96 days in

Timbuktu and Dogon delays

The name Timbuktu conjures in the western mind images of parched isolation, Arabs atop loping camels, and veiled mystery. But in reality the place is one big tourist stop-off. And having stopped-off most go back the way they came. A little disappointing really.

But it was nice to reach our farthest-most destination. And we did head by camel to a Tuareg (travelling nomad type) encampment about two hours north of Bukkers. The night under the stars was magical, but the whole affair was just another tourist event in reality. In truth we only went because we got the excursion at half price - repayment for our boat ride getting so messed up.

In all we spent two aimless days in Timbuktu before being ferried by luxurious 4wd through the desert to Douentza, a gateway town to the fabled Dogon country. From here we’re supposed to be trekking for 10 days through Dogon in its entirety, but already the trip is delayed because our guide speaks little English, and the replacement guide he brought this morning speaks even less! So, after various aggravated phone calls to Mohammed we’re awaiting the arrival of an English speaking guide from Bandiagara; he should be here tonight, and in the morning we’ll be off.

Most of Pays Dogon is UNESCO heritage listed and is the top of many guide books lists of things to do before you die. This is largely due to the now abandoned 12th century Tellem (a now vanished pigmy tribe of people) villages, built high atop the cliffs of a vast escarpment in the desert.

Mali is becoming an irritation because we hoped the place would be less touristic than it has revealed itself to be, and so far all we’ve done is follow guides around. Dogon will be the same, but we’ve heard it’s very hard to explore this region without a good guide.

And there’s no electricity, running water or internet in any of the Dogon villages: I’m starting to feel a bit like a pampered, whinging westerner. Wah wah.

92 days in

one bastard of a boat ride up the Niger

Well we made it to Timbuktu. But not without an insane amount of hassle. We’re learning that’s kind of the way they roll in Mali though.

Everything was fine for the first few hours of the trip, until we realised we’d only stopped once, for eight minutes in 12 hours. And the captain wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down. When we questioned him, he said he’d stop at midnight, recommencing the journey at 6am. This caused a veritable shit storm among the eight passengers and the arguments started. The talk of mutiny didn’t stop until midday the next day.

Turns out there was some mix up between our contracts and the captain’s agreement with our guides, because he was intent on getting to Timbuktu in two days and we expected the trip to take three. To add further insult to our already festering injuries, our impressions were the boat would stop around 6.30pm and tents would be made for us along the banks of the Niger, Kumbaya . That was not the captain’s impression, which was fine by Sian and I, because we had our own tent and after managing to persuade him to stop at nine we promptly stormed off the boat to pitch up for the night. That turned out to be a mistake.

Around midnight I awoke to some gut-wrenching grunts and groans coming from outside our tent. Practically frozen with fear I leaned over and whispered into Sian’s ear to wake up, just as whatever African beast outside let out another guttural moan.
Both now frozen with fright we mouthed to each other questions about what to do, what it might be, where the thing was, etc. As more deep breathing and heavy grunts sounded in the dark, it became clear whatever animal taunted us, it possessed massive lungs.

As a motor boat cruised by, I dared to sneak a look outside. But I saw nothing, just a dark mass of scrub and the black reflection of the mighty river Niger beyond. As I was surveying the area the thing made another terrifying noise allowing me to pinpoint its location, about 10 metres off shore. That confirmed it, a Hippo.
Then I really started shitting my pants.

I’ve heard stories about Hippos being the most dangerous African animals and so my imagination was fraught with images of the terrible creature trampling us to death where we lay. My panic went on for about two hours or so until I eventually realised it probably wasn’t interested in us and drifted back to sleep. Sian, on the other hand, had fallen back to sleep 10 minutes after I awoke her.

Day two of the boat ride was somewhat better, with the boat crew stopping more often at various small villages and the day ending at 7pm with a camp fire and food. There was also a chance spotting of the previous night’s tormentors as we watched a small herd of Hippos dash for the water.

We only realised the next morning the reason why the crew were ok with stopping at 7pm: Timbuktu was just ten minutes from where we’d camped, so by 7.30am we were docked and on the way to Timbuktu in a 4wd.

So we’re in Timbuktu now and it seems pretty much like a nothing town in the middle of the desert. But the point was more getting here really.