Christi and I enjoyed a surprisingly comfortable night under the stars on our rooftop mattresses. As usual it was so warm that neither of us required blankets. We pack, eat breakfast and then undertake a brief tour of Begnemato, a classic Dogon village. We wander through the narrow alleyways poking our heads into people’s homes and watching them pounding millet, collecting water, or breast-feeding. We have a great meeting with the village hunter who owns some ancient guns, old skulls, and a monkey that he somehow managed to capture. The villages have Christian, Moslem, and animist communities all apparently living in harmony. Granpere says fundamentally the Dogon are all animist with a complex system of beliefs. French anthropologists in particular have devoted their careers and written many books on the Dogon lifestyle, recounting the gory details of the serpent and the jackal and all the other components of the Dogon’s animist beliefs.
Granpere leads us on our first hike across the top of the escarpment. It’s 8 km from Begnemato to our next Dogon village, Dourou. We are promised cold drinks on completing this first morning hike, but the reality is that nothing can be kept truly cold in this brutal climate. Heat radiates off the escarpment especially in the middle of the day. At this time the only thing to do is to find whatever shade is available and try to remain as comfortable as possible.
We begin the 7 km hike to Nombori while there is still plenty of heat left in the day. And this is where we leave the escarpment and plunge into a steep, narrow canyon straight out of an Indiana Jones movie. We scramble down the trail over rocks and beneath overhanging trees until we emerge 30 minutes later onto a sandy plain dotted with trees that stretches out to an inland sea of sand dunes on the horizon. It is not the kind of environment in which one might normally expect to find green, lush vegetable gardens, but there they are, hugging the shade of the escarpment. In truth, it’s an idyllic, almost surreal, pastoral scene as the Dogon go about the business of watering their crops (including onions, cabbage, and lettuce), weeding (I always hated that job) and planting new seeds. It must be incredibly hard to maintain these vegetable gardens in such harsh, arid conditions.
The Dogon attempt to maintain their traditional way of life, despite the constant invasion of tourists (there are direct flights from Paris to Mopti – a town only an hour away from the escarpment – so it’s an easy trip for French anthropologists and French tourists who don’t even bother to walk between villages preferring the ease of 4WD vehicles). Indeed the Dogon trek is big business and we have to pay to be in Dogon country and to stay at the villages and eat the local food. In fact it is compulsory to stay in the villages and eat the local produce. We are a captive audience in a monopoly situation. The Dogon are,however, free to ignore us, which they do – the children aside who scream ‘cadeau’ whenever the next tour group steps into town. From a photography perspective the intransigence of the locals is disappointing. Sheldon Cooper is unfazed by this and brashly shoves his camera into the faces of anyone and everyone. Pee Wee Herman who is theoretically leading this trip (his first visit to Dogon Country, while Adonis remains with the truck on top of the escarpment, ), and Granpere (who is really running everything) tell me to mimic Sheldon. Forget privacy and personal space, they say. If you want photos be bold!
At least now it’s along a flat sandy path beneath myriad baobab trees, while endless children asking for presents. Some of our group insist on rushing through these hikes so that they can reach the next cold beer as quickly as possible, but it’s the journey and not the destination (unless you include beer as a destination) that is the attraction. Christi and I potter around at the back of the group. We are in no rush, especially in this heat.
The food in the villages is actually rather good and fresh. The lettuce and onions aren’t even picked until we arrive. So far each village has a very basic cold shower (maybe that is a reason to rush!) and a squat toilet. The actual process of ablutions is a challenge, but for a few minutes afterwards I do feel clean. And then I begin to sweat again. It’s another beautiful night under the stars, although tonight there is one long roof for all of us to share.
It’s an odd thing that there are no rivers visible, but periodically we come across a watering hole, which is used for the crops and to provide us, the haggard tourists with drinking water (once it has been purified). Today we have an 8 km morning hike from Nombori to Tireli. Tireli is perhaps the largest and most commercial of the villages that comprise the Dogon trek. The sodas here are actually cool. De-licious! Tireli is also where we get to see the famous Dogon mask dance. Although now geared towards tourists, it is still without doubt the most exciting and energetic traditional dancing that I have ever witnessed. The masks, handed down through the generations, are intricately carved and heavy – especially now during the heat of the day – and represent many different facets of Dogon life, including the mythical antelope, Walu, the kanaga (a double-barred cross), and the buffalo. The traditional funeral ceremony is a colorful extravaganza comprising a masquerade that essentially leads the souls of the departed to their final resting places through a series of ritual dances and rites. This is most definitely the highlight of our visit to Dogon country.
Unfortunately having been fed and entertained not to mention enjoying a relaxing nap, the last think I want to do is go hiking again. Needs must, however, when the devil drives (or at least when there is a schedule to keep) as our campsite is at Ireli some 7 km away. We hike a total of 15 km today in temperatures that rise to 50oC (1220F). And I hope you agree, dear reader, that Christi and I deserve a little sympathy, don’t we? Along the way to Ireli we stop at a watering hole and are surprised to see it teeming with Nile crocodiles. Granpere assures us that they don’t go after the Dogon (who regard the crocodiles as sacred) yet there is little else for them to eat. Granpere thinks theses modern-day dinosaurs may have converted to a vegetarian diet – more likely the villagers are apt to lose the occasional goat or sheep under mysterious circumstances. It’s a relief to reach Ireli because it means we have survived the majority of the Dogon trek. I’m so tired that for once I don’t shower – and feel all the worse for it.
We begin our final day in Dogon country with a walk through Ireli to see the cave dwellings of another indigenous group called the Tellem (known as pygmies in the West). When the Dogon arrived in the 14th century they ousted the Tellem who moved on to the jungles of Central Africa. It is believed that the reason the Tellem lived in caves in the escarpment was to avoid conversion (under penalty of death) to Islam from other tribes in the area.
Our last hike is 5 km from Ireli to Banani. By this point all we want is shade and cold drinks. We hang out until word comes that the truck is waiting for us at the top of the escarpment at the town of Sanga. All we have to do now is climb back up the damn escarpment and an elevation gain of 500 m over 2.5 km under a brutal sun is exhausting. Adonis is waiting for us with the first truly cold drinks we have tasted in days. There is much relief and celebration and then another painful, bumpy ride along the top of the escarpment back to the Auberge Kansaye in Bandiagara. There are proper showers, sit-down toilets, and more cold drinks. It’s the simple things you miss when traveling rough. Christi and I also upgrade ourselves to a room with a bed as opposed to sleeping on a roof. All seems right with the world and in an odd fusion of Malian and South American music we are serenaded asleep to the strains of the Cuban folk song, Guantanamera!
Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of broken hearts and broken test tubes.
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