Songo and the Niger River, Mali, Day 207

There’s no rest for the wicked. I’m up at sparrow fart (a.k.a dawn) loading bags onto the truck and also putting a separate day pack together (tonight we’ll be off the truck camping on the banks of the Niger River ). Eat a rushed breakfast and we leave Bandiagara at 7 am. Our first stop is the village of Songo, another perfect picture-postcard Dogon community (the rubbish aside). This village is also part of the tourist trail and the locals are used to the attention of camera-toting visitors. After the obligatory ‘Bonjour. Ca va?’ (Good morning. How are you?’), the next word the children utter is ‘cadeau’ (present) and their hands shoot out from their hips faster than a gunslinger. The children do genuinely seem interested in us, though, and it doesn’t take long for the kids to find an exposed white hand to hold and they hang on for dear life. Most of us are happy to engage in some cross-cultural fraternization (but remember to use that hand sanitizer afterwards!) aside from Dennis and Margaret Thatcher who shoo the kids away most vigorously.

Although theoretically Islamic, the Dogon still practice male (but not female) circumcision. Every 3 years the teenage boys are taken to an enclave above the village where the rite is performed. A wrestling match precedes the ceremony and the winner is accorded the ‘honor’ of going first. As in most cultures that perform circumcision it is the village blacksmith who performs the dirty deed. The boys remain in the enclave for one month to heal and during this time they create their own individual rock art to add to the generations of images on display. Our stay in Songo is brief, but I’m sure another tour group will pass by very soon. And perhaps those tourists will have a cadeau or two to share.

At this point I need to make a literary detour to catch you up with the latest geo-political developments in West Africa. If you recall Christi and I had planned to do back to back 5-week trips aboard the Dragoman truck with the second outing covering Mauritania and Morocco. However, Mauritania was deemed too dangerous because some Western food aid workers had been kidnapped. Apparently the discontent in Mauritania is spreading to Northern Mali and our dream of floating down the Niger to Timbuktu has been officially abandoned. The British Foreign Office advises tourists to avoid this mythic desert outpost and Dragoman cannot, for insurance reasons, ignore government directives. Our Niger cruise is therefore commuted to a quick overnight trip. We board our cruise liner at the town of Mopti. Cruise liner may be a bit of an exaggeration: it’s actually a leaky pinasse (large covered motorized canoe) that has to accommodate 19 Dragoman passengers and luggage, Granpere, a cook, the Dragoman equipment (tents etc.), and 3 crew members.

But wait, Granpere is not known as a fixer extraordinaire without good reason. If any of the passengers wish to risk a trip to Timbuktu, he is offering two options. The first is a cheap but rough 5-day round trip jeep excursion, which amazing as it sounds actually appeals to some people. The other option is to throw money at the situation (always my preferred solution). Flights are still going to and from Timbuktu and before we leave Mopti Granpere flashes 4 airline tickets at myself, Christi, Stan Laurel and Sinead O’Connor. Granpere assures us that Timbuktu is safe and the troubles are hundreds of miles away (but edging closer daily). Adonis warns us that we must temporarily sign off the Dragoman tour if we choose to go to Timbuktu – and then smiles and wishes us good luck.

Our Niger cruise becomes fun again, a mouth-watering amuse-bouche before visiting the mythic desert outpost of Timbuktu. Gliding up the Niger River is a great way to watch the people of Mali at work and play (lots of clothes being washed, fishing etc.) along this major African waterway. And because the canoe is motorized we do actually move quite quickly through the aquamarine waters of the Niger. At this time of year, though, the Niger River is very shallow in places, perhaps only 0.5m deep, so the crew have to be constantly checking the depth of the water around us. Our first stop is the Fulani (one of the largest ethnic groups in Africa) village of Ngongme. Christi prefers to remain on the boat, whereas I’m off chasing photos of yet another spectacular mud mosque. Along the way I meet many local Fulani women and children who seem as genuninely curious about me as I am about them. Fortunately this curiosity is not associated with the persistent and annoying request for a ‘cadeau’. Fulani women of marriageable age (perhaps 15 onwards) decorate the area around their mouths with a black charcoal tattoo. It is an advertisement of their desire and availability for marriage. And with a little gentle persuasion and much laughter I’m allowed to photograph one of them.

Our last excursion of the day is a visit to a Bozo village. The Bozo are a different ethnic grouping to the Fulani. The Bozo tend to wander the Niger River, relying on fish as the main staple of their diet (rather than the nomadic pastoralist – predominantly cattle herding – lifestyle of the Fulani. In fact, it’s possible to see a whole Bozo village packed aboard pinasses moving along the Niger looking for a suitable location to stop for a few days or weeks. We do this ourselves, eventually, pulling ashore along a sandy river bank. Unfortunately we demonstrate none of the grace and style of the Fulani and Bozo and our little tent village sticks out like a sore thumb. But it is warm and relaxing beside the banks of the river and I’m soothed to sleep by the gentle lapping sound of the river. Either that or Buddha is taking a very long pee right outside our tent.