese food, American Italian probably comes a close second. Indeed, Italian food served outside of Italy is often not an adaptation of Italian food from Italy, but of American Italian food. Whether served at Pizza Hut or numerous smaller local restaurants, American-style pizza is perhaps the single most popular food in the world. Pizza by the slice being sold in Venice looked and tasted suspiciously like New York pizza, leaving me to wonder whether pizza-by-the-slice is an American invention that has traveled back to Italy, together with the recipe for American pizza. American Japanese food also exists, to a small extent, in the form of newly invented sushi. I’ve read that the California, Philadelphia and Alaska rolls have all, to some extent, traveled across the Pacific to be served in sushi restaurants in Japan. Similarly, a cut of rib grilled for Korean barbeque is known even in Korea as “L.A. Galbi,” after its place of innovation, and I know of a pho restaurant in Saigon that imports “rooster sauce” (Sriracha Sauce), a tomato and chili condiment made by Vietnamese Americans and ubiquitous in Vietnamese restaurants in the United States.

America may be home to the the largest number of secondary cuisines, but the country responsible for seeding the largest number of secondary cuisines is, no doubt, China. “Chinese” food is among the most varied in the world (it is probably silly to call it a single cuisine, although of course regional differences are largely lost when exported to other countries), and among the most adopted in the world, not only by Chinese emigrant communities but by non-Chinese locals. We have eaten (some sort of) Chinese food in the U.S. (of course), Europe, Korea, Southeast Asia, India, the Levant, Mali and Madagascar.

Of secondary Chinese cuisines, the two most distinctive, from my perspective, are Korean Chinese food and Indian Chinese food. I am not sure how Korean Chinese food originated, but I believe it was created by Chinese immigrants to Korea (from Shandong Province?) who opened restaurants and modified existing Chinese dishes to suit local palates. Now, it forms a cuisine on its own, its dishes recognizably Chinese but prepared in a distinct style. Every Korean child’s favorite food is Jiajiangmyeon, similar to but different from the Beijing-style noodles, and anybody could tell Korean-style Sweet and Sour apart from its Chinese original. Given the lack of a significant Chinese population in India or Sri Lanka, I am inclined to think that Indian Chinese food is a local creation, a vision of Chinese food by (evidently skilled) South Asian cooks. I am told that some of the dishes, such as Chili Chicken, Chicken Manchurian, etc., are available in Indian restaurants in New York. In Madras we went to the restaurant that supposedly invented Chicken 55, another popular (and delicious) Indian Chinese dish. There are numerous other secondary Chinese cuisines–we were unsurprised to find at a restaurant in Sofia Bulgaria an entire page of Chinese dishes, some more recognizably Chinese in inspiration than others. I should also note that Chinese is often a premium cuisine in many parts of the world, surprising to big city Americans to whom some kind of Chinese food is available at highly competitive prices.

Western food has also been adapted. All over Asia there is some variant of adapted western food, such as pizza with corn as a topping (or thousand island dressing in lieu of tomato sauce, as is available at Pizza Hut Hong Kong), “hamburger steak” made of ground meat and various cream soups. The most well-developed, almost sophisticated version, however, is Japanese western. The Japanese adopted certain western dishes from their interactions with the Portuguese in the 16th century and with the British in the 19th, and some of the dishes have grown quite popular, served not only in Japanese restaurants in Japan but all over the world, including especially Korea. Foremost among the dishes of this cuisine are curry and katsu, both foods I grew up with and love. It was fairly late in my life when I recognized that my love of chicken fried steak and wiener schnitzel (and other similar dishes–every country seems to have its own) came down to their resemblance to Japanese katsu.

When I was recently in Milan, I had to try the local milanesa, the namesake of the breaded meat dish in all parts of the Italian- and Spanish-speaking worlds.