quietjourney

mali 8: timbuktu -> douentza

we awoke restless in the desert - early, because we had booked seats in a 7am 4x4 (quatre-quatre, or cat-cat) to douentza, from where we would stage our trek into dogon country. we grumbled a bit about timbuktu's limited tourist potential when "sleeping under the saharan stars" meant being swarmed by beetles, scorpions and mangy (but cuddly) kittens as you huddled together for warmth on a plastic tarp, with only a thin gruel of rice and sauce for comfort. that, and the fact that at about $25 per person, it was the most expensive outing of our trip so far. we reckoned that, given the brevity of our journey (2 instead of 10km) and quality of accommodation, we would ask the guide who arranged the trip for a discount. before we set out, however, we hit the tuareg pipe:


when we got back to timbuktu, the 4x4 was waiting. we loaded up our stuff and the guide showed up for the second half of his fee. then things got complicated. we asked for a discount for the aforementioned reasons. the guide refused, pointing to the negotiation. we pointed out that we did not get what we negotiated and that the so-called 'guide' didn't guide anything except, perhaps, a land rover of tuareg traders to our exact location the desert, for which, no doubt, he received some kind of commission. hence, having failed to live up to the terms of the contract, he should discount the trip. he was incensed. first, he ordered the 4x4 not to leave until he got what he felt he was owed. this was bad because the road to douentza went through some pretty harsh desert and was bad to begin with - not a place you wanted to break down in the middle of the day, hence the early departure. second, he threatened that if we did not pay him, some 'tragedy 'might befall us along the road, or in mopti, or basically anywhere we went. we did not want to find our recently purchased tuareg daggers lodged in our backs. sarah, ingeniously, broke down the guide's argument and turned the crowd of passersby against him - negotiations about money aside, who could condone threatening a group of tourists? eventually, the conversation became less about the money and more about saving face for the guide - he couldn't accept a discount under pressure, because it would embarass him. eventually, he agreed to a token discount which would allow us to get on our way and him to save face. amidst his profuse apologies, he pocketed the rest of his 'fee' - of which the tuaregs who actually led the trek saw only a fraction, probably. on the way out of town, we left a message at the police station that if we didn't arrive safely in mopti, they had the name of a guy to start the investigation. and with that, we were off, the six of us crammed into the luggage compartment of a land rover juryrigged for four.


after a long hot journey through the desert, the land became lush, wet, green and very hot. we pulled into douentza as the sun was going down. though mainly an eclectic strip along the paved road heading back to mopti and eventually bamako, douentza was an oasis after the remoteness of timbuktu. we took up residence for the night in a well-touristed hotel in a stand of palms, staking out spots on the roof with our mosquito nets. then, we descended into the courtyard for dinner among a group of blond, sunburned nordics. after drinking a flag and eating a meat skewer, i crashed gratefully into the foam pad below the lime green net.

posted by Jon @ 03:55

mali 7: timbukthree

i left off (ages ago) as we departed by camel into the sahara north of timbuktu, led by tuaregs in midnight blue robes. the sawing of the camel saddles chafed uncomfortably. in a way, i was glad we were only doing 2 of our promised 10km. flies swarmed around the camels ears, around your feet propped crosswise in the crook of its neck; its head yaws left and right and you creak back and forth abruptly in the saddle.


when we get to the encampment (a solitary dome in amidst the dunes) we shuck off our camels (i as quickly as possible) and repair to plastic mats that have been laid to receive us. slowly it dawns on us that we will sleep on these same plastic mats "under the stars". our host prepares tea:


we can still see the city lights as a red line on the horizon once the daylight goes but it is quite dark; the tuaregs have led the camels off elsewhere. as we sip the three teas {bitter like life, mild like death, sweet like love}, some traders wander out of the desert and spread their wares on the ground. we are trapped, and commence to haggle, trying to get out without purchasing the whole lot. there are camels teeth inlaid with brass, knives with molded leather handles, necklaces, bracelets, curious silver pipes (long, fluted) that the tuaregs use to smoke their particular brand of tobacco. i seize upon a trio of knives with leather handles and matching leather sheathes. the traders separate us so that we cannot easily compare the prices we are getting with each other. because it is dark, they illuminate their goods with the backlight form their mobile phones. my trading partner is relentless, informing me that tuareg tradition is to have three rounds of trading: the first is to throw out your most ludicrous offer (perhaps just to break the ice; he is nonplussed when my offer is "i don't want to buy those knives" whilst his is about $10 per); second, you raise and he lowers. the third bid is meant to be your final offer - i went in at about 20% of his first ask, which meant (he informed me) that his children would starve. but he would take it, ultimately, because of the special bond we shared as participants in the tuareg trading ritual. i pocket the knives, fork over the cash, and we share tea. the traders leave; a short distance from the encampment, a land rover roars into life and drives back to timbuktu. ladies and gentlemen, the tuareg claw.

we are fed a bowl of rice with thin sauce that barely makes it around the 6 of us; when we ask for more food, our host serves us from his own family's meal, which is a much better type of rice basking in butter and topped with small pieces of succulent lamb.

we settle in for the night, stretched out on the plastic mats; all around us, the clattering noise of large beetles and locusts and the scurrying of the tuareg's kittens as they guard the perimeter, pouncing on anything that moves. once i realize what they are doing (keeping away the scorpions, in addition to the larger sand beetles), i stop kicking them away and one curls up next to my face.

posted by Jon @ 08:02