Leaving the River

March 13, 2011

It was finally my moment of departure. I couldn’t put it off any longer. Jonathan, Jordan and Blai would be going down river, and after this point, the boat would be away from any main roads.

Jonathan, Blai and I cried as we hugged each other goodbye. It had been a long adventure, and I felt like a schmuck for tapping out in the middle of it. The three of us had been through a lot together, especially Jonathan and I, and it was one of the hardest goodbyes of my life.

I helped them pack the boat and set up the sails. In addition to the improved river conditions, they had tail winds and would be setting out with the power of sails, giving their arms a needed rest.

I waved as their sails inflated, and they started slipping away. I turned back toward my tent that I still needed to pack up. I saw that Jonathan had left his journal. I chased after the boat as fast as I could. They probably thought I was making a dramatic change of heart. I eventually caught them, and brought Jonathan his journal and gave one last round of hugs before letting them escape for good.

I packed my tent and my pack, and was surprised at how heavy it felt. I hiked back towards the locks. I had no idea how far I really was from Markala, and the road to Segou, but I knew it would be far. I ran into the lock operator and told him I was heading back to town. He said it was far, and insisted that I wait with him, and he would find me a ride. He welcomed me into his home, and I visited little Furo, the last of Fura’s puppies to be given away. This little village was tiny and seemed only accessible by motorbike.

After mingling with the lock operator’s family and playing some flute for his giggly daughters, a young man on a motorbike came by. The lock operator talked to him and arranged my ride back to town. It would have taken an hour by foot, so I was grateful to the guy. I tried to give him some gas money, but he refused.

I arrived to Markala on market day. This is something I really needed. Not to see the market even, or to buy anything, just to see the incredible scene of everyone filing into town for it. There was a column of pedestrians, donkey and ox carts, cattle herds, battered vans, making their way toward the town. The town was obviously a major center of trade and colorfully dressed people from all over were coming for the weekly market. I was walking out of town, getting ready to hitch a ride in the opposite direction, when I simply sat down and watched them for a while. I savored it. This is what traveling alone is all about. If you are turned on by something, nobody is there to say we don’t have time to linger. For too long I had been following the plan, making sacrifices to do what other people, or what the group wanted to do. Of course, this was usually a positive thing, as what we were doing was usually fun, but I had almost forgotten what it was like to be in charge of yourself and do exactly what you feel like doing at that moment. There were always duties to the group, and now I only had to take care of myself.

It didn’t take long to get a ride. A middle-aged man who had been visiting family in a small village was heading back to Segou and gave me a lift. I was in Segou by the early afternoon.

The first stop was the internet, where I had to figure out what kind of moves I would actually make. I was feeling a little lost, at a crossroads with infinite directions. This independence was already getting difficult. I spent a long time talking with Lise online. She was in Chicago doing research for her master’s thesis, but would be back in France by the first of April. We had originally planned for me to come there for the summer, after she had finished her thesis. Then we started to talk about the prospect of me getting the Fulbright grant, which would mean that I would have to be back in the states by June. We discussed the idea of me coming there sooner, since I might not get to spend any time there if I got the Fulbright.

Because of this new independence, it was almost the first time that I felt I was truly capable of spending an extended period of time with her, instead of the few weeks at a time that we usually get.

I gave a call to my mom, who is always helpful in putting things into perspective. I don’t givetoo many calls when I am traveling, so this was important, and as always Mama came through with some wisdom. During the afternoon, the plan was developed, and I had an idea of what I would do.

By the time I was finished on the internet, night had arrived, and I had nowhere to stay. So I hitched a ride back to the old digs in Sebougou, to see if I was still welcome. Abdoulaye, Chief’s son who lives in the house next to ours, was half-sleeping on his porch. I asked if I could sleep on the terrace of our big house. He barely moved, but gave me his approval. I asked if he had any water, and sat up and passed me a jug. As I poured some into my bottle, I saw large chunks of algae flow out of the jug. I thanked him and headed up to the terrace to catch some rest.

The next day, I went back to town, and ran some errands for the next part of my trip. Luckily I was there for market day, so I stocked up on a whole mess of groundnut paste (peanut butter) sachets, an even bigger mess of wine sachets, and a new “I Love Africa” container. I went back to the internet, spent the afternoon buying plane tickets and headed back to the old house to sleep before embarking.

My days in Africa were numbered, but I wasn’t going to waste them. The next day I high-tailed it to Ke-Massina, a small town on the Niger, about 90 km past Markala, where I had left the crew. If I had just three weeks left, I would rather spend it on the river with my boys than anything else.