The Dogon

A sketch of fairy tale topped grain stores tumbling
the escarpment face to the desert below

How do I describe this wonder world, the isolated and unique Dogon country in southern Mali? To start there is no division here between man and nature; here they are one and the same. The Dogon villages are unobtrusive in the landscape.

In contrast to modern cities where man is at war with his environment , obliterating all traces of the world of animal and vegetable for one of concrete and steel, the villages of the Dogon are at peace with the land and are still very much at home in it as they have been for nine hundred years. The environment looks to me beautiful but a tad hostile.

The nearest travel hub for the more remote parts of Dogon country is the Town of Bandiagara. The journey from Timbuktu to Bandiagara was a long one waking and leaving at the cold dark crack of dawn and arriving at night. Luckily for me I met a friendly young French couple during this epic and tiring journey. They were heading for the famous Dogon village of Sangha High on the Bandiagara plateau. Emanuel was taking his girlfriend their back to the village he had visited nearly ten years ago.

Emanuel had visited Dogon country to help build a school. During this time he met an interesting French man by the name of Alan who had decided on a decidedly different and difficult course for his life than most.

Alan was a self made chemist and by all accounts rich man, living a comfortable life in Paris. However in achieving a little prosperity he found himself restless and dissatisfied. So one day he told bemused friends and family that he had to leave, that he didn’t know why but it had to be Africa and he wasn’t coming back.

He now lives with his wife and child as a prominent member of the community. He has helped to set up a medical centre in the village of Sangha and has very much made himself at home. He also made Emanuel, his girlfriend and I feel at home for a few too short days.

Whilst in Dogon country we embarked on a 4 day walk, but here in the hot rocky wilds of Mali a walk can feel more like a punishing odyssey into the unknown. I enjoyed walking over the rocky sides of the escarpment through organic architecture, despite the increadable heat. The paths of lose stone winding up and down steep slopes through pointy straw roofed store houses and the amorphous shaped homes. All the while I trailed behind my new found French friends and our Dogon guide as I struggled to film and photograph whilst not being left behind.

This resulted in me practically sprinting the course of an already arduous hike across rough terrain and in stifling dry heat. At one point losing them as we walked through a village, I hastened forward (I was worried that without a guide I would walk into a sacred area and accidentally commit some heinous sacrilegious crime) and unwittingly stumbled into a field of shit. Dodging my way through this mine field I almost walked into a woman busy making a contribution of her own. Politley ducking past I pressed on just catching a sight of my disapearing friends. unscathed I duly noted to myself the dangers of falling behind.

Other worldly sunset in Dogon land The rounded roof tops of a Dogon village

timbukto

Timbukto more legend than real place? It certainly has a reputation to live up to but then wherever you go expectations are confounded and if they weren't would there be a point to going at all?

Cant get money out its hot and the deep sand of the streets pulls at you, slowing you down and sapping your energy. Dust blows in your face and gives the world a blurred otherworldly light making you think of far of outposts on inhospitable Mars. Battered signs loom rusty and pockmarked warning of the dangers of aids or proudly advertising joint developments between Mali and Algeria under the banner of pan Africanism.

The transition from blue green tranquil dreamworld to bleached mud brick and dust is sharp. From deep calm and a feeling of boundless Patience I become suddenly irritable and short tempered. My mind is unprepared for the dusty town and I don't enjoy arriving in such a legendary place as I feel I should. There is not the travelers euphoria I experienced in Old Segou. I guess Ive been flying high as a kite since then and now is a dusty hot come down. Just as new years eve is supposed to be the best night of the year but often isn't, arriving in Timbuktu should be a great experience accompanied by a feeling of satisfaction for reaching an auspicious landmark. It just doesn't feel that way.

I'm worried by a lack of money, the AT M's being temperamental entities in these parts, working only when the mood takes them. Its amazing that being denied access to little coloured bits of paper is what gives me a sense of desolation thousands of miles from home rather than the immense sand sea , the mighty Sahara that separates me from distant and familiar Europe.

More than anything I think that the traffic free streets of Djenne, the timeless grace of old Segou and otherworldly charm of the Niger have spoilt me. You can only oohh, aahh and breathlessly wow! so much. Eventually you just get wowed out and all the niggling doubts and daily discomforts come rushing in. To be wowed out in sub saharan Africa can be a tiring experience indeed.

There's been a problem with the camcorder shutter opening. Dust and sand ( I'm staying in a big Arabian style tent which is the cheapest option, looks very cool and is also sandy) has been working its inevitable way into every crack and crevice and not just in the camcorder. This all amounts to stress. Ive worked so hared on this project yet so many things could go wrong and I could lose everything. At times this trip has been magical but its no holiday.

After a day or two of simmering anger and frustration mixed with doubt an a little fear I start to relax. I'm enjoying the novelty of being in an ancient and infamous town where Tuareg traders arrive in caravans of camels from afar to bring salt cut from the baked ground in the inferno that is the center of the Sahara. A pattern of trade that is thousands of years old.

Somewhere on the mighty Niger River is a floating ethereal world of dreams

The river is a kind of khaki green while an angle of the waves catches the bright blue and light of the sky resulting in a pleasing mix of colours and light.

The view as I lie on sacks of grain and gaze out is bizarre , all water and sky with a thin strip of land floating dramatically in space. This water level perspective, a ducks eye view if you will is not one I'm used to.

Small details take on significance, a tree or a goat become singled out against the enormity of sky and water. In this space the humble goat is dramatised, given dignity his life made epic. Cows swishing their tails and rocking there heads back and forth languidly look striking against a big blue sky. The smiling faces and waving hands of friendly villagers and excited kids shouting Toubab! Toubaboo! ( Toubab being the local phrase for foreigner ) Are like actors on a big blue stage, the bank, trees and huts like props to their lives which shine from this the strangest of perspectives.

The landscape is shining, ethereal and full of the exotic and timeless. Everything slides by like watching memories, as if time itself has been covered in treacle so as to slow things down and take the edge of reality. The movement so slow, the sights so unfamiliar I am convinced I am dreaming. If I saw a unicorn standing proud on the bank I wouldn't be surprised.

This cant possibly be real, floating past hippos and nomad villages is surely the stuff of dreams. I'll wake soon to a dreary wet day and go to dreary wet work to pay for a dreary wet life. But the dream goes on and on, time stretching out like the river, long winding and endless. I shake my head in disbelief at how lucky I am, how big the world is and how beautiful.

The most beautiful town in the Sahel

The dirty and frenetic docks at the riverside port of Mopti

I stayed for a few days in the mission chatholique a wonderful old sprawling place of many arched buildings in Segou. During the days I wandered the streets past mud buildings and stately colonial structures. Meeting friendly locals who were ever curious and open and then in the evening hanging out with French travellers and brushing up on my French. But as ever the open road was calling an so I left for Djenne, reputedly the most beautiful town in the Sahel and possessing the largest mud building in the world it didn't disappoint.

Goats are everywhere in Africa

This was taken from the rooftop of my hostel in Djenne where I would gaze out over the rooftops every evening and reflect on how lucky I am to be in such a place

In Djenne I rediscovered the artist in me. The town is isolated and its narrow medieval streets don't accommodate cars giving it an old world calm which fosters creativity.

For a few days I enjoyed the company of friendly locals who would always invite you to drink tea with them, I drew and painted and relished the slow pace of life. But as ever I was on a mission, I had to see the legendary Timbuktu the holy grail of traveling. Just the expression to have "been to Timbuktu and back" is embedded in our Psyche as a symbol of adventure, a place that is beyond the back of beyond.

To get on my way to Timbuktu I had to get to the river port of Mopti from which it takes three days by boat to get to Timbuktu. The Niger being one of the largest rivers in Africa with hippos living in its waters and ancient nomadic communities on its banks the journey was going to be an adventure in itself. In fact the journey to a distant exotic place like Timbuktu is the whole point of going, for the ride, to see what its like to get to the back of beyond.

some much needed nurishment for the blog

African crafts are colourful and diverse


Masks that tap into the human psyche and talk to you

A mud brick houses old yet timeless

I guess it kind of apt that as Ive become progressively sick and worn down bu Africa so has my blog. In that sense its a true mirror to my experience's. I realise a sick blog is a boring one all it does is sleep all day. Thankfully as I am recovering so is my blog. I'm in new surroundings now and feel refreshed so.. witness my blog reawaken!

To get up to speed we need first to do a little time traveling to a time when I first discovered the awesome ancient wonder of Mali. My first experience of this other world that inflames the imagination was on arriving in the riverside town of Segou and specifically on reaching the seat of a past empire in Old Segou.

Old segou was the capital of a Bamana empire around 1712 which was one of the first of the Mali empires to acquire guns by trading slaves on the Gambian, Senegalese and Ghanaian coasts. The empire was superseded by the Fula empire of Masina and Segou was captured in 1861 by El Hadj Omar and its people converted to Islam.

Mali with its position near the trans Saharan caravan routes and possessing the mighty Niger river a life line in the harsh Sahel ( the name for the dry land on the edge of the desert) was the founder of many a large and prosperous empire. Though present day Old Segou seems far removed from such huge history changing forces it does connect you to a past world.

The old empire capital is now a magical village 10 kilometers from modern day Segou. When I first stepped foot in this place I was unprepared for the unfamiliar smooth lines of crumbling mud buildings that rise seamlessly from the dusty earth. The houses and mosques seem more plant like than architecture like a colony of giant fungus growths. One mosque grew a tall cactus like tower with wooden struts like spines sprouting from all angles. Another was fat and bulbous a turnip of a building the sun cracked mud giving the impression that it was set to burst at any minute.

I was feeling acute travellers euphoria, as if Id really arrived at some holy grail of discovery. We were shown a very old tree where elders sat and discussed the worlds troubles, the old palace a square structure covered in indented or raised patterns and vertical columns, and then introduced to a village elder an given a tantalising glimpse of the interior of a large family compound. Despite all this wonderment it wasn't until I first saw the river that I truly gasped in wonder. From this moment on Mali was a dream world to me. It helped raise my spirits and inspired me to step up my ambitious plans. From this point I could feel my language skills increase as did my filming and photographing skills but most importantly I learned to learn. By this I mean that I started to take something from all the people I met and to open my eyes and my mind to the world around me.

So what was this magical scene like? well I doubt I can give you an Epiphany or revelation by describing it, but maybe I can inspire your imagination by telling you of the scene that unfolded as we came out from the twisting narrow alleys of the village to the banks of the Niger. The space around us opened up accommodating several large trees, huge round green globes a top gnarled trunks. Glittering between the dark shade of the trees you could see the silver light of the river peppered with impossible green. In a hot dusty environment scenes of lush greenery and precious water beckon to you like sirens so I could feel my self being dragged along at an ever faster pace by an uncontrollable force. Coming out from the trees into the light I could see timeless images of Egyptian like zebu cattle grazing on green islands, white egrets stalked the shallows as fishing boats drifted by. Women were washing bright clothes in time honored fashion while a little up the bank the oldest mosque in the village presided over the scene nestled under the hanging tendrills and shade of a banyan tree.

Again I apologise for my sickly blog and its emancipated out put but there really is more to come.

Timbuctou and the Tuareg

Inside a Tuareg tent: during the heat of the day there is little else to do but take it easy


Hundreds of years old manuscipts in Timbuctou which was a renowned ancient seat of learning


Hello people. I apologise for the downward trend in output for this blog. This is due to periods of hectic travel, followed by periods spent away from Internet access, followed by strange illnesses. None of this has been helped by the harsh heat of Subsaharan Africa or the slow Internet connections.

Bearing these factors in mind I realise I haven't even finished the last entry, but am keen to publish whatever time and energy will permit. So here are some more pretty pictures.

Ill fill in all the gaps and write things up as an when I get the chance. Honest.




Magical moments ensued when I showed the kids of the desert my camcorder and even my guide book for West Africa which they were engrossed by for a good half hour


Street life Timbuctuo


A Tuareg tent


A good reliable transport system exists in the desert north of Timbuctuo

Across the sand sea lies the mighty Niger river and many a forgotten kingdom

Loading up boats on the Niger

Young workers wait for more heavy loads ( towels on heads to cushion the weight ), they look to me like their considering strike


Hanging out with the boat workers was a pleasure


Commerce on the Niger is a colourful and ancient institution


The captain and skipper

The sky was immense, the water immense, a magical ethereal world where the banks hung in the middle like surreal floating islands


Hoards of small boats sidled up to our pinasse to sell fish and fried snacks

Looking from our pinnasse to another loaded up with colourful mattresses

Zebu cattle by the banks

A wall of fire, the sunsets defy belief

I know its a tired cliche but the sunsets really are different, the sun nearer the equator is huge. The flat riverine lanscape provides lots of sky and water to act as the largest of stages for a nightly show


Sail boats! Technology from across the ages

This was a long thin village on a long thin island, on Lac Degbo where the Niger spreads out like a mini sea

One a Mali's many iconic mosques, Mopti

Hand Hand made coal braziers and other essential cooking utensils

Beautiful otherworldly streets in Djenne

Masks with a grace and style that seems to speak to you

People washing in less than clean pools of the drying up Bani river, Djenne

Djenne has many Moroccan style windows

The famous and striking mosque in Djeene is the largest mud building in the world

Ive still lots more to write here, but it is slowly being updated

I’m writing this in the pleasant riverside city of Segou. Today was amazing after breakfast I was invited to see how Millet beer is made and to taste some (it’s rather sharp, a definite home brew taste). Then I got invited to visit old Segou 10 kilometres away. It was amazing exotic and alien the soudanic style mud buildings from Mars but the people very much down to earth.

The above piece was written a few weeks ago on a painfully slow connection, Id uploaded a load of photos but they decided not stay put. Since then I’ve either had no time or been a long way from the nearest computer. So I’m putting this out just to publish something if only small. When I get time I’ve lots to write about from a magical boat trip on the Niger, to staying with the Tuareg in the desert north of Timbukto or visiting the amazing world of the Dogon people. So lots more to come.

Two days on a bus to dusty Bamako

Balancing bananas in Bamako

Dakar was big and crowded. On leaving my hotel the friendly neighbourhood prostitutes would grab my arm, all the while smiling a coy smile. I’d have to politely shake them off, only to be confronted by a whole host of con artists. From the crude "cadeau, cadeau pour moi?" (a gift for me?) to the more sophisticated scams, stories, and entireties to friendship.

The streets are crowded with goods and produce. People were selling sunglasses, nuts, cakes, anything that can be carried and the ever present chancers. This all forming a seething mass that is squeezed into uneven pavements by less than road worthy taxis, colourful truck busses and mopeds that intern is all squeezed into uninspiring blocks of commerce and city sprawl. In short not pretty but colourful and full to bursting with life.

An angel in Dakar, Dakar chathedral


Camel cheese, Dakar

After a few days of trying to be alert on the tiring city streets I was ready for a change. So when I discovered a bus was leaving for Bamako Mali, right now! I jumped at the chance despite, dodgy circumstances.

Crowded commerce, Bamako market

Rooftops from a rocky escarpment overlooking Bamako

The bus I was to catch was half full of mattresses the other half given over to only 5 passengers including me. This looked dodgy but when an English speaking guy from Ghana (Ghana was a British colony hence the English) said to me I wasn’t to tell anyone where I was going as it was secret…well alarm bells started ringing. But here was a lift to Bamako leaving now, I didnt want to stay in Dakar, so I took a chance.

Bamako's green buses


Father and son fishing on the Niger, tranquillity a stone’s throw from Bamako’s mad streets

It took a bumpy two days of bus travel to reach Bamako during which there was a confusing return of half my money as the bus decided to go only as far as the border. At the border the bus left impatiently while myself and several others were eating. My bag was on this bus and I had a minor heart attack at the thought of losing the film I’d worked hard to capture that was stored within. A mad dash to courier one by one the stranded passengers ensued and I marvelled at the chaotic nature of this journey.

This second bus stopped and started, we were all ushered off the bus onto another one, (several times!) and back again for what purpose I don’t know, all the while I wearily watched my bags. Such is the joy of African travel.

We eventually headed of, many hot hours since I had arrived at the border (the border town Kayes supposedly being the hottest town in Africa!) into yet more bush though dryer here than the Senegalese bush. Scrub and various exotic trees including the iconic boababs which are often described as upside-down trees as there trunks are swollen and the stubby branches look like roots reaching for the sky, drifted by. Then just before dark we drove through the striking Mandinke Highlands, which were soon engulfed by the deep star filled blackness of the African night.

All the while I was confused hot and tiered trying to keep an eye on my bag and my circumstances. I did however to much relief reach Bamako at 3.30 in the morning more than a little tired but in one piece and amazingly having lost nothing.

For the road was long and led to mysterious unexpected places

The Grand Mosque of Touba

So what and where is Touba? Touba is the burial site of Chiek Amadou Bamba Mbacke, founder of mouridism Senagalese folk hero and religious icon. The mosque is built over the family shrine in the town of Touba and is probably the holiest place in Senegal.

Mourdism is one of the many Muslim brotherhoods, which came about with the spread of Islam to North Africa. In contrast to the original Arabian form of Islam where everyone is believed to have a direct relationship with God, the class based societies of the local Berber people found certain individuals to be prophets with divine insight able to perform miracles. Now one of the early brotherhoods from Morocco, the Almoravids (where the name Marabout which means holy leader/saint came about) helped to spread this form of Islam into northern Senegal and then on to the southern Sahara and Timbuktu in present day Mali.

When the French started to make expansionist inroads in West Africa a lot of local people found that there traditional tribal leaders interests coincided with French interests, thus the French attempts to subjugate the peasants helped push them towards the influence of the brotherhoods and Islam against both traditional and foreign rulers.

The mouridya brotherhood was founded in 1887 by Amadou Bamba. His court in Touba attracted many followers with anti colonial sentiment, which lead to Amadou's expulsion by a worried French administration. This only lead to Amadous infamy and place in Senegalese history and legend.

He was exiled to both Mauritania and Gabon for seven years. While travelling to his exile by ship he is said to have been told not to pray by the French colonials who said " if you pray aboard this ship you will anger me and if you don't you will anger your God ". The marabou is said to have replied by placing his prayer mat on the sea out of the colonial’s jurisdiction and miraculously prayed on the water.


My guides Alage and Mohamed sat either side of our traveling companion Thierry in the middle with me just visible in the foreground At Ibra Falls grandsons place

When I arrived in Saint Loui in northern Senegal I met Mohamed and Alage to young chancers and guides who where always doing "business". I was always weary as hustlers and unsavoury people plagued my short time in Saint Loui and I never really felt I knew what was going on or had much control of the situation. They did however turn out to be nice people who showed me a side to Senagal I was completely ignorant to and would otherwise have remained so. For this I am very thankful.

After several days exploring the faded colonial charm and river side setting of Saint Loui (one day of which I was yet again sick and for the first time learnt the joys and wonder of projectile vomiting, it was really quite impressive, plus an added bonus diarrhoea) I agreed to visit a strange place that I kept hearing about, Touba.

I left with my two guides Id met in the bar and a French man Thierry who was already well acquainted with Alage and Mohamed. It took three fairly uneventful hours to reach Touba after which everything became very strange and bewildering for me.

Mohamed and Thiery at the mosque, Touba

We piled into a small truck like thing that passes for a bus in these parts, they are painted brightly with religious iconography often of Touba and have two low benches on which up to 15 or so people squeeze in. In this we travelled to M'backe a nearby town where you can smoke and drink. Touba is a religious town that derives its authority not from the police but from the maraboutic militia who enforce a strict ban on alcohol and tobacco. We arrived at a small compound which turned out to be the home of the grandson of the great Ibra Fall.

Who is Ibra Fall? Well he was one of Amadous main disciples who spread the word as to Amadous story; praying on the water and his defiance in the face of French imperialism, and therefore a pretty important figure, who founded his own branch of Mouridism Baye Fall. I was fast being introduced to a whole new world and history that I never new existed.


The outer prayer halls Touba

I was soon introduced to the illustrious grandson. Although it took me a little while to work it out. He was a softly spoken man who moved slowly and purposefully and definitely had the air of someone who was born knowing there place in the world. He sat on a bed underneath a straw roofed wooden awning in a sandy courtyard. Behind this was a painting, three round-bordered portraits set in a brown background with curvy borders that depicted his prestigious lineage.

We four sat down on mats on the sandy floor and shook his hand pressing it to our foreheads, which is a sign of respect. Sitting there looking up at his large solid head and his gentle paternal smile I felt a bit like I was meeting Santa clause although I was nervous I would make some terrible faux pa.

After greetings and a very relaxed chat a large silver bowl was brought out containing fish rice and vegetables. We sat crossed legged and ate African stile with our hands which was strange enough to my Western sensibilities. But then the famous grandson started to rip small pieces of veg and fish adding some spice and a sprinkling of Lime juice before rolling the carefully prepared food in his hand and gently but assuredly directing me to take this offering. He then did the same for Thierry and slowly spoon-fed us reinforcing his appearance as paternal figure and making the experience very bizarre for me and I’m sure Thierry who kept smiling giving me nervous and knowing glances.

Things carried on in a strange vain when we met I think the grandsons wife or perhaps mother she was certainly older. We sat crowded on the floor of her room surrounded by important looking photos of her and religious leaders. She prepared a strange sugary drink, which seamed to have small bits of spongy cheese in it after which she encouraged us all to sit while she muttered prayers. She then motioned to spit over our outstretched hands to which we were required to act out washing our faces in ascent. We gave her a small offering and then left to see the grand mosque, one of the biggest in West Africa.

I’m running out of time now, things to do an all but next time Il right about the beautiful tropical island of Gorèe and its depressing slave history plus the booming metropolis of Dakar and beyond to Bamako Mali.