Leaving Diafaribe, we all felt recharged. The weather was good, we had made some progress (yes, with a little assistance) and we felt within reach of Mopti. We had somewhere around100 km to go before reaching the thriving port town. Just a day before, we had considered getting towed the whole way and selling the boat asap.
Photo Credit: Jonathan Diarra
Now we had still air and optimism on our side. We felt fast and we were all paddling and poling at our full strength. The river was moving fast as well, and with the benefit of daylight, we were more adept at dodging sand bars. Just before sunset, after making an estimated 15, maybe even 20 km, Jordan saw a wide open beach. He wanted to play soccer with our remaining sunlight. Blai didn’t want to get stuck on a sandy beach again. This time Jonathan and I were indifferent. After letting our boat float for a bit while we debated, the river pulled us into shore right next to a scrap of palm-woven Bozo housing. This seemed like a sign, so we got out and started kicking the ball around.
Photo Credit: Jonathan Diarra
As we were doing this, we noticed a Land Cruiser on the opposite bank. It was driving away from Diafaribe and after moving a hundred meters past us, it stopped. It was among some trees and we could not see if anyone got out. It looked like the standard vehicle used by NGOs, and this is most likely what it was. On the other hand, I knew we were getting close to the more dangerous region of Mali where threats of kidnapping from Al-Qaeda affiliates have led most businesses and NGOs to pull their employees out. There had been many instances of kidnapping near Timbuktu recently, and there have been more threats against foreigners in places farther south, as of late. The most recent incident I had heard of were two French people being pulled from a restaurant in Niamey, the capital Niger, in plain sight. This was significant because until then most kidnappings had taken place in more remote and insecure areas.
These thoughts had always been in the back of my mind, but I knew we did not the fit the profile of who tended to be kidnapped. Even if acts of kidnapping or terrorism are targeting foreigners, regardless of their reason for being in the area or their nationality, we were still not practical targets. The victims usually tend to be people in places frequented by foreigners (like in the Mumbai attacks, the recent bombing of a tourist café in Marrakech, or any of the many attacks on embassies, including the one in Mali in January) or workers with a regular and predictable schedule (like the kidnapped uranium workers in Niger, oil workers in Nigeria, Spanish NGO workers in Timbuktu, or the Spanish aid convoy in Mauritania). I knew that we would be far trickier to capture to than thousands of other foreigners in the country.
On the other hand, my imagination and paranoia can get the best of me, and I silently got nervous about that vehicle. What if something more sinister had been going on here? I wondered if they would be able to get across the river, and how. Steal a Bozo’s boat? Would they be able to round up all of us, or could I sneak out of my tent silently and run into the darkness? When night came I saw another set of headlights moving, though I wasn’t sure if it was a second vehicle or the first one. I had not seen if it had continued on or was stopping there for the night. I felt restless that night and every sound that never bothered me before was like an instant alarm. I felt lame for getting scared, but, to me, the sight of cars out here just did not feel normal.
We got an early start, and managed to get a few hours of progress in before the Harmattans started blowing. We pulled into a small Bozo village to catch some rest and wait out the weather. When we landed, we found typical hospitality. There were some men working on motorbikes next to some other men building boats. They saw that we were coming to rest and they showed us a market stall that we could sit under for shade. Before we could even bring our things there, another man found some mats and laid them out for us to sit on. Then he came with some reed mats and set them up on two sides of the shelter to serve as shade walls and give us some privacy.
Photo Credit: Blai Coulibaly
Photo Credit: Blai Coulibaly
Photo Credit: Blai Coulibaly
We spent the day making pots of tea for the men as they worked and when it was lunchtime, they invited us over to share their big communal bowl of fishy rice. For most of the time they were even able to keep the curious kids at bay. As much as I do like kids, the number of them and the persistence with which they watch at close distances gets old quick. For us, this was paradise.
In the afternoon I heard some bass rhythmically pounding away nearby. Naturally, I went to investigate. Jordan came with me, and we found a wedding party in full swing. Everyone was dancing under a small shade awning and, as usual, they invited us in. Jordan was too tall, but I jumped right in. I am always disappointed that as soon as I start dancing, everyone else stops and watches. I just want to be a part of it, so I grabbed a couple kids and pulled them in to start dancing with me and motioned for some of the women to start dancing too. I got the dance floor moving again, though only momentarily.
Yes, that is me dancing with a deflated soccer ball on my head. Photo Credit: Jordan
We continued our walk through the village and found that this was a real center for boat-building, like we hadn’t seen since Segou. Many men were hard at work, cutting wood, forging nails, and painting the finished boats. They made the claim that they were the biggest village for boat production to supply Mopti. This was surprising (and I am almost certain that Mopti still produces more boats than this village), but they explained that this village was the farthest town south of Mopti that could transport large boats year round. Being far south meant that they were closer to the source of the wood, and therefore it cost less to get it there. This in itself was also hard to believe, as this village was probably far more difficult to reach for big trucks hauling lumber compared to Mopti, which was on the country’s main highway. The money saved, if any, must have been pennies, but that can still make the difference. Either way, this town was producing a lot of boats for its size.
We met an economist in town. He had been hired by the government to travel around various small towns to analyze the methods they had of earning income. He told us what we had already noticed, that the town lives off boat-building and fishing. Another source of income, though, was brick-making. On the way out of town we saw huge stacks of mud bricks being produced for transport to other places on the river. This seemed like the kind of task that anyone living near the river could do, but for some reason, this town was exceptionally successful with it.
This is why brick building will always be a booming business.
Further along in town we came across their huge mosque. We were lucky to be there for the afternoon call to prayer. Not much to say about it, just look.
When the sun started to come around to the other side of our shelter, we had the option of moving our shade walls, or moving. The wind had died, but we didn’t really want to leave the town. Everyone here had been so kind to us, and we felt fortunate for the hospitality. But still, we had to move.
We leave behind so many friends. Photo Credit: Blai Coulibaly
Fura's glamour shot. Photo Credit: Blai Coulibaly
Obama shirt!
Back on the river, we caught the eye of a fisherman. He rushed to catch up to us, and then displayed two large fish. Unlike most of the other fishermen we had met on the river, he was not going to give us the fish for free. On the other hand, we had little protein (eggs) left in our food supply and we discussed the price. A special treat, they were large and not catfish. Jonathan thought we paid too much, but that night, when we grilled them, he changed his mind. They were the best fish we had ever had, and we realized that we should have been looking to buy fish more often from the fishermen.
The fisherman
Check those tan lines. Photo Credit: Jonathan Diarra
Photo Credit: Jordan
Photo Credit: Jordan
Little happened the next day. Just a lot of paddling. We had good weather. We moved past a variety of villages, from little Bozo camps to Fulani villages with big mud mosques on their impressive skylines.
Photo Credit: Jordan
I spent most of the day at the front with the bamboo pole. I was in a good rhythm and poled for hours. Late in the day, though, I was getting a little too intense about it, and for one reason or another my mood had grown sour. I was putting all of my frustrations into the pole, pushing it more intensely every time. I had gotten to the point where I was flexing the pole and using it a little like a pole vault. The intensity of it fueled whatever foul mood I was in and I was not to be messed with. Then somebody skipped past a song on our boom box that I happened to be one of my favorites. I said something about it, but was either not heard or ignored. This sent me over the edge. I was silently fuming, and I began putting all of my strength into the bamboo pole. Within just a few strokes I had pushed it too hard, and the pole snapped in half, and I tumbled into the water. I screamed in anger, and I think the rest of the crew knew it was better not to laugh at me this time. Something had happened to me that I couldn’t figure it out. I felt like crying or punching, and my only relief from the tension I had was pushing that pole. Now it was broken. Luckily we had a spare, which was heavier and more cumbersome, so I jumped back in the boat, collected the pieces of bamboo, and silently continued.
An hour later, we could hear the thumping of music coming from a nearby village. It seemed that we were getting closer to it quickly, but we actually couldn’t even see the village. Then we realized the music was coming from an approaching boat. It was a nautical wedding party! We took a dance break as they passed us. They helped turn my mood around. I was back, and was now powering the boat with a new emotion.
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