Ethiopia Part IV: Today’s Situation

As I become more and more enamored with the people, history and culture of Ethiopia, it is heartbreaking to learn that the current outlook isn’t so rosy.  The major issues that stuck out for me were the political situation, the social issues (education, women’s rights), clean water, and the famine and resulting border tensions with Kenya.

First, the political situation is stable, but not ideal.  There isn’t freedom of the press.  It will be interesting to see if the death of the Prime Minister in August (2012) will lead to more or less freedoms.  And although there are elections, I was told they are basically just for show since 85% of the population lives in the countryside and all the land belongs to the government.  They need to vote with the government to keep their homes.  I also learned that in 2010 international observers said the elections didn’t meet international standards since government funds were used to campaign for the ruling party, which won 545 of the 546 seats in the parliament.  Looking back a bit further, the 2005 elections resulted in 200 people dying in election related violence, and dozens of imprisonments of demonstrators and opposition leaders.

ethiopian elections

Second, there are major social issues, especially concerning women and education.  The key problem for women is forced marriage at a young age, at times, as young as 12 years old; marriage, and womens’ rights, in general.

Age at First Marriage or Union for 20-to-24-Year-Old Females by Region

Age at First Marriage or Union for 20-to-24-Year-Old Females by Region

In one village, Dereje was hoping to show me a cow jumping ceremony, a formality prior to marriage where a man has to prove he is worthy to marry by jumping over a cow.  That day, there wasn’t one.  And at first, I was disappointed because he had told me how entertaining the music and dancing are.  But then I realized I was fortunate, because he also said the bride to be is whipped by her mother in law to be so she is bloody — it is “willing scarification”.

I don’t think I could have watched that.  Dereje said that first wives in a lot of these tribes are basically slaves because the husband pays such a large dowry to her family.  For example, after they serve their husband dinner, they have to sit facing the wall, waiting for him to finish.

In general, it seems hard to be a woman in this area.  Female circumcision is common in some tribes.  And while a growing percentage, still fewer girls than boys are sent to school.

In these conditions, it is hard to be a first wife; you are a virtual slave.  But, families rejoice when they have girls because it means they will be able to get bride prices for them — especially if they are first wives.  If you are a first wife, your family does very well by you.  But, if you are a second wife, your life seems easier, but your family doesn’t do as well. The same story goes even more for a third wife, and onward.

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It’s hard to imagine having to think about these things.  What do I pray for: would I want to enable my family to be significantly better off but have an unpleasant life, or screw my family and live more easily?

I learned about the education problems anecdotally when I was trying to give pens I brought with me away to the kids.  We had very limited success handing them out the last couple of days, as we only wanted to give pens to kids who attended school, and it seemed that not a lot of kids were doing that.  Sad.

One day we gave pens to five boys who were walking back from school.  We found out that they walked all the way there to find out that, as usual, there wasn’t a teacher.  I was impressed that they kept making the (laborious) effort to get themselves there every day.  I wished I could have given them a teacher to go with the pens.

Clean water is another huge problem in Ethiopia.  Every time we passed a well, there were people lined up with their yellow or blue plastic containers.  And at every stream, people were filling up their containers — the problem was that they were collecting the water directly next to other people bathing or doing their laundry.

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People want containers for water.  When we drove past kids (children who seem to be as young as 5 in charge of herds of animals) on the roads, they asked for our empty water bottles to reuse them.  Some of the kids were really inventive with dances to try to differentiate themselves from everyone else, doing froggy jumps, or looking like Greeks, or doing the funky chicken with their legs.

ethiopia drought

As we got closer and closer to the Kenyan and Sudan borders, we started to see more guns.  I guess these tribesmen can have hundreds of cows to protect, and they trade cows for guns with the Kenyans.  Plus, there was growing animosity due to the worsening famine in the area of Kenya that is across the border from Ethiopia.

In rereading everything I just wrote, I realize I haven’t painted a very rosy picture of Ethiopia.  So, let me clarify a couple of things.

First, I was awed by my visit there.  The people, the food, the culture, the sights.  I loved every minute of my trip (ok, there were a few minutes I could have skipped, but, you get the point).  Second, because of its history and the role it played in the history of civilization, it has endured many worse moments in time, and come back strong again.  Third, a lot of things are improving there on a day by day, and decade by decade basis.  They have a new prime minister, and the IMF raised the economic growth rate from 5.5% to 7%.

As a travel destination, I was blown away.  I just want its people to have the same sense of awe about their future as I have about their history and culture.

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I’ve Never Been To Yemen…

But I feel like I have. That’s how good a job Jennifer Steil did introducing me to the country in her book, “The Woman Who Fell From the Sky.”

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Her writing is masterful, and intoxicating. As she reveled in the sights, tastes, and sounds of the country during her one-year stay there, my senses lit up. As she lamented the role and status of women, my sense of justice was inflamed. As she fought to adjust to working in a non-U.S. (a VERY non-U.S.) environment, I felt her frustration. As she fell in love with the country, I started to develop an infatuation from afar. As she explained the countries political issues, I started to worry.

I have written before about how reading news stories about places I’ve been to affect me differently (more deeply) than stories about places I have yet to see. And, for the most part, that’s true. But indeed, there are some places I haven’t physically visited, that I still feel a kinship with: these are the places I have visited in books.

I read Steil’s book in the fall of 2011. And, since then, Yemen has been reported on regularly. I am not sure if this has always been true, and if I just glazed over these news stories prior to my completion of the book, or if Yemen’s dubious celebrity is a new thing. My sense is it’s the latter.

I always take a deep breath before clicking on an article about Yemen; it is rarely good news. The reports are about accounts of human rights abuses, poverty, and a country moving decidedly in the wrong direction. If it weren’t for Steil’s book, I wouldn’t even really bother reading. There is enough depressing news in the world — why does it matter about what is happening in a tiny corner of the Arabic Peninsula?

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It matters to me now because Steil made me care. That, quintessentially, is the power of books. I care about the people of Yemen, even though I have never been there because I met them through a book. I care about the future of Yemen even though it is uncorrelated with my future, because I started to hope for a brighter future while reading a book.

While I will likely never visit Yemen, I did the next best thing by watching the quiet and quirky film, “Salmon Fishing in the Yemen”.

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While this movie only skims the surface of the issues of corruption and violence that Steil explores, it did a wonderful job of satisfying my curiosity about what the country looks and sounds like.

I’ve never been to Yemen…but my spirit rallies with hope and sinks with disappointment as I follow its developments from home.

Ethiopia Part III: The Famine

Dereje, my guide, and I talked a lot about the politics and culture of Ethiopia.  One of the topics we discussed, in depth, was the famine in the 70’s and 80’s.

A quick summary for those of you who remember the famine in Ethiopia that climaxed with thousands of deaths in 1984-1985, but don’t really know much more than that…

There were basically two reasons for the crisis: a drought in Northern Ethiopia, and disastrous government policies that contributed to the famine, which were then deliberately covered up.

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In North Ethiopia, people were told to relocate to the south where there was more food.  But, the people didn’t want to leave their churches; they are zealous church-goers, and attend every day.  They firmly believe that their religion is the most important part of their lives.  So, they didn’t move south.

It seems to me that the priests should have done a better job leading their congregations.  Church services can actually be held outside the churches, themselves.  Of course, I know there were many other political factors at play and I’m oversimplifying things, but it is still seems the priests hold some of the culpability.  And actually today, many of the humanitarian organizations working within Ethiopia to stop child labor and marriage for young girls, feel the only way to make progress is to work through the churches, precisely because of the sway they hold over their villages.

Dereje explained the role Haile Selassi (King of Kings, Elect of God, Lion of Judah, His Most Puissant Majesty and Distinguished Highness the Emperor of Ethiopia) played in the famine.  Selassi reigned from 1930 to 1974, living in opulence and ceremony while his country starved.

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Captivated by the whole discussion, I have since read Ryszard Kapuscinski’s book “The Emperor”, and now understand the event more clearly.  His book is a masterful account, engrossing and informative – a fascinating ride.  Kapuscinski does a fantastic job painting as balanced a picture as possible of this horrific period of history.

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In addition to being responsible for unimagined corruption and harsh brutality, Selassi also defeated the Italians under Mussolini, made Ethiopia a global political player, and invested heavily in modernizing his country’s infrastructure.

The more I learned about Ethiopia’s history, the more fascinated I became.  Stay tuned for my summary of the current situation as I understand it…

Ethiopia Part II: The Ark

Want to know what really blew my mind in Ethiopia? The religious history. I totally recommend you pick up “The Sign and the Seal” by Graham Hancock, which will do this so much more justice.  He’s crafted a spellbinding (and controversial) history/adventure story about his investigation of the Ark.

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Ready for this? Ethiopian tradition has it that:

  • The Queen of Sheeba was Ethiopian (yes, that Queen of Sheeba)
  • She had a son with King Solomon (yes, that King Solomon)
  • Their son (King Lalibela) took the Lost Ark of the Covenant (yes, that Ark) from the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem to Ethiopia, where it remains to this day

Hancok’s quest to discover whether the Ark is really in Ethiopia, as told compellingly in his book, includes ancient Egypt, Jerusalem, the Bible, the occult, the Knights Templar, and, of course, Ethiopia, itself.

I visited many orthodox churches everywhere we went, but the most awe inspiring were the churches said to be built by King Lalibela in the late 12th century. Some of them are monolithic churches, carved from one single rock. Amazing.

lalibella

The stories tells that King Lalibela, again believed to be the son of King Solomon, went to Jerusalem to see where he was born (or at least where his father lived — I forget if he was born there or just conceived there), and died while he was there. Then while in Heaven, God sent him back to Ethiopia to build the churches. So, he built one set to look like those he saw in Jerusalem, and another set to look like those he saw in Heaven.

When I went to Israel after my trip to Ethiopia, it made sense to me why I saw a kibbutz of Ethiopian Jews. Without my trip to Ethiopia, I would have had no idea how strong a connection there is between Judaism and the Ethiopian Orthodox Church.

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Seeing what a strong role the Church plays in the day-to-day lives of most Ethiopians, I couldn’t help but wish it used that power in different ways. Stay tuned to hear thoughts on that…

Love Letter To Mali Part VII: A Broken Heart

I started writing my love letter to Mali back in September.  My heart was already breaking for all the people I met, and those I hadn’t met.  I was already anxious for the wellbeing of the rich cultural sites and Islamic texts.

In the interim, things have gone from bad to worse.  As I wrote each subsequent chapter of my love letter, things continued to deteriorate.

NYTimes Photo of Mali troops

NYTimes Photo of Mali troops

I have heard from someone I met while I was there.  He asked for money.  He has had to move his whole family from Timbuktu to Mopti.  Thank God they are all safe, but he has no way to get money to feed them.

I am paralyzed by a sense of impotence.  Sure, I can wire him some money.  But, as soon as my focus broadens just a smidge, I am paralyzed again.  How can sending a few dollars to one person help the situation at all?

And, to be completely honest, there is a part of me that worries about how my money would be spent.  I only spent a few hours with this person.  What if they are somehow on the wrong side of things?  Or, in such dire straights that they are forced to support the wrong side?

As I struggle with my own tiny dilemma, the world is struggling with the bigger picture.  How do we save the Malians?  How do we save the historical sites?  How do we prevent the militants who have taken over from using Mali (and Algeria and Libya) as a home base to spread terror across the region, and the world?

It is a frightening time, and a perilous situation.

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As I sit back, paralyzed, impotent, ashamed, and watch it unfold, I continue to send my love to Mali and its people.

Ethiopia Part I: Oh, So Much To Learn..

I have been fascinated by Ethiopia ever since I learned about Lucy, the ancient human ancestor found there.  When I was a kid, I wanted to be an archeologist.  Or maybe an anthropologist.  I struggled between the two, but in either case, I knew I wanted to go to Ethiopia.

And, when I finally did, it was even more magical than I had anticipated throughout my youth.

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My guide, Dereje, was fantastic, and did an extraordinary job explaining the rich culture and history to me.  I have never before felt so much knowledge flowing forth at me, at such a rapid speed.  And I enjoyed every second of it.

Mostly, I think the fire hose effect was because I knew so little.  I imagine if I had never studied the Roman, Greek or Ottoman empires in school, my visits to Italy, Greece and Turkey would have been similarly overwhelming.  But, when I went to those countries, I had a strong basic understanding in place, and the visits therefore served to fill in the missing pieces, explain the nuances, and add the lively details.

In Ethiopia, it was wholly different.  I didn’t know anything.  Dereje had his work cut out for him.

Let’s start with the basics.  Did you know that Ethiopia is on a calendar eight years behind ours, and starts in September?  Or that they follow a 12-hour clock that starts at dawn instead of midnight, and ends at dusk?  So 7:00 AM in East Africa Time (EAT) corresponds to 1:00 in daylight hours in local Ethiopian time. 12:00 noon EAT is 6:00 in daylight hours, and 6:00 PM EAT is 12:00 in local time.

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Wow I had a lot to learn!

Like, the fact that the Nile starts in Ethiopia.  Dereje and I hiked to the Blue Nile Falls to see the start of the Nile River.  Having already been to Egypt, this meant even more to me to see where the river begins.

blue nile falls

To get to our hike and back, we had to cross the Blue Nile via boat.  On the way back our boat (a rickety metal canoe powered by a rusting motor) had a musician onboard to serenade the passengers.  He asked my name, and he understood me to say “silly” instead of “Cindy”, which I didn’t correct.  So, for the boat ride, as well as the walk back to the van during which he followed us, he kept singing “…..Silly……Silly, Silly Silly….silly….silly…”  which was pretty silly to me.

crossing the river

I also didn’t know why so many African flags have the same colors as Ethiopia.  Apparently, since Ethiopia is the only African nation that wasn’t colonized, when they each won their independence, the other nations took inspiration from Ethiopia’s flag.

ethiopian flag

Oh, and I also learned that the whole Jamaican Rastafarian movement is named after an Ethiopian king.  He is the same king that was the first black leader to visit the (Nixon) white house.  He landed in Kingstown and a 4-year drought ended, which was part of legend in Jamaica about an African king.

And he took 2,000 Jamaicans back to Ethiopia with him and gave them all land.  When he was overthrown by the military in the 70s, a lot of them left, but I guess there are still a few hundred.

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The King’s name was Haile Selassie, and you can hear him mentioned in a lot of Reggae music.

You would not believe the wad of cash I had in Ethiopia.  I traded 3 $100 bills for like 50 bills of Ethiopian money.  They had to give me a rubber band!  And, I had to break some of those bills into smaller denominations as well.  It reminds me of the Shel Silverstein poem “Smart” about the boy who trades his dollar for five pennies.

Smart

My dad gave me one dollar bill ‘Cause I’m his smartest son, And I swapped it for two shiny quarters ‘Cause two is more than one!

And then I took the quarters And traded them to Lou For three dimes – I guess he don’t know That three is more than two!

Just then, along came old blind Bates And just ’cause he can’t see He gave me four nickels for my three dimes, And four is more than three!

And I took the nickels to Hiram Coombs Down at the seed-feed store, And the fool gave me five pennies for them, and five is more than four!

And then I went and showed my dad, And he got red in the cheeks And closed his eyes and shook his head – Too proud of me to speak!

-Shel Silverstein

Well, class, now that we have finished Ethiopia 101, stay tuned for my impressions of the actual trip, itself!

 

Love Letter To Mali Part VI: Dogon Villages of the Bandiagara Cliff

After an hour we stopped at our first village.  The houses were, like the other villages we’d visited, made of mud bricks.  But, this time, with stone walls around each house.  After touring the village, we climbed up the cliff to the site of some amazing frescos, said to be painted over ancient Tellem cliff paintings, where the village holds a ceremony every 3 years to circumcise all the 12-14 year old boys.

Part of the ceremony involves a race, where first prize is a granary full of millet, second prize is the right to choose your first wife (instead of having it arranged as is customary) and third prize is a cow.

Then, it was a 90-minute drive on a rocky windy hilly dirt road to another village where we had a delicious lunch of fish, tomato sauce and couscous.  I bought a bunch of pens in the DC airport, and started handing them out at this stop.  When we drove back through this village after the Mask Ceremony, the children were all yelling “bic, bic!”.  At first I thought they were yelling “big, big” and was hoping they would go back to Baloo!  But, when we realized they were yelling “bic”, Camara starting calling me “madame bic”.

These villages have a river winding through them, and the Dogon grow green onion as a cash crop after the millet harvest.  The aroma is fantastic; French onion dip.  I started craving Ruffles.

Apparently, the thinking is that the Tellem either used to, 1) be amazing rock climbers and able to scale the cliff walls to get into their caves, or 2) be able to take advantage of vines that no longer exist.  Unbelievable.

It was another hour to the next Dogon village, where we stopped to see the Mask Dance.  Probably 50 men participated in the dance, wearing elaborate wooden masks and dancing to drums played by the elders.  The mask people are a secret society.  Oumar explained a lot of the history and symbolism of the masks and dance.

The way back was tougher on the car since a lot of it was uphill.  Suddenly, in the middle of no where, we got a flat tire.  Oumar and Camara changed the tire, and we were back in business.  While they had been changing the tire, 4 boys walked out of vast emptiness to see what was going on.  I gave them some chocolate I had been carrying around.

Once we got on the paved road, Camara stopped to get the tire repaired.  While Oumar and I waited (and I tried not to think about the fact that I was getting eaten alive by malaria-ridden mosquitos), I explained game theory to him, and we practice some Prisoner Dilemma and Dove/Hawk equations.  Pretty fun way to pass the time, actually.  That, and watching the passers-by.  The streets have goats, buses, motorcycles, pedestrians, cars, 4x4s, bicycles, horse carts and donkey carts.  One of my favorite sights, which you don’t see as often on the streets, but you can see all over the landscape, is the single file line of women on their way to or from the river with the day’s washing on their heads.

It was dark when we got back on the road.  We were clipping along, until…smash:  Holy Shit, we hit a motorcycle.  Fortunately no one was hurt, but Camara was frustrated that our car was scratched up.

I spent some of the drive downloading my photos onto my laptop, and realized a really cool set of pictures would be taking the buckets and teapots in all their various surroundings.  These are used for washing, and they are really colorful.  And they can be found in all kinds of nooks and crannies and interesting places.  I really wish I had realized this on Friday–I could have such a great series of photos!

As we were driving Camara stopped to get us oranges from one of the vendors.  What a treat!  And, during the lunch stop he gave me a pair of earrings!  And, to top it off, he got me a sesame/honey bar from a vendor in the afternoon.  Wow!  He also stopped to buy some sweet potatoes were, I am not kidding, 1-3 feet long.

He gave me all these gifts, and called me his African brother.  It is a true reflection of how close you get to someone when you spend so much time together, night and day.  I have no idea how Camara is today, or Oumar, or any of the people who were so warm and wonderful to my during my brief visit to Mali.  It is one of the fantastic and frustrating things about travel:  you go somewhere, and the people and places become part of your heart; then you leave, taking your memories and impressions and knowledge and love with you.

Love Letter To Mali Part V: Djenne

It’s about a two-hour drive from Mopti to Djenne, which has a big market every Monday.  On the way, we stopped at a village to walk around and meet some more people.  Everyone continued to be super friendly, and I continued to practice my few phrases.

One family let me try grinding the millet (which I was terrible at, and kept spilling the millet out of the mortar!).  The scene of a woman or two standing on a giant mortal with a huge stake as a pistol is ubiquitous.  Sometimes they get fancy and let the stake fly in the air for a second while they clap.

I felt badly when a few people in this village started describing medical issues they or their children were having.  I guess they are used to white people visiting being doctors.  (yes, I still have the “bear necessities” jungle book song playing in my head).

I don’t think I’ve really explained that all these villages we’ve been visiting, including the cities of Timbuktu and Mopti, are made out of mud bricks.  It is like stepping back in time a thousand years — except for the motorcycles…

Oumar was so fun with all the kids.  They just loved him.  And, when he found the older kids (5th graders), he tested their math skills.  They loved it.  And, since he did it in French, I could participate, too.  Lots of fun.

We walked past a Muslim school teaching the Koran as well as all other subjects.  The teacher was very welcoming to me, and had the children stand up and recite two prayers.  But he wouldn’t let me take any photos.  Oumar explained the school was part of a more extreme part of Islam that doesn’t condone any photographs whatsoever.

About 20 minutes or so outside of Djenne, we needed to board a ferry to cross the river.  As we waited for the ferry, there were stalls of merchants selling jewelry, masks, etc.  Everyone is “Mr. Good Price” or “Mrs. Good Price”, and they will give you “the best price” and decree, “c’est pas cher”.  Fun.  I met two guys from Holland who drove here (over 10k kms and 40 days!).  When they heard I was American they asked, “you know you are a potential al Qaeda victim here?”  Um…

Four cars fit on the ferry, and the ride is about ten minutes.  And, of course, there are more merchant stalls on the ferry!

Djenne was great.  First Oumar and I walked through all the alleyways and met some more people.  Then we visited the markets.  So much color and activity and noise.  And it is hot.  And, of course, the roads and sidewalks and all are just dirt.  And there were masses of people, buying and selling fruit, meat, leather goods, jewelry, etc.  I loved it.  We bought little fried kidney bean cakes, which were tasty, and tried a couple of types of berries and nuts.  I was trying to be careful not to put my hands anywhere near my nose, mouth or eyes since I was shaking hands with so many people, and holding babies and such.  But, then I went and touched something and put my finger in my mouth.  Oh well.

In Mopti we had seen a man selling some kind of liquid medicine that will cure:  diabetes, malaria, hemorrhoids, bad breath, fatigue, etc.  In Djenne we saw a man selling talisman and a black powder that will do all of the above, PLUS make you a genius.

At lunch we met another guide name Moussa who was complaining about a “mean old lady” he is in charge of.  I guess she is complaining about everything.  He said:  “why does she need a hot shower?  It’s a hot country.  She’ll be hot soon enough.”  I guess he had a fair point.

After lunch I decided I wanted a talisman.  So we found the magic man, and bought one for good look and protection, and to ward off evil spirits and jealous people.  Then, we found a leatherworker who sealed it in a pouch and made it into an anklet.  I should be all set!

While we were waiting for Oumar, Camara and I posed for some pics with some Fulani hats on and joked around with some of the vendors.

There was a longer line waiting to cross the ferry on the way back.  We had to wait for it to cross and come back 3 or 4 times.  And, of course, the merchants we out in force.  So, we were waiting for quite a while in the heat.  Not as much fun as the first crossing!

It was during the ferry crossings that I bought a lot of the beaded the jewelry I have been wearing lately, to keep the Malian people I met, front and center in my thoughts and prayers.

Love Letter To Mali Part IV: Mopti

I flew to Mopti, and was met by Oumar (he and Camara drove to Mopti while I was touring Timbuktu).

On the way to the hotel he taught me some words in Bamara, the main language in Mali:

i ni sɔgɔma: Good morning.

To which I (a woman) would answer: Ntze.  A man would answer: Mba.

i ka kεnε wa?: How are you?

To which you respond: kεnε, tɔɔrɔ te, ko tε, tana tε.

After checking into the hotel, we headed off for the city tour.  Which was 100% walked.  What an amazing day.  I felt like a celebrity, with everyone waving and shaking hands.

All the kids (and some adults) shouted out what sounded like Tu Ba or Tu Babou  as I walked by, which Oumar said basically meant:  hey, white person!.  I immediately thought of Baloo from the Jungle Book, so I kept picturing myself as a big grey lazy jungle bear ambling through town.  That would be worth shouting about!!

I got to play hopscotch with some girls who we happened upon as they were playing!

Sunday is the day for weddings, so we saw lots of wedding parties.  I even danced in the streets with the women at one wedding ceremony, which I was picturing the big bear dancing with all the gorgeous women in festive clothes.  Funny image I couldn’t get out of my head.

We walked from 830-100, then stopped for lunch at a riverside restaurant.  The other 4 ladies were there, so I joined them and we all had grilled chicken and rice with an amazing tomato-onion sauce.  Delicious.  But, I had to spend 10 minutes flossing later.

Oumar and I took a river cruise along the Niger.  We had our own private boat, The Alligator, and stopped at a Bozo village and did more meet and greets (yes, I was Baloo the Bear walking along the island in the Niger in the Bozo village.)  One house had a solar panel and a TV with soccer on, which was pretty amazing.

I wonder if that house is still standing?  I wonder how that newly wed couple is doing?  Did they flee Mopti?  Did they stay put?

Love Letter To Mali Part III: Timbuktu

The next hiccup was waiting for me back at the Bamako airport on the way to Timbuktu.  I saw 2 women with 5 cartons of baby chicks.  You’ll have to take my word for it, since when I got their permission to take photos, I realized I had left my little camera in the truck.  And, when I pulled out the SLR I realized it didn’t have a memory card (the extra memory card was in the camera case with the little camera).  So, I went through the motions of taking the photos, which was a little bit of fun with the women.  Then I called Camara (my driver) and asked him to come back with my camera which he did.  I love my driver.  (it’s only now in writing this that I see the humor of Camara being my camera hero).

So, then I was waiting to go to Timbuktu!!!

And waiting.

And waiting.

After having no idea what was going on for hours, and getting up to board for every flight that was departing, only to be told “non”, I learned that apparently “the plane needs to be plugged in and charged, so we will be taking off at 11am”???

I think in this kind of situation where frustration feeds off frustration, and since I was by myself I was happy just to sit and wait.  If I had been with someone else I am sure I would have been agitated.  There were 6 other Americans also waiting, 2 men I didn’t meet, 2 women from Miami (Nancy and Arlina) and 2 women from outside Atlanta (Barbara and Suzy).

Finally, we did board, a tiny little prop plane with 21 seats, and a VERY cute Australian co-pilot.  We flew for an hour to Mopti, stopped to let of the people off and get 5 more on, and to refuel.  I guess our plane only carries an hour’s worth of fuel.  As we were getting ready to take off for the 45 min flight to Timbuktu, our adorable co-pilot gave us the safety brief.

When we landed in Timbuktu, I met my guide, Sana.  Sana had me sit while he collected my bag, then we dropped it off at the hotel and we were off on the city tour.

I really liked Sana and my driver (whose name I forget–so many names were thrown at me, as Sana seemed to know everyone in Timbuktu and I met most of them).  He and I did most of the tour on foot since our car wouldn’t fit down the narrow streets.

I loved that afternoon.  Rich history.  Warm people.  Once in a lifetime experience. All the kids wanted to touch me, so they would shake my hand, touch my leg, or reach up and touch my hair.  Some were super cute and would walk up and say “bonjour” or “comme ca” or something as they reached out their hands for a shake.  Others were shy and would just sneak a touch.

There is annual desert festival near Timbuktu that sounded amazing.  Maybe I should say there was.  I can’t imagine that festival will be happening again.  Everyone camped out and listens to music and such.

Seeing the markets where to this day people from the north bring salt and gasoline and other goods to exchange with people from the south who bring herbs, etc. was amazing.  There was one moment when we had climbed up on top of the building the big market is in, when Sana had to use the restroom so I waited for him while taking pictures, that I realized I was in Timbuktu, in the middle of nowhere, without my ID, phone or money or even knowing the name of my hotel, and was basically a complete idiot.  I had total and complete faith in Sana, but what if for some reason beyond his control he didn’t come back?  Fortunately, he did, and I learned not to leave my backpack in the trunk of the car.  When we walked by the incense stall the woman wanted me to buy something.  When I declined she said I must be single, as any married woman would want the incense to keep her man at home.  Sana thought that was pretty funny!

We toured museums and mosques that house thousands of ancient Islam manuscripts. Sana and the proprietors did a great job explaining the origins and means of many of them, but it would take several lifetimes to really understand the depth of writings contained in this tiny city.

After looking at the peace flame, erected in the mid 1990s after the last uprising, I went home to get warmer clothes while Sanna and the driver swapped our BMW sedan for a 4×4.  And, we headed 30 minutes into the Sahara for dinner at a Tuareg camp, complete with traditional dancing.  Dinner was a yummy spicy veggie soup, followed by lamb and couscous.

It was just a year ago I was there, but it was an experience that won’t be possible again for a while.  Hopefully sooner than later, but I am not confident that is the case.  Timbuktu is now controlled by the rebels.  I have read reports of some of the manuscripts and shrines being damaged, and of a form of Sharia law being imposed, keeping most people inside their homes.  I have read of extreme food shortages, since most of the food comes from Bamako, and those routes are closed now.  The woman at the market, Sana, the manuscripts, the ancient mud building, the Tuarags who fed and performed for me, I think of them with a sense of hope, and hopelessness.