For friends, family and the random search engine visitor. This blog started as an experiment in mobile blogging from my Palm TREO 600, 700, Prē, HTC Evo, Samsung 5, Pixel 3, Pixel 6 Pro, Pixel 9 Pro XL. Now it serves as a simple repository of favorite activities. Expect bad golf, good fishing, great sailing, eating, drinking, adventure travel, occasional politics and anything else I find interesting along the way including, but not limited to, any of the labels listed here...
MW BLOG LABEL CLOUD (click label for posts on that topic)
The Khan Market is an easy walk from the hotel. The concierge cautioned us that the "touts" would tell us that the market is closed. It was a useful warning. All along the walk we had jitney drivers and pedestrians greet us, pace us, and offer advice. "The Khan market is closed. It is a holiday, they are closed today." "They only have restaurants open, I will take you a real Indian bazaar.""You are staying at the hotel? I work at the hotel! The Khan market is closed today. I will show you a better market." The closer we got to the market, the more strident they became -"You must turn here! Not that way! This way! The market is this way!" Unsurprisingly, we later learned they are paid a commission for bringing tourists to the non-Kahn Market shops.
We stayed the course and made it to the market. The market was not closed.
Sigrid purchased a pashmina from OCM Suitings and I picked up a blank book made of handmade paper with an enameled cover from Handpaper World. It is a cool store. Even the receipt was printed on handmade paper and the shopping bag was fashioned from recycled newspaper. I'll use it to keep a trip journal as I have in other travel adventures(while the the intertube is available at our current hotel - we won't have it for many parts of the trip).
Panorama of the Sankore Mosque, from the roof of the Al Imam Essayouti Library. Click image to enlarge.
As agreed at dinner, Mohamed met us at 10:00 AM with a driver. We set out for a Timbuktu morning tour before coordinating with Hamidou in the afternoon, putting ourselves in Mohamed's capable hands as he made some tasty tour selections from the Tour Menu (left).
First stop was the Sankore Mosque, that showed its recently resurfaced self in a much better light than on the rainy cloud covered visit on Saturday.
We also toured a municipal museum of Timbuktu (Tombouctou Koy Batouma - #4 on the sign) said to be located on the site of the town's first residents of Timbuktu. Mohamed explained in no uncertain terms, that the French corrupted the spelling and pronunciation of the town.
The correct pronunciation was "Timbuktu", not the French "Tomboctou", and the name derived from a Tuareg woman named Buktu whose well became a destination and reference point for early desert travelers. The city stands on the site of "Buktu's well" or "Tim Buktu". Said well pictured here.
Another stop was at Boubacar Sadeck - Artisan Copyist of 16th Century Manuscripts. He was selling a selection of beautiful illuminated framed poems as souvenirs. I had something else in mind. I asked if he could illuminate the inside front cover of the journal I purchased in Burkina Faso and have been diligently filling with my indecipherable longhand since wandering in the deserts of Mali for the two weeks since. I did not have high expectations, as the work would need to applied to the rough recycled paper of the journal, and it would have to be done in one day. We agreed a price - the results exceeded my wildest expectations.
Before.
After.
Close-up.
The inside cover on the left says "Timbuktu" - The inscription on the first page on the right is a famous West Africa Proverb -
"Salt flows from the North, gold flows from the South, Money flows from the country of white men, but wisdom flows from Timbuktu."
If only the scribbling inside could live up to the promise of the beautiful sentiment and calligraphy on that gold and copper foil framed preface.
One of the later stops on the tour was an old mud brick residence converted to a museum of a typical historical Timbuktu home. As often seems to happen during the discussion of African cultural mores during a tour, the subject of multiple wives was broached, as it is permissible to have up to four wives under local law. The discussion offered me an opportunity to recall (yet again) a discussion we had with a N'debele tour guide by the name of Maliki in the Matobo Hills 12 years before. The net of that conversation was what we came to call Maliki's Law - "One wife - many problems. Two wives - no problems." Upon hearing this Mohamed smiled and said "Ah - but there is the Tuareg view.... " Whereupon he quoted a desert proverb which will henceforth be known as
Mohamed's Dissent to Maliki's Law.
"One wife, - one problem. Two wives - two problems. Three wives - three problems. Four wives - No life."
I was up early, but Wes was determined to be the first at the breakfast table, and I dutifully document this rare sighting. After breakfast, we break camp and get back in the boat. I start lobbying Paul to help me find a line and hook in one of the villages, so I can troll behind the Pinasse. The boat captain is dubious, we never get a line, and I miss the opportunity to fish the Niger. [Note to Self: Popeil's pocket fisherman for all future trips.]
Earlier in the tour, Wes picked up the game of Mancala, comprised of six bowls cut out of each side of a wood board, with four beans in each cup.
It is a count and capture game with many variations, and has been called the national game of Africa. Paul introduces us first to the game of "Fives" then to the more sophisticated game of "Two and Threes" and I am soundly thrashed by Paul in an exhibition match.
Wes and I decide to team up and between us, with much plotting, scheming and consultation, manage to beat Paul. He did not take the loss well. Taking advantage of his multi-lingual skills, he curses in German throughout the entire game.
The cruise ends as we pull in to Niafounke. The Land Cruisers are there, and bags and trucks meet us at a nearby hotel. The itinerary actually calls for this to be a night of camping. Paul tried to keep expectations low by calling this "hotel camping", but there was no way to prepare us for how truly grim and depressing the roach infested rooms actually were. No one wanted to stay in their room any longer than necessary. We soon congregated in the courtyard and broke into the liquor supplies. While we wiled away the afternoon, a band set up in front of us for our evening entertainment.
Paul introduces us to Bouj - TransAfrica's man-on-the-ground in Timbuktu, and our desert guide for the next three days. The importance of the Sahara guide is a topic in Marcus Villier's book Timbuktu:
"The deep knowledge of the desert is a tradition that goes back into ancient times. Ibn Battuta commented on this matter of Saharan guides 'A guide there is someone who has frequented it repeatedly and has keen intelligence. A strange thing that I saw, is that our guide was blind in one eye, and diseased in the other, but he knew the route better than anyone else.' The French explorer Rene Caillie had written in his journal in 1824 'Though without a compass, or any instrument of observation they possessed so completely the habit of noticing the most intimate things, that they never go astray, though they have no path traced out for them, and though the wind in an instant completely covers with sand and obliterates the tracks of the camels. ' ... Caravans small or large, were organized under the leadership of an experienced desert guide called a khabir. The khabir had full authority over the caravan, and could order its route and the timing of marches. He was also responsible for its well-being and liable for accidents and losses it might suffer... He could also, if he was unscrupulous, sell out the entire caravan to Tuareg raiders." - from Timbuktu by Marq De Villiers & Sheila Hirtle
Bouj is our khabir for the next three days in the desert.
Dinner was chicken and rice, which I found to be tasty, if a bit lean and tough. Others found it inedible. Everyone liked the peli-peri, and we purchased a bottle to take home.
The band was fun and loud. Electric guitar, bass guitar, casaba percussion and a chewed up drum set with cymbals that looked like they had been used to chop wood. The musicians were young - just kids really - but they played with real musicianship, earnest enthusiasm, and soon attracted an audience from around the neighborhood. I'd describe the sound as a rock and rap inspired fusion with West African sounds. One song sounded particularly familiar, but I could not quite identify it. Then it hit me. Lynyrd Syknyrd's "Simple Kind of Man". Really. No shit. Lynyrd Skynyrd. We were listening to a young Mali band playing a 1973 Southern Rock hit on the banks of the Niger River in Niafounke, Mali in 2007.
At this point of the trip, I suspected that my travel companions were getting a bit annoyed at the video camera that seems to be surgically attached to my right hand, so I thought I would give it a break and leave the camera in the room. But as I sat there in an advanced state of cultural cognitive dissonance listening to the Mali band play a tune from my college days, Mark turns, looks over at me and says "You have to record this." I run into the room and manage to get the last bit of "Simple Man" on tape.
Looking at the lyrics with a fresh eye, I can see where this song might strike a responsive chord in a struggling garage band trying to make it in a poor African fishing village.
Simple Man - Lynyrd Skynyrd Mama told me when I was young Come sit beside me, my only son And listen closely to what I say. And if you do this It will help you some sunny day. Take your time... don't live too fast, Troubles will come and they will pass. Go find a woman and you'll find love, And don't forget son, There is someone up above.
And be a simple kind of man. Be something you love and understand. Be a simple kind of man. Won't you do this for me son, If you can?
Forget your lust for the rich mans gold All that you need is in your soul, And you can do this if you try. All that I want for you my son, Is to be satisfied.
Boy, don't you worry... you'll find yourself. Follow you heart and nothing else. And you can do this if you try. All I want for you my son, Is to be satisfied.
[Note to Reader: Not sure how the tape turned out, as the video camera is now inoperable from the windblown Sahara sand, but when I get the camera fixed or replaced I will update this post with the tape if it is listenable.]
UPDATE: 12/07/2008 I finally got around to it. The tape did not have enough of "Simple Man" to make it worth uploading. OTOH - I really liked this song. Wish I knew what it was and the name of the band.
I only heard them once, in the courtyard of that crappy hotel in Niafounke'. I recorded a couple of songs from my camcorder, balanced on a glass serving as tripod on our table. During a break, I asked the lead singer the name of the band and if they had any CD's. Language got in the way, but the next morning one of the guys from the band showed up with a cassette tape. This is what is written on the tape:
Abdoulaye Cisse' (Guitar) Rec. at Niafounke' 2.01.07 prise de Son- mixage - mastering Yoan Jaunequo
That's the best I can do for credit. I'd be interested if anyone recognizes the song or knows the name of the band.
Our new hotel is the OK Inn Ouagadougou. A nice hotel but quite a bit less luxurious than the Sofitel in Dakar. Nice pool and grounds, clean room, good water, air conditioning, excellent food in the restaurant. It reminds me of the Menominee Howard Johnson, except for the food part. The hotel is located at the end of a long truck park off of the main drag. Many trucks stop here.
Ok Inn Pool
We visited a government sponsored, Artisan Village Sunday Morning. Picked up a hand crafted recycled paper journal for the sans-internet portion of the tour.
At dinner we met our guide “Paul” and tour companions for the the Mountain Sobek overland Mali tour. Paul is an interesting character, from the Togo tribe and having done post graduate work on the oral tradition parables of the animinst Ewe tribe. We understand his work is a reference. Big smile, very self assured and friendly. Interesting group too: Ten in all.- A potter, a lawyer, a dentist, a producer, a banker –all Americans, half Californians, all adventure travelers. There is no internet availability in the room, but a WiFi access point in the lobby. Internet access is charged by the minute, so we are creating journal entries off-line, in the hope that we will indeed be able to connect later and update everyone. If you are reading this, it worked. It will also likely be the last of our internet connections until Timbuktu. It looks like a great trip, and we start in the morning early. See you in Timbuktu.
The Khan Market is an easy walk from the hotel. The concierge cautioned us that the "touts" would tell us that the market is closed. It was a useful warning. All along the walk we had jitney drivers and pedestrians greet us, pace us, and offer advice. "The Khan market is closed. It is a holiday, they are closed today." "They only have restaurants open, I will take you a real Indian bazaar." "You are staying at the hotel? I work at the hotel! The Khan market is closed today. I will show you a better market." The closer we got to the market, the more strident they became -"You must turn here! Not that way! This way! The market is this way!" Unsurprisingly, we later learned they are paid a commission for bringing tourists to the non-Kahn Market shops.
We stayed the course and made it to the market. The market was not closed.
Sigrid purchased a pashmina from OCM Suitings and I picked up a blank book made of handmade paper with an enameled cover from Handpaper World. It is a cool store. Even the receipt was printed on handmade paper and the shopping bag was fashioned from recycled newspaper. I'll use it to keep a trip journal as I have in other travel adventures(while the the intertube is available at our current hotel - we won't have it for many parts of the trip).
