Mali, Sunday, 14th May 2006 (Corinne)
Dogon Country in the east of Mali had been one thing we had really looked forward to doing--finally getting out of the car to do some real hiking in, leaving the car (and everyday responsibilities!) behind and having time to really immerse ourselves in the culture. We didn't know what to really expect, other than the tid-bits we had read and heard from other travellers (it is very hard to find guidebook/tourist information, let alone good info, on places and sites in Africa). What we did know about Dogon Country was that it was a string of hundreds of villages stretching for 150 kilometers along a stone escarpment (huge rock cliffs). Each village was supposed to be different, mainly due to religion, and immersed in their traditional beliefs. It was supposed to be something like a step back in time, but also a step into the African tradition, culture, dance and life we so strongly associate with Africa. We just couldn't wait!
We arrived in Bandiagara, one of the closest big towns before Dogon Country, to find a guide. (Being a guide is a job many Malian boys strive to become, and if you are good, you can make some good money!) Since Dogon is one of the biggest tourist highlights in Mali, we have pretty much been approached by guides since we entered the country--we have heard all kinds of sales pitches and seen many recommendation letters and photos but no one really stuck out as the guide we wanted. Language was also a barrier for me, and we really wanted a guide that spoke some English so we could really ask questions and learn—it makes it more fun for both of us. We also thought it might be better to wait until we were closer to Dogon, hoping to find someone who grew up in Dogon (as opposed to someone who had some distant relatives there), and also eliminating the need for us to bring a guide along with us in the car (e.g. from Bamako), sharing one tiny seat, for 400km and 2-3 days of driving--not the ideal for me!
Although this is probably one of the most touristy places in Mali, besides Timbuktu and Djenné (the largest mud mosque in the world), tourism isn't developed to any great level. Package tourists are shipped in big groups to be brought around for a few days, and there are a few tourism agencies in the country that have guides, but other than that, there isn't a lot. So how do you find a guide? Easiest way, take a walk into town and go for a beer or bite in one of the most likely tourist spots. But, this time, we didn't even make it to the restaurant before we had met a potential guide—not hard to spot us, one of the only tourists (toubabs-white people) in this mid-sized town. We go for a beer in the touristy hangout and hear this guy's pitch. Good sales guy but we both hesitated—we were planning to do a 4 day hike with this guy and you really need to trust someone, so you have to go with your gut—we decided to wait. We also wanted to see what other prices we were offered. It started at 50,000 CFA per day ($100 per day, $400 total), but eventually went to 150,000 CFA ($300)for 3 nights, 4 days, all inclusive—hiking village to village, 3 basic meals, village entrance fees, sleeping on the roof, but not bottled water or beers. Gosh that seems like a lot of money, considering we are in one of the poorest places in the world! But, then again, this is a preserved place and the reason it is mandatory in many villages to have a guide is to preserve the local culture—there are some places and things that are known to be sacred—a sacred rock, fish, house, and as a tourist, you don't know any of those things. And this is a place where history is not written in a book, so you can't buy a book to read as you hike along...the history and tradition is passed down from person to person, and if you don't know any of that history, all villages would start to look the same, and wouldn't mean a thing. A guide is also a good choice because there aren't many marked roads between villages, or signposts guiding you (usually have to climb rocks and rock mountains) and it also helps to have someone that speaks the local Dogon language (we were told there are something like 50 dialects of Dogon, but between villages they can understand each other).
After our lunch and beer, we went back to our car parked in the front yard of someone's house, and met another guide, Abraham. We instantly liked him. Abraham, in his mid to late 20s, had grown up in one of the villages in Dogon and had been a guide for almost 10 years. He definitely knew his stuff firsthand, spoke excellent English (which he taught himself) and you could tell his heart was in this...not someone only looking to make a quick buck or get a free ticket to go hang out with some of his friends in Dogon. It didn't take long before we had settled the deal...125,000 CFA ($250) total for 4 days, including the car that would pick us up the next morning to bring us to the first village. We couldn't wait. Off to pack. We pulled the one big backpack we have out and filled it to the brim (amazing how you can pack so much for 4 days...small medical kit, water filter, a change of clothes, towel, soap, some cards, a book, video and camera), got out the monopod (like a camera tripod but 1 leg) that would double as my hiking stick and filled the day pack with water and snacks. We couldn't wait....
Next morning arrives and 7am sharp Abraham pulls up with his friend in the Suzuki 4wd. We pile our bags into the back and off we go—as a comparison, Abraham, with only flip flops on, only has a small plastic bag with one change of clothes and a small bag of 20 eggs that he carefully holds in the air as we drive over the rocky piste (dirt track). Before hitting the piste outside of town, we wind through the town's tiny streets and quickly stop for a bag of local baguettes—this will be lunch at our first village. Off we go.
It took us about an hour to drive to the outskirts of the first village, but the scenery was amazing. A village here or there...rock cliffs... kids filling large pans at water pumps and wells... And then as we had seen before in other villages, a group of boys, between the ages of 9-13, dressed in long beige or blue robes, holding a handmade instrument—something between a wooden cylinder wind chime and a maraca. What is that? And the lessons begin...Abraham tells us that every 2 years, around this time (April) boys in each village are gathered together and they go through initiation. The first initiation starts around 13, the time of puberty (initiations can go on and on...a king needs 60!). Initiation is a form of intense education or training, given by the elders of the community and can take up to a month. They spend this time studying, learning about the history, traditions and customs, and their responsibilities as a man in the community, etc. The first initiation is signified by circumcision and shows the community you are now a Man. The boys we saw on the side of the road were completing one part of their initiation, and passersby can contribute a few coins to their initiation. Women also go through a similar form of initiation, but unfortunateky Abraham didn't know much about that—that is for the women in the community to know, not the men.
And then the first village, just over the rock cliff. Twins (who are sacred here) playing...we hear faint chants of ca va? photo/cadeau (gift)? We take a seat in handmade wooden reclining chairs, and are immediately offered a bucket of water to clean our hands and cool off. Kids are playing around us, women are fetching water and preparing food, men are relaxing and having a chat. It is a very small village—mud houses with thatched roofs. Very cute place. We learned that there are all in all a couple hundred people that live in the 3 villages. Each 'village' has divisions or quarters, based on religion, but really it is all the same village. We were now in the Christian village and the other two, still a hike away but on nearby rocks, were the animist (traditional/nature gods beliefs) and Muslim villages. Each village maintains its own traditions and has its own cemetery, but they all cooperate on certain things.
We go for a walk around the village. Abraham knows many of the people because it is like a 'sister' village to his village. One of the coolest things here is the greeting, which can go on and on and on. There are no simple hellos, but rather a hello, how are you, how is your wife, kids, animals, work, health, etc. (See Kids bi-weekly for full translation) The greeting is longer for someone you know but the standard 5 or so questions is typical for everyone. And the other thing you start to figure out very quickly is that people really take the piss at each other...joking around, laughing. So wonderful to see people really enjoy each other's company and have a good time!
For the next hour or so we take a walk around the Christian village and meet the people that live there. A family usually lives in a set of small bungalow houses, set in a circle around a little community area where the goats, chickens and donkeys are kept (chickens even have their own little mud house!). Women usually live in a bungalow with the kids and the man has his own. Remember there is no electricity, sewage system or running water, so things are very basic here.
One sign of strong and prosperous family here is having lots of kids...so very few times do you see women that aren't pregnant while also carrying a toddler on their back (I love the way women use a piece of cloth and tie the babies onto their back. Easy, makes sense and the kids look really comfy. Check out some of the People & Places photos and you will see plenty of women and kids). And remember people don't live very long here—I think mid-40s was the country average--so having kids at 16 or so and being 'married' (usually only officially married if you have enough money) isn't uncommon. Remember life in this place, like many other developing countries, is the equivalent of what we know as Little House on the Prairie days....
So off to visit our first family... we are only introduced to the man, who is the Hunter in the village. We are first offered warm millet beer in a large a calabash bowl that we each take a sip of—millet is the staple food here, something like a heavy flour—not the best tasting thing but a super nice gesture. We take a look at his bungalow—since he is the hunter, he has skulls and hides of animals like monkeys hanging all along the outside of his house—this is his pride, these protect the family from evil spirits, and bring him good luck in hunting. He then poses for us with his big rifle. Definitely a step back in time to see this—but then we learn that life isn't the way it has always been. To go hunting, this guy doesn't just leave the village and start hunting, but jumps on his moto (motorbike) and drives very far away to go hunting...not too much left around to hunt anymore. All in all, it was good to see a good mix of traditional and modern...
We then continue on past a few other bungalows, but these ones are granaries for the spirits. Offerings of millet are inside, which are only for the spirit, and a bouquet of 'blessed' bush grass, which is strong enough to protect the village, hangs near the door's entrance. The nearby rocks are covered with red or white splashes —red from an animal (usually chicken) sacrifice, and white from a millet sacrifice. Although this is a Christian village, animist beliefs (belief in many nature-gods and spirits) are an integrated part of everyday life... when your daily life each day depends on nature and its prosperity and consequences, it is not hard to understand why beliefs in rain or sun gods is that obscure. It is also not too hard to imagine that spirits do lurk in these rock cliffs... spend one night sleeping on top of a mud hut, a full moon lighting the cliffs that start to have faces, wild animals like monkeys (not as many now as before) roaming around, the tiniest of sounds (close and near) bouncing off the cliffs... I would think and want to respect the spirits too!
We spend the rest of the afternoon eating some lunch, relaxing on a mattress under the shade of two huge mango trees, and hiking up to the high-end point of these rock cliffs, which overlooks a surreal, never-ending baobab tree and sand landscape below—we felt like we were in the Mesdagh panorama museum in Holland.
As early evening approached, we made our way to the animist village, about an hour and a half away. The son of the chief of the village gave us a tour around while Abraham paid the mandatory visiting fee... a look under the cliff at the place where they play 'bean' game, the granaries of the spirits, the central meeting 'platform' where the old men of the village relaxed, the edge of this village that overlooked the surreal landscape below. Although it was the same surreal landscape we had seen before but just from another angle, this time it looked like a movie set filled with cemetery planks—but these weren't cemetery planks but small villages dotted below. If you stared long enough, you could see the children and goats running around and the women beating the millet into flour. Very cool glimpse of life...from the top.
It was now time to go, especially before the sun would go to sleep for the night. But as we were winding through the small dirt paths towards the beginning of the village, one of our hands was grabbed...then another...then another. Within 5 minutes, both Patrick and I each had 4 kids hanging on to each of our hands, pushing others away to be the first in line. Toubab....Toubab (white man)....Ca va?...giggles...and laughter. We were having a great time, and just about ready to bring all of them home with us, when the Chief's son says to Abraham, our guide, 'I am sorry for the children. I know they are dirty (don't all kids love to play in dirt, or have a sticky hand after eating a mango?). You are good and friendly people. Thank you' We couldn't believe our ears...we don't mind, kids are kids, we love playing with them! What we learned that afternoon made us a bit upset...it was very clear that many tourists that come to the village are 'disgusted' or afraid of the kids...a sticky hand, a torn shirt, a runny nose. These kids are cleaned up just like any other kid, but after a day of playing of course kids are a bit dirty...it doesn't mean you need to stay away from them. And you also can see that people like to see what they want to see and didn't see the big smiles, the curious eyes, the time and care that went into the braiding of each girl's hair, the fun these kids have....I will leave that just as it is.
We made our way back to the village we had just come from. On the way we passed a group of men, using small tools and man power, to pave a road to the village. What is this? Is the government making a road? What we heard was music to our ears—no this was not a funded project or people working for the government, but a group of men from the village that decided they needed a road to have better access to other villages....this would mean quicker access to healthcare (now could take 8 hours by donkey cart!), trading and more tourism. These are the kinds of stories you rarely hear about in Africa....people taking initiative and working for a better life. They may not be paid anything at all, but they knew the benefit for their community would be huge...hats off to these men. Without hesitation, we handed them a handful of kola nuts—a gift or nice gesture (suppresses appetite, like a coca leaf) given to elders or people working hard.
We spent the rest of the evening, eating our large dinner of couscous with a tomato/onion sauce, sipping a lukewarm beer and playing cards under an oil lamp. It wasn't too long before we climbed up the ladder, a carved out tree with tiny steps, to the roof of the house we would sleep on for the night. Wrapped in a blanket on top of a mattress, we fell asleep to the sounds of the night, and the full moon lighting the star-filled sky...a moment I won't forget.
We woke up the next morning to Nescafe and toasted baguettes with mango honey. Today would be a big hiking day—about 15 km. But the exciting part was that we were going to the village of his family..and for the first time he would see his 3rd child, born just 3 days before. Each time he talked about going to see his new daughter, a big smile would emerge, a laugh of anticipation. 'What did you name the baby?' 'Well, my mother picks the name (which I can suggest) and I approve it, so the baby does not have a name yet. They don't even know I am coming home today. Maybe I will name the baby after you. What is your name again?' We knew this would be a great day and wanted to run to the village as fast as we could....we wanted to see the baby as well!
For the next 5 hours or so, we hiked up and down the most amazing rock structures...sometimes looking almost like a left over volcano, other times like you were walking in the red desert sands. We stopped in a few small villages, to pump some clean water for our water bottles or have a Coke—we were drinking about 7-10 liters of water per person per day (compared to Abraham's 1-2), so we needed to stock up often!
About halfway through our hike, we witnessed first-hand the great humor Malians have...something that makes their country very special and have its own beat...something you wish more countries had. It was around noon, and the 45 degree heat was really setting in. We climbed over a rock mountain into a valley and a group of women in bright-colored outfits were making their way in our direction, babies strapped on their back, bowls and sticks being carried on their heads. Abraham slows down to greet them...the conversation starts. We can't make out the words, but a huge bout of laughter breaks out...'Nice husband you have there...Very nice husband...We like him...' So I reply, by nudging Patrick in their direction, here you can have him...' The women can't believe it, they are laughing so hard. So instead of continuing on our way, Patrick makes a run towards them....'Sounds great to me....A Dogon wife...Maybe 1 or 2...They cook, clean, watch the kids and take care of you....I sit around and relax...Sounds great to me....See you later!' Abraham translates, and the women just laughed and laughed. If it wasn't for the valley separating us, I think they would have taken Patrick with them! Women here know they work hard and make fun of the men for being lazy. The men joke about it as well. It is just the way life works here...everyone does what they are supposed to do, everyone knows who really does most of the work, and everyone has a laugh about it...Not a bad life.
It was nearing half twelve, and Abraham's village came into sight. But, first I had to make my way down the huge rock cliff to the sands below. At this instance, Patrick and Abraham could have hopped down the rocks in 15 minutes tops, but they had to wait for aching knee, blister feet Corinne....sliding down each rock on my backside, a photography monopod doubling as my hiking stick. Women twice my age, barefoot, carrying two kids and a bucket of water on their head, would look at me in astonishment....But, although it took me an hour to get down the cliffs, the village was now steps away. Run Abraham...Go! Go see your new baby! Hesitating to make sure we were taken care of (Abraham was a great guide), we nudged him away...go! Go! We will be fine!
We headed into Abraham's Auberge, or small hotel, and were offered a bucket of water for our hands, and then took a seat in one of the handmade wooden chairs. 'Ahhh...it is nice to finally sit down.' The shoes and socks came off (hoping they were far enough away from anyone else), and within 5 minutes, we were summoned to Abraham's house. 20 steps away, up the rock steps and down into the housing area. His mom was in one room cooking over the fire, kids playing around in the center, Dad and Uncle on a bench, and two women with their young babies sitting in another room with Abraham's wife and new born baby. We didn't know what the custom was exactly so we waited for instruction. Abraham's big smile and hand pointing to the room of his wife said it all...Go in....On a reed mat, next to his wife, covered in a red, blue and green blanket, laid the 4 day old baby. What a beauty!
We stepped out of the room and Abraham's mom came to greet us, a smile so big it went to the back of her head. 'You saw the baby...We are so proud.' She took both of our hands and signaled to her heart. She was so happy we could share in this special moment with her.
We left the family to be together with Abraham and took a seat on a mattress. It was very hot, we were hungry and worn out from the hiking—so time for a quick nap while we waited for lunch....a huge onion omelet, green beans, bread and an extra plate of couscous from another guide/group at the hotel.
After a short nap in the museum hall at foot of the village, we slid our blistered feet into our hiking boots, and made our way to the animist village on top of the nearest rock cliff. For the next hour, we climbed the rocks, seeing the drop into nothingness in between the rock's cracks. I swear no gym's Stairmaster would have prepared me for this hike in the late afternoon heat. But, after a slow climb and two liters of water, we arrived on top. The animist village, Idjeli-do, same in appearance as Abraham's Christian village below, had a funeral today, so we were asked to not take photos. 'A funeral? How sad. Who died?' 'No, no Abraham said with a faint smile. 'A person of the village didn't die today. Today is a memorial celebration, held once every 3 years, for one of the previous ancestors of the village.'
A little history...Each Dogon village has 8 key ancestors and you can see woodcarvings/representations of this on doors of some of the houses in the villages. There were 8 ancestors that founded Dogon civilisation in ancient times. Their spirits are still here to protect the Dogon people. The three most important ones are the ancestors of earth (or fertility), rain, and initiation.
Understanding the importance of the ancestors made the memorial celebration make a bit more sense... Each day during this celebration, one of the 8 ancestor spirits is honoured. The day we were there it was the spirit of rain, who can take the form of a crocodile. Abraham points to the left of us: “Look, that's the house of the crocodile spirit. The villagers have opened the door (normally the doors of spirit houses are locked), so the spirit can come out to receive the offerings of millet.” We ask about 'real' funerals. Abraham explains that only the king and the 8 old men who represent the ancestors, receive a funeral. He also explains that if one of the 8 ancestors dies, the spirit will choose a new one. During the night, the spirit will choose its new representative, and bring its carved wooden cane from the house of the ancestor who died to the door of the newly chosen ancestor house. When the cane is found the next morning, the women of the village all come to the house, to clean it with huge amounts of water. This is to make sure that all spirits are washed away, so the house is empty before the spirit of the ancestor enters.
After spending an hour or so in the animist village, we needed to move on...my knees were aching and if I could have jumped into a warm bubbling Jacuzzi and slept there for the night, I would have. But, we had to go down. Earlier we had hiked straight up...and now time for straight down. Up is a challenge for my 'in-shapeness', down is a challenge for these old granny knees. On the way, we are passed, one after the other, by groups of men, women and children practically running up the rock cliffs, on their way to the evening celebration of dancing and drumming. They were carrying everything from big bowls of food to guns (for the celebratory 'shots') and drums...but this didn't mean everyone didn't have a minute to stop....a big smile, a sweet greeting and lots and lots of handshakes.
As we finally neared the bottom after a good hour hiking down to the bottom, a new hidden landscape emerged...a cascading river, flowing quickly over the rocks, shaded by huge amounts of mango trees. What a change from the hot desert sands and jagged rock boulders. Ahhh—you couldn't help but want to jump in and cool off. So now it was time for a few photos of the sacred fish of this village. Where are they, the ones that are never taken or eaten from this river stream? And then we spotted one, two, ten of the little black fish swimming in the river pool. As Patrick snapped a few shots, the ladies, kids on their backs, in the water who were doing their laundry and taking their bath, broke out in laughter. 'What are they doing? Why are they taking photos of the fish—they are here everyday!' Hmmm...how such a normal part of life to one person can be so exotic to another...
We made it back to Abraham's village as the sun went down, after passing the very small, local markets held in a different village, once every 5 days (the week here is based on a 5 day week). We were very happy to sit down, have some fried chicken, and spaghetti with tomato/onion sauce and a sip of beer. Our bellies were now full, and now it was time to collapse into bed...off to enjoy the echoes of the beating of the drums and singing of the animist village celebrations.
The next day wasn't what we had expected it to be, but then again you have days like that. We started quite early, after really squeezing our 'really blistered' feet back into our boots. Today we were off to Tirelli, and then the village of the sacred crocodiles where there was a man who could speak to the crocs (how cool would that be!), and then a final stop at the animist village (from the night before) to witness the memorial celebration of the mask spirit, dancing and all! But, the day didn't turn out as planned. Abraham had hurt his wrist in a motorbike accident a week before so he wanted to see the doctor in Tirelli. Of course! Anything for him to get better! But, as some things happen, the doctor didn't come for some time 10:00, 11:00, lunchtime...And by that time too late to go see the crocs. And then we left too late to make it up to the animist village for the celebration. We were too very sad characters...a day we had expected to be so full of excitement and new things had turned out to be a long walk in the heavy desert sand, and a view of the same villages we had seen before. So we drank that beer a bit quicker that night than we had before, ate our dinner and moved up to bed. You can't win them all, right? And anyway, the next day was Easter, and we had been invited by Abraham to stay an extra day to join in the celebrations...we hoped that would more than make up for the bad day.
And it did! We woke up early to a buzz in Abraham's village....lots of chatter and laughter from the sons and daughters that had returned home for the celebration, excited giggling kids were running from house to house dressed in their best clothes...today was Easter...party!
But first, we had a celebration of our own to go to...the naming of Abraham's new baby. This was a very special occasion not only for his family, but us as well... Abraham had decided that he would really like to name his baby after us, or more precisely, since it's a girl after me. In just a few days, we had become great friends with Abraham, our name given to his 3rd child, and now were to become god-parents to a new baby. What a special day!
But what were we to wear? We hadn't packed more than 1 change of clothes! But, Abraham knew the drill...you need to be dressed up in your finest wear on this day, so laying by our bags were some clothes Abraham and his mother had put together for us-- for me, a gorgeous thick indigo sarong (very traditional color of this area), and for Patrick, a purple and orange silk shirt, and a pair of brown shiny pants...we were definitely Dogonized now! Off to the naming celebration.
We enter the house of Abraham and walk into the room where his wife and baby are waiting. The ceremony begins. The baby is handed to the father, who says a prayer to bless the baby...a wish for the baby to have a happy, healthy and prosperous life. And at the end of this the baby receives her new name... Corinne. Excitement and honor was written all over our faces. But, as we were now the godparents to this little girl, we also wanted to give something of ourselves to her, to wish her a good life. We had spent the last days thinking of what we could give...we had very little with us that could be used as a present, but we did have one thing that meant a lot to us that we both knew would bring good luck to her....a silver good luck ring that Patrick had given to me a few years before. So it was our turn now, and I took off my ring. Patrick tied a string, pulled from one of our bags, around the ring and onto the neck of Corinne. There were smiles all around. Abraham's father then told us we were now part of his family. We are always welcome to stay where we want, and should regard his family and the village as our home. We now had another family....in another village far away from where we grew up...but a place where we felt very at home.
But before the Easter celebrations could begin, we had work to do! Well, work isn't the right word, but we had people to meet...his extended family, his good family friends...all to tell them that his daughter had been give my name. With each person we met, we were given the most heartfelt greeting. Ahh what is her name, Corinne....Cooor-in? Yes, Coor-in. And by the time we had made our way around the village, we started to hear the women, the men, the children saying to each other....Cooori-in? A different name to them, but one they would now know very well...not too many words can describe how that feels.
Easter celebration today would start by going to church at 11, for the 3 hour singing, clapping and sermon. But first, Abraham wanted to bring us to see the famous rock houses...close up. These houses are one reason Dogon is also very famous....rock houses, cut out of the high cliff rocks, usually about 50 metres above the ground, built by the Tellem people (related to the Pygmies). The mystery surrounding how they got there, and how they lived there still remains a mystery today.... Maybe pygmies can fly? How cool would it be to go into one of the houses (now a UNESCO site, so they are off limits), and with that we had an answer... 'I have been inside,' Abraham said. 'When?' 'Well, as a kid, those rock houses were the perfect spot to escape when you didn't want to do any work. We used to gather some food, climb up and sometimes hide there for days. The houses are just like any other houses, and they go really far back into the cliffs. It was like the people living there just disappeared—the tools they used to cook left in place, the stools and tables still in their spot, the beds they used still in the proper corner.' Hmmm...that was one to ponder.
Easter Celebrations
But it was time now to join in the celebrations of the day. Church...girls in front, women on one side, men on the other, boys to the side. The first hour filled with non-stop music, singing and swaying back and forth...there wasn't a minute to sit down on the benches before the next song started, and with a beat that strong, it was hard to sit still anyway. Songs, short dancing performances from groups of kids, teens and women, and then the sermon. It was now time for us to go...time for lunch and a nap. Evening festivities—more dancing and singing-- would begin when the sun's heat let down....
All in all, one of the most wonderful experiences we have had in Africa thus far. A big smile creeps onto my face and my heart tingles a bit when I think of our visit. We learned so much, made some new friends, met our first godchild and had an experience of a lifetime.... Something we will both never forget. Who knows-maybe Corinne will be able to come and visit us someday?
If you want to read more about Dogon traditions, religions and customs, the Kids bi-weekly report is open for you to take a peek! |
