Thanksgiving Weekend Trip to Kairouan, El Jem
This Thanksgiving weekend, I journeyed to central Tunisia. Thanks to the generosity of one of the school parents in the hotel businesses, we were able to stay at the 5-star Hotel Amir Palace in Monastir with our meals being our only cost. What a deal! With less than a two and a half our drive, we were in the area that the guidebook called “central Tunisia.”
Once again back in the countryside, undulating hills exchanged places with flat plains. Olive tree groves dotted the landscape, providing green color over the plowed fields and up the steep hills. Shepherds tended flocks of sheep, sometimes with only a few and other times having to manage large flocks – precariously close to the busy toll road. As we neared villages, more trucks were seen hauling veggies and fresh oranges to markets or produce stands. Whether on foot, bicycle, or motorbike, many carefully balanced purchased produce, likely for consumption in the meal after dusk.
Nabeul
As shopping was one of our goals on the trip, our first stop was at Nabeul, a village known for its pottery. I had seen some of the colorful plates and other wares in Sousse and other medinas and hoped that the prices and selection would be more attractive at the source. Lining the main shopping street were tiny shops selling goods catering to tourists: cheap stiff stuffed camels, T-shirts, leather goods, and pottery – to name a few. Vendors attempted to guess your ethnicity, hoping that any conversation would lead to entry into the store and an overpriced purchase. After some negotiation, I finally did buy a few bowls of varying sizes, each with hand-painted blue designs that reminded me somewhat of a kaleidoscope. Hungry, we decided to stop for a quick bite at one of the few places that seemed to be serving food during Ramadan. After that, we headed south towards Monastir.
Monastir – the Emir Palace Hotel
The tourism industry has given Monastir, once a sleepy fishing village, a different look. Large hotel complexes catering to the package tourists (especially Germans) line the beaches at an increasing rate. Exploring Monastir’s unique sights would not take that long, so we decided instead to use the city of 40,000 merely as our base for day trips. Situated about 4 km outside of the city center, our hotel was among the many along that strip. Opening the doors of the all-white building, I noticed that the signs were written in several languages, with German being on the top. In the large reception area, huge marble columns ascended three floors. Two curved marble staircases framed a central glass elevator. The painted ornate wooden ceiling was carved in Morocco, displaying a more traditional tesserae pattern. Along the tops of the high walls were magnificently carved geometric and ornamental designs in the white plaster, also a craft of Morocco. It took 20 men 1 1/2 years to complete the plaster carved designs. We were warmly received and escorted to our rooms with a seaside view. Now in the off-season, most of the 328 rooms were unoccupied. After eating a pleasant meal buffet-style, we were treated to a performance. Several women did the traditional belly dancing while three men accompanied them, two on different local drums and another in a bagpipe found in this region.
Mahdia
After a European-style breakfast, we headed off towards our first destination, the fishing village of Mahdia. The olive tree groves became more numerous and thicker, standing proudly on the rich ground. Perhaps this was one of the areas the Romans grew grains and other items for its empire. Children wearing uniforms walked alongside the road to school, chattering in Arabic as they clutched their book bags. Cows grazed in the grass, happily munching away. Sheep abounded, tended by their master. We arrived when the Friday market day was in full swing. We walked past the local market outside the medina, where food, produce, cheap plastic ware, and lots of second-hand clothes were up for sale. We entered the medina through the Skifa el-Kahla, a massive fortified gate remaining from the original Fatimid city, dating back to about 916 AD. In the narrow, dark vaulted passageway of about 50 meters, women dressed in traditional clothing were selling a variety of clothing and beautiful fabric. The bright sunlight hit us as we stepped out of the passageway and into the cobblestoned medina. Women clenched white shawls between their teeth, revealing only a partial glimpse of their bespeckled face or weathered skin. Men sat and chatted on the mosque steps or beneath the shady trees of central square. Lining the narrow streets were small shops selling jewelry, woven silk, shoes, as well as workers carrying out their trade. Local shoppers carried their goods in woven baskets, sometimes each carrying a handle. Unable to reach the fishing ports and other sites, a return visit is necessary.
El Jem
After our short stay in Mahdia, we headed west towards El Jem, site of one of the finest Roman monuments in Africa. After traveling over rather dry, flat plains, the coliseum suddenly appeared, dominating over the unremarkable town of 10,000 inhabitants. Now on the United Nation’s World Heritage List, the coliseum, built between 230 and 238 AD, is remarkably well-preserved. We were still able to climb up the 3 tiers of seating 30 m. high. Massive in size, the structure is 138 m long by 238 m high. The intense sunlight cast harsh shadows on the arched corridors and walls comprised of huge light-colored blocks. In a few places, we saw remnants of sculptures, further destroyed by graffiti. From a nearby minaret, the call to prayer echoed and filled the arena. Meandering through the levels and numerous corridors, we headed towards the side where the seating was quite intact. Warmed and relaxed by the midday sun, we ate a leisurely picnic lunch. Just think of what sights and sounds must have been witnessed here by the 30,000 capacity crowds! I then headed towards the central arena. Next, I explored the two long underground passageways used to hold animals, gladiators and others unfortunate enough to be thrust into the arena to provide entertainment for the masses. One of the underground entrances was a wide ramp, likely used to escort the captives into the shadowy passageways and impending doom or glory.
As we sat in an outdoor café enjoying fresh-squeezed orange juice, I continued to marvel at the impressive structure in front of us. It was also a great place to watch passers-by, some walking and others riding bicycles. Some of the men wore heavy brown hooded capes – much like the ones depicted in the Star Wars movies (some scenes were actually filmed in Tunisia). Berber women dressed in layers of colorful clothes, strapping their long sacks over their forehead and down their back. Walking along the unremarkable streets of modern-day El Jem, it was rather difficult to imagine that this was the site of Thysdrus and its splendid Roman villas. Visitors in the Bardo Museum now enjoy many of the magnificent mosaics that adorned the homes of this city that distributed goods between the coast and the interior. After spending some time looking in shops and bargaining for a few purchases, we drove back to Monastir for the night.
Kairouan
The next morning we headed to Kairouan, Tunisia’s holy city. It ranks behind only Mecca, Medina, and Jerusalem among Islam’s holiest cities. According to legend, when a golden goblet (mysteriously disappeared from Mecca) was picked up after being stumbled on by a horse walking in the sand, water sprang up. People believe that the water source was the same that supplied the holy well of Zem-Zem in Mecca. Kairouan’s name comes from the Arabic word qayrawan, meaning ‘military camp.’ Founded in 670 AD, Kairouan’s medina is still the heart of the city and is quite authentic and colorful. It was pleasurable exploring the multitude of narrow streets, peering in the shops and taking in the details of architecture or the traditional costumes of passers-by. Although we had locals eager to be our tour-guide, we decided to meander on our own.
The Great Mosque
Once in the walled medina, one of our first stops was the Great Mosque, dating back to the 9th century. Very plain and fortress-like on the outside, the appearance changed drastically once through the main doors. The huge marble-paved courtyard was surrounded by an arched colonnade, composed of columns salvaged from various Roman and Byzantine sites. Closed to non-Muslims, I could only catch a glimpse of the magnificent prayer hall through the opened carved cedar doors. Huge conical chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Ornamental carpets were spread over the floor. Woven mats were gathered around the bases of columns.
The Zaouia and Islamic cemetery
Moving on, we stopped at an Islamic cemetery. Whitewashed, the simple graves were unadorned, except for some calligraphic writing on a few. We then stopped in the Zaouia of Sidi Abid el’Ghariani. Recently restored, the building dates from the 14th century and contains some fine stucco and woodcarving. Thin columns and arches framed the small marble patterned courtyard. The black and white striped arches reminded me of Moorish architecture. In a small room with a beautifully wooden carved ceiling, the tomb of the Hafsid sultan Moulay Hassan who ruled from 1525-1543 was on display.
Carpet Shopping
Once again meandering through the narrow passageways, a man approached us, eager to take us to a rug shop. Once inside an upstairs room, we were encouraged to sit down and enjoy a cup of sweet mint tea as the store clerk and his assistants began unrolling rugs lining the perimeters of the room. Some of the wool rugs for which Kairouan is so famous were in the knotted style and others were woven. Prices varied by number of knots per square meter and quality of the weave – although the clerk was reluctant to begin quoting prices until he was satisfied that we had seen a sufficient number of examples. After another cup of tea and intense bargaining, the teaching couple with whom I had been traveling purchased a woven rug with traditional designs.
Typical of Saturdays in Kairouan, there was intense activity going on inside a dark, narrow souk. In heavy, heated Arabic, an exchange of dialogue and money took place between the local buyers and sellers of carpets. If only I had a supply of cash, knowledge of good prices for carpets, and the ability to speak Arabic, I too could have engaged in the process and come away with a famous Kairouan carpet. Perhaps another time…Outside the souk, a short man was busily piling rugs onto his donkey cart, no doubt to be sold elsewhere for larger sums. Soon the pile rose higher than the man.
Traditional market
With the rains from the previous evening, the heavily traveled street of the main market quickly turned into mud. Trucks and donkey carts quickly unloaded their goods, including veggies, fruit, bread, eggs, and other items. Clothes, electronics, plastics, Pokémon items and other cheap plastic toy trinkets were also displayed. An old man was particularly enthralled by the rotating blades of a toy helicopter, unconcerned that one of the blades was broken. More men and women were wearing traditional clothing. Some of the Berber women’s faces and hands were tattooed with traditional Berber symbols. Many drove on motorbikes while others rode on donkey-pulled carts. At times, three people crammed on to a bicycle. Amazingly, even a small girl sleeping managed to hold on as the bike was pedaled forward. Around noon, we had a quick snack of local bread. Coarse and grainy, the flat bread didn’t seem to be composed of any flour or yeast. As we were sitting on a doorstep eating the bread, a few young boys came up to us, rather curious and eager for their photo to be taken.
Medina walk
As in other more traditional medinas, the Kairouan medina is divided into souks. For example, one souk would be devoted to perfumes, where one could purchase jasmine extract, locally made versions of Chanel and beautiful glass perfume bottles. Another souk dealt with fabric, where one could buy the fabric, buttons in another shop, and tailors in still another. Other souks were devoted to creating and repairing shoes, weaving, carpentry, and more.
Common to many medinas, the streets in Kairouan were very narrow. Some of the streets contained arched upper dwellings that joined the buildings at both sides. Many of the doors were painted in various tints of bright blue, apparently believed to ward off mosquitoes. The hand of Fatima was a common component of many doors, believed to bring good luck. For homes of one family, one hand would be on the door; for two families, two hands would proudly be displayed. Barbershops were busy, giving customers an extra close shave in the old-fashioned chair. While on our walk, we went past the Mosque of the 3 Doors. Built in 866, the main attraction of the mosque is the elaborate façade. The mosque’s three arched doorways are topped by three friezes of kufic (early Arabic) script interspersed with floral relief and crowned with a carved cornice.
Back to Monastir
Hungry and tired, we were ready to head back to Monastir. We passed a few abandoned industrial buildings, remnants of the French colonial times. The terrain was flat and rather sahel-like, with more scrub brush than olive groves. Flocks of sheep were scattered through out the countryside. Few villages were seen, all with simple homes. Anxious to pass slow-moving vehicles, some drivers took great risks, sometimes narrowly missing oncoming traffic. The overcast sky dominating the day’s weather began getting darker, with rain imminent. Shortly after we reached the hotel, the gentle rain began. It was a good time for a nice hot relaxing time in the Jacuzzi.
Monastir
Saturday morning was once again sunny. Prior to our departure, we decided to tour the ribat complex, regarded as Tunisia’s finest example of Islamic military architecture. It is a favorite for film directors seeking authentic Islamic architecture. Scenes from “Life of Christ” and the Monty Python movie “Life of Brian” were filmed here. Although originally built in 796 AD, the fortress has undergone numerous remodeling. Like the ribat in Sousse, there is a large central courtyard. On each corner is a tower. Slits for arrow shooting and other military defenses were visible. Assorted ramps and steps provided access to the ramparts. One hallway had arched columns, probably taken from Roman sites. Some of the rooms were quite dark and small, while others were of modest size. Navigating through the place, we found the stairs leading up the circular nador (watch tower), part of the original building. Climbing the narrow stairs, we were treated to a great view (but very windy) of the surrounding area. The nearby port, fishing boats, and beaches were seen off one side. Directly ahead was the Bourgiba family Masoleum capped in a gold dome, our other destination.
Thanking the friendly staff and complementing them on the well-preserved nature of the ribat, we headed down the ornamental brick path to the Bourgiba mausoleum where the body of Tunisia’s first president lies in state. Friendly uniformed men guarded the entrances. Hearing that we were from the US, they began to recite in halted English the political leaders of the US, including Bush, Cheney, and Powell. The inside was quite opulent, including huge marble pillars from Portugal. In one room, photos, clothing, documents and personal items, and a pen from Ronald Reagan were displayed. Judging from the splendor of the place and the presence of a street named after Habib Bourgiba in nearly every town I’ve visited, it was quite apparent how beloved this visionary leader was.
Back at the hotel, we had a simple lunch of crackers and fresh fruit. After thanking the hotel staff for their hospitality, we headed back to Tunis, satisfied with our purchases and sights.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Sights of Sicily - 2003
Sights of Sicily
For our spring break, another teacher and I chose to spend our time touring the nearby island of Sicily. The direct 1 1/2 hour flight brought us to the seaside airport outside of capitol city of Palermo. Renting a car, we drove to the Bed&Breakfast we had reserved over the internet and via email. After Gabriella, the B&B owner, opened the large iron gate, we carried our luggage through the large cobblestone with huge trees and into the renovated castle. Inside, the rooms were cozy, filled with antique furniture and magazines, mostly of Gabriella’s passion – gardening. Our room overlooked her large garden, still waiting for its glory in later spring and summer.
Palermo
A route planned by Gabriella, we followed the map to downtown Palermo. Despite the lack of road signs, we reached downtown and found a place to park outside the main central area. Conscious of the limited time we had before nightfall, we decided to concentrate on a particular area. After being in a Moslem country, it was pleasant to see so many churches and cathedrals, many with Norman influences. Hearing the bells toll the hour was indeed a pleasant sound I missed. In the same neighborhood with the beautiful old cathedrals, we saw many buildings that were run-down, crumbling, or bombed. It made me think of how Palermo and other European cities must have looked after the bombings of WWII. As darkness descended, navigating by landmarks was more difficult. The worn cobblestone streets shined in the luminescence of the street lights, giving it the glazed appearance of icy sidewalks. After eating at a well-known restaurant right across from the St. Francisican church, we headed back to the car and made our way back to the old castle awaiting us.
The next afternoon, we ventured back to Palermo on the way back from Monreale. Unfortunately, we arrived during the Sicilian lunch break, so nothing was open until 3:30pm. Sitting at a small café overlooking the main cathedral, we enjoyed the views and the warmth of the sun as we ate our ice cream. The cathedral was indeed beautiful, but didn’t in my opinion come close to the splendor of the one in Monreale. The streets were often narrow and very crowded. The tiny “Smart Cars” were definitely at an advantage here, but even so, the double-parked cars made maneuvering around the city challenging. Gabriella had made reservations for us to a restaurant she highly recommended, but again lack of signs made even this a challenge. On the spot she had indicated on the map for us, we found no signs for a restaurant. We stopped at a hotel, and they told us that it was just meters away in the direction we had walked from. Still not finding it, we walked into a bookstore which seemed to be about the right location. After checking our email at the local cybercafe, we read for a while, waiting for the time of our reservation. Tucked away up some stairs of the old building was a restaurant with no signs – presumably that way so it remained a place for locals. Here, we had good food (including seafood) and some of the best dessert on the trip.
Monreale
One of the highlights of the trip for me was the town of Monreale. Although tourists do come and visit its spectacular cathedral and cloisters, the town had a sense of authenticity – full of local people greeting friends and carrying on their daily lives. After “touring” the town trying to find a parking spot on those narrow streets, we finally made our way to the cathedral piazza. A masterpiece incorporating Norman, Arabic, Byzantine and classical elements, the cathedral is a site not to be missed. Along the sides of the interior, Biblical events were presented in a more Byzantine style - entirely of gilded mosaics! In the front of the cathedral the central apse was dominated by a chest-up figure of Christ giving the benediction, also (as were the figures below) beautifully executed in mosaics. It’s especially amazing when one hears that all the mosaics were completed in 10 years!
After touring the cathedral, we went next door to the cloisters, were we were treated to some of the most beautiful columns I have seen. Here, there are 228 columns with polychrome ornamentation, some having the same shiny gold color seen in the cathedral mosaics. As an added bonus to the beauty of the columns, each of the Romanesque capitals is different, some depicting animals, plants, and other fantastic motifs. At one end was a fountain, also adorned in mosaics. Because there was a crew with its equipment trying to film, freedom of movement wasn’t quite as plentiful, but I thought of what a treat it must have been to walk the cloisters every day, each time seeing something different and inspiring.
Segesta
Leaving Mondello the next morning, we headed westward towards our first destination, the Greek ruins in Segesta. Judging from the distance on the map, I thought it would take longer, but the destination was only a short drive due to the good autostrada and the manageable size of the island. Here, green hills dominated the countryside landscape, accentuated by flowing fields of wild yellow flowers, essentially some of the same types we have in Tunisia. The Doric temple from about 430 BC was in a remarkable state of preservation, except for the absence of a roof. Through the plain columns, one could see quite a distance, distracted only by a few tour groups. After a snack at the shop, I walked up the mountain to see the theatre (cut in stone) with commanding views. Much smaller than the theatre in Dougga, Tunisia, I was a little disappointed in its scale but was treated to a great panorama of the area. Hiking back down the mountain, I once again caught sight of the temple, dominated by the sea of flowers, clothed in colors of yellow, purple, white, and orange.
Erice
Moving onward, we headed towards the medieval hill-town off Erice. The view going up the mountain was spectacular, but the narrow windy road prevented us from stopping to enjoy the view of the sea below. Remembering our difficulty finding parking in Monreale, we parked at one of the first lots we saw. The streets were narrow in the characteristic medieval fashion (some barely wide enough for one car – we would have to step in a doorway to let the car pass by), and I was fascinated by the pattern created with the cobblestones, also worn smooth over the years. Hungry, we wandered the streets looking for an open restaurant, eating a tasty meal of fried squid and pasta.
Satisfied with our meal, we headed towards the castle. Fog suddenly rolled in. Within a few minutes, we couldn’t even see the castle right in front of us! Capturing a view of the sea below was also impossible. Clumped between stone slabs were purple flowers we hadn’t seen before. The castle, essentially a ruin, had moss growing over its walls, with the fog accentuating a sense of ancient mystery.
Trampani
Eager to make it down the mountain to Trampani for the evening, we descended in the fog. Although I found the hotels recommended in the guidebook, there was no place to park in this historical section. After driving around some more, we settled on a 2 star hotel right on the sea. Along with some bicycle racers, we were the only people in the hotel.
Route to Piazza Armerina
After a good breakfast, we headed eastward though central Sicily, determined to make it as close as we could to our next destination, the Roman Villa near Piazza Armerina. Once again in an agricultural area, we encountered sights that would become familiar to us – old stone homes and buildings dotting the green hills and mountains, and herds of sheep. Sometimes the sheep were crossing the road, with their bells tied to their necks sounding their every move. Other times, we saw them at a distance, looking like “moving stones” on the lush hills. True to character, the narrow windy roads had few signs, providing little assurance that the last turn was the correct one. Along the way, we passed by some tractors, a few motorists, and some brave bicyclists. Clouds began to hug the mountains, threatening inclement weather.
Hungry, we reached the town of Caltanissetta. Shortly after we entered the “R” patisserie, it began to rain and hail. The owner and his family were very friendly, fondly recalling their recent trip to the US. Following his recommendations, we ate some local specialities and then each had a cannolicchi all ricotta – a sweet but tasty dessert filled with ricotta and dusted with cinnamon, ground hazelnuts and almonds. Due to the cool, unpredictable weather, we decided to check into the hotel a short drive from the Roman Villa and spend the time lounging with a book.
Vila Romana del Casale
The next morning, we started our adventure by touring the Roman villa, property of a Roman dignitary of some standing and wealth. The sheer size of the 4th century villa was impressive, but its mosaics (enclosed with a protective structure) were in a remarkable state of preservation, most likely due to the mud under which it had been buried and only recently excavated in 1950. Unlike in Tunisia where one could walk right over the ancient mosaics, this site had the mosaics cordioned off with ropes and elevated walkways. A long corridor contained a highly detailed hunting scene, considered to be one of the finest mosaics ever found. After touring many rooms with mosaics of different themes, we finally came to the famed mosaics of girls sporting bikinis, demonstrating their athletic abilities! Over 50 rooms were labeled, with many others unlabeled and still other sections remaining buried under mud. An impressive site indeed!
Enna
Satisfied that we had now seen the “bikini girls” mosaic and others of higher quality, we pushed onward, taking a lunch break at Enna, another medieval city high on a hill, with the newer parts down below. Spotting the castle, it took a walk around the entire perimeter to find the entrance. Once inside, there wasn’t much left to see. Near the castle, we found a restaurant with a friendly waiter. Here, I had ravioli with shrimp and a cream sauce.
Route to Taorima
The ride to Taorima was beautiful – full of curvy roads, up and down through medieval towns, and past small country stone homes. Some larger villas were perched on the hilltops or settled along the side of hills. Often unable to stop due to the narrow curvy roads, we commented on the villas, speculating on how beautiful they could be if restored. Sheep and cows with bells lazily crossed the road. Along the way, I took a few photos of Mt. Etna, appearing ever closer. Instead of intersection signs providing some guidance, they were confusing, sometimes posting in the same direction cities on opposite parts of the island! Or, others had the same town on signs pointing in two different directions, with no indication of which path was better or more direct. Nearing dusk, we found the interstate, taking us to the seaside touristy village of Taorima. In absence of seeing signs in the now dark environment, we drove too far up the hill when we realized we were in another town. Driving back down, we tried to find some of the recommended hotels without success – I couldn’t even orient myself! We finally found a hotel, run by an older kindly man. Showing him the map of Taorima in the guidebook, I asked him if he could indicate where exactly we were. Smiling, he said we were in Giardini-Naxos – we went down too far! Right by the sea (and unfortunately the view hindered by an Esso gas station), we slept with the sounds of waves rolling in to the shore. The next morning, I was awaken by the sunrise streaming light through the balcony window, providing me the opportunity to take a few sunrise photos overlooking the sea.
Giardina-Naxos and Taorima
After a slightly more substantial breakfast, we walked over to the nearby information office to check on possible tours up Mt. Etna. Unfortunately, most start in April. They also said that there were no cable cars up one section – a fact confirmed by the hotel owner, indicating that it was “kaput,” destroyed in the last eruption. Hoping to find a hotel right by the water in a more quiet area, we walked along sea past the docked small fishing boats in the direction of several hotels. Along the way, we stopped by a few shops, including one selling higher quality pieces. Here, Andrea spotted some nicely-done lemon and fruit paintings on canvas and on terra-cotta plates. In fact, she really liked them. We went in a few more places, containing pieces that weren’t nearly of the same quality. Man, shopping is fun – even if you don’t buy anything! Right on the sea we found the 1 star hotel recommended by the information office. Satisfied, we decided to make the hotel our base for two days. As we walked out, I noticed a keychain in the lock in the shape of the hand of Fatima. Commenting on it, the manager’s face brightened as he told us that he was Tunisian! Whether or not it made a difference, we got great service there after that.
We then walked back towards the hotel and the paintings that were calling Andrea’s name. People strolled along, with parents playing with their children on the playgrounds. After a lengthy debate, Andrea bought the painting – and the ceramic plate. We also bought a colorful hand-painted plate for school, knowing that the cafeteria manager would be delighted to hang it as part of her collection on the cafeteria wall.
After a lunch of mussles and clams with spaghetti in a small restaurant near the hotel, we drove up to Taorima and strolled along. Here, tourist shops lined the main street. Some were filled with antiques or ceramic wares, while others contained cheap souvenirs. With Andrea’s shopping out of the way, we focused on finding a doll representative of Sicily to add to my collection. Unfortunately, we found none of decent quality. On the main piazza, men sat on the church steps and chatted away. Contemplating the great hillside view of the sea below, people silently ate ice cream. Vendors tried to sell cheap trinkets, including inflatable Tellitubbies and other figures as well as obnoxious mewing toy cats. When we reached our rental car, we were dismayed to find a parking ticket – we had unknowingly parked in a spot reserved for local people only! ☹
Back at our one star hotel, I paused to take a picture of nearby Mt. Etna, with even its smoke cast in the pink of the sunset. With our patio door open all day, the room was now rather cold – with no heater to be found! That night it was rather cold sleeping. In the morning, the balcony provided welcome warmth, enhanced by the sounds of the water rushing and pooling against the dark volcanic rocks. In the distance, boats headed towards the sun. That morning, we had our best breakfast of the entire trip. Once again, the manager was very friendly and accommodating. Asked how our sleep was, I commented that I enjoyed hearing the ocean but was a bit cold. Horrified, the manager apologized and said he would ensure that extra blankets and a portable heater would be brought up promptly.
Mt. Etna and the Circumetna Route
Inspired by the clear, blue sky, we promptly headed towards the smoking giant of Mt. Etna. As we neared the volcano, we passed through several towns, all dirtied with a film of ash/dust. Produce vendors hauling their fresh goods in the bed of their 3-wheel trucks announced their appearance with loudspeakers. In one town, an entrepreneurial man even sold clothing from the back of his truck! Along the sides of the road, the same black soot piled up, much like snow.
The ascent was not as steep as other routes we had taken in recent days. Petrified lava flow, including some areas with small trees/bushes growing began appearing. Off to one side, forests of trees stood still in their sleepy leafless state of early spring, clearly demarking the location where the lava flow boundary ended. Other areas had little or no plant life, likely indicating site of a more recent flow. Melting white snow contrasted against the charcoal black lava. The road abruptly ended near Rifugio Sapienza with the lava flow from the 2001 eruption. As we had been told, the cable car service was not in service, also victim to the furies of the eruption.
Parking near the tourist shop, we walked up the snowy mound to the crater formed in the 1986 eruption. Varying mounds of black contrasted with the white patches of snow. Teenagers on a class trip resumed activities of younger years, picking up snowballs and throwing them at classmates.
After a short while, we got back in the car and went down the volcano by another route, circumnavigating Etna. Seeing a sign for pistachios, we stopped into the small roadside store. Although there were no pistachios this time of the year, the man did have some local specialties including pistachio pesto. Hungry, we stopped in the town of Randazzo in search of some restaurants. Hampered by construction and lack of signs, we were unable to quickly locate the places recommended in the guidebooks. Walking past a grocery store, we asked a lady for the location of a good restaurant to eat. After looking and thinking a moment, she decided that it would be too difficult to explain how to get there, so she offered to give us a lift. The generous woman dropped us off at the restaurant we had been searching for! Indeed, the long noodles with mushrooms and butter were very tasty.
After making good time traveling through the small towns, we decided to visit the gorge the information center had recommended. Suddenly we saw a sign that said panoramic view. Was this it? Several steep and sharp turns later, we realized that this probably wasn’t the right route – and even if it was, we didn’t care to go there. Unfortunately, there was no place to turn around. So, we had to make the best of the situation, closely watching the road while at the same time capturing glimpses of the beautiful terraced fields, trees, and orchards. Old small homes dotted the hillside, many constructed out of volcanic rock. Ahead of us on the road was a man with some cows and a few sheep. Smiling but looking a bit perplexed as to why tourists would be up this way, he herded his animals off to the side and motioned us to drive forward – except his dog contentedly sat right in our path seemingly unconcerned! Finally the valleys became closer. Essentially deciding that we were not slated to discover the site of the gorge, we drove onward towards our seaside hotel. There in front of us was a sign pointing to the gorge! Due to high rainfall and consequential high water levels, a large portion of the walk was unavailable. The river view was pretty, but nothing that different from many I have seen in northern Wisconsin. A short distance later, we saw some unusual rocks whose thinly terraced vertical or horizontal formations must have been created by a great force.
Giardini to Stefano
After eating another pleasant breakfast, we grudgingly packed our belongings and left our little one star hotel, heading to the coastal area on the way to Palermo. Along the way, we passed by more villas in varying states of disrepair. Lemon and citrus groves looked even brighter against the blue sky. Along the windy roads, we also passed by numerous vineyards. Although unmarked by signs indicating which was the main route to Stefano, we soon realized that the increasingly windy narrow steep road was not the route we had wanted, instead creating a slight diversion through the Parc Nebrodi. In one area, the road was so narrow that a stoplight was installed, permitting safe travel in one direction while the cars at the opposite end waited their turn. As we waited for our turn, the birds happily serenaded us, filling the wildflower-covered steep hill with music.
With the delay of the “scenic route,” we arrived in Stefano a little later than anticipated. Many stores in this town noted for its ceramics production had already closed down for lunch. Unfortunately, most were still closed even after we finished our lunch. We chose a café with outdoor seating in hopes of soaking up some of the pleasant sunrays. Although the food was rather unremarkable, we will remember the café for its bathroom – the lights in the bathroom were on a very short timer, plundering the small room in total darkness if you weren’t quick enough!
Cefalù
Moving onward, we reached the coastal city of Cefalù, once a quiet fishing with a medieval center and now the premier tourist destination along the Tyrrhenian coast. We spotted what looked like a hotel, but found it challenging to reach it due to the multitude of one-way and dead-end streets – only to find out that it was closed for the day due to major cleaning! We found a second hotel farther away from the center, but since it had available parking, we decided to take it. This two star hotel lacked the charm of our previous one. Hoping that the open window would air out the lingering smoky smell in the room, we decided to leave and head towards the medieval center on foot. The steep streets finally took us to the cobblestoned narrow streets with shops and other touristy things. We went inside the cathedral to see the mosaics touted in the guidebook to be some of the most beautiful in Sicily, but were disappointed to find the stark walls of restoration. After an “early” supper of tasty gnocci around 6:45, we once again meandered the old streets, peering into some stores.
Cuccamo
The guidebook led us to the high town of Cuccamo, a popular day trip out of Termini Imerese. Walking towards the Norman castle, we passed through the medieval residential section of the city, complete with narrow cobblestone arched alleys and steep paths aided by stairs. Finally I walked up the stony cobbled path up to the courtyard of the well-preserved castle. Vines and grasses grew up one wall. Even up here I could still hear the veggie seller, announcing with a microphone as he drove through the narrow old streets. Entering the main building, I was disappointed to see that the interior was remodeled and even had a conference room. Hoping that some areas would be unspoiled by the remodeling, I instead found many closed doors or areas blocked off. A strange collection of latrines and washbasins were on display in a few rooms. Another contained a display of art prints of drawings of the old city. Outside once again, I looked over the lower castle walls and viewed the man-made lake and rolling green hills.
Termini Imerese
Going through the new, more industrial part off Termini, we reached the old higher section and found a good parking spot near the Piazza del Duomo. Unfortunately, the cathedral was not open. In the piazza, people happily ate ice cream, chatting amongst themselves or on cell phones. Walking a little further, I stopped by the overlook displaying panoramic views of the sea and industry below. Ferries docked along the port. Large industrial plants marred the seaside. The city seemed to be in a state of decline, probably due to the widespread unemployment caused by closure of several plants. Walking along, I headed towards the tree-lined public garden known as Villa Palmieri. Along one side of the pretty cobblestoned main path were some faint remains of a Roman amphitheatre.
Back to Palermo and Mondello
Once on the autoroute, it didn’t take long for us to get back to the congested busy streets of Palermo. Finding a pleasant-looking Mondello restaurant with outdoor seating, we happily sampled a tasty meal of fresh seafood. Along the street, darker-skinned men peddled cheap sunglasses, incense and miscellaneous items. Several video game and pool halls catered to the younger crowds. Minutes away, we reached the B&B we stayed at for the first two nights of our trip. A short distance away from the airport, this we felt would be a good location for the last night as well. That evening we drove for the last time to downtown Palermo, There, Andrea found a needed luggage item, had her hair done, and then we ate a smaller meal at a patisserie. Back again at the renovated castle, we spent the night and got up a little earlier to make it to the airport and gas up the rental car. Our sight-filled trip was now over.
For our spring break, another teacher and I chose to spend our time touring the nearby island of Sicily. The direct 1 1/2 hour flight brought us to the seaside airport outside of capitol city of Palermo. Renting a car, we drove to the Bed&Breakfast we had reserved over the internet and via email. After Gabriella, the B&B owner, opened the large iron gate, we carried our luggage through the large cobblestone with huge trees and into the renovated castle. Inside, the rooms were cozy, filled with antique furniture and magazines, mostly of Gabriella’s passion – gardening. Our room overlooked her large garden, still waiting for its glory in later spring and summer.
Palermo
A route planned by Gabriella, we followed the map to downtown Palermo. Despite the lack of road signs, we reached downtown and found a place to park outside the main central area. Conscious of the limited time we had before nightfall, we decided to concentrate on a particular area. After being in a Moslem country, it was pleasant to see so many churches and cathedrals, many with Norman influences. Hearing the bells toll the hour was indeed a pleasant sound I missed. In the same neighborhood with the beautiful old cathedrals, we saw many buildings that were run-down, crumbling, or bombed. It made me think of how Palermo and other European cities must have looked after the bombings of WWII. As darkness descended, navigating by landmarks was more difficult. The worn cobblestone streets shined in the luminescence of the street lights, giving it the glazed appearance of icy sidewalks. After eating at a well-known restaurant right across from the St. Francisican church, we headed back to the car and made our way back to the old castle awaiting us.
The next afternoon, we ventured back to Palermo on the way back from Monreale. Unfortunately, we arrived during the Sicilian lunch break, so nothing was open until 3:30pm. Sitting at a small café overlooking the main cathedral, we enjoyed the views and the warmth of the sun as we ate our ice cream. The cathedral was indeed beautiful, but didn’t in my opinion come close to the splendor of the one in Monreale. The streets were often narrow and very crowded. The tiny “Smart Cars” were definitely at an advantage here, but even so, the double-parked cars made maneuvering around the city challenging. Gabriella had made reservations for us to a restaurant she highly recommended, but again lack of signs made even this a challenge. On the spot she had indicated on the map for us, we found no signs for a restaurant. We stopped at a hotel, and they told us that it was just meters away in the direction we had walked from. Still not finding it, we walked into a bookstore which seemed to be about the right location. After checking our email at the local cybercafe, we read for a while, waiting for the time of our reservation. Tucked away up some stairs of the old building was a restaurant with no signs – presumably that way so it remained a place for locals. Here, we had good food (including seafood) and some of the best dessert on the trip.
Monreale
One of the highlights of the trip for me was the town of Monreale. Although tourists do come and visit its spectacular cathedral and cloisters, the town had a sense of authenticity – full of local people greeting friends and carrying on their daily lives. After “touring” the town trying to find a parking spot on those narrow streets, we finally made our way to the cathedral piazza. A masterpiece incorporating Norman, Arabic, Byzantine and classical elements, the cathedral is a site not to be missed. Along the sides of the interior, Biblical events were presented in a more Byzantine style - entirely of gilded mosaics! In the front of the cathedral the central apse was dominated by a chest-up figure of Christ giving the benediction, also (as were the figures below) beautifully executed in mosaics. It’s especially amazing when one hears that all the mosaics were completed in 10 years!
After touring the cathedral, we went next door to the cloisters, were we were treated to some of the most beautiful columns I have seen. Here, there are 228 columns with polychrome ornamentation, some having the same shiny gold color seen in the cathedral mosaics. As an added bonus to the beauty of the columns, each of the Romanesque capitals is different, some depicting animals, plants, and other fantastic motifs. At one end was a fountain, also adorned in mosaics. Because there was a crew with its equipment trying to film, freedom of movement wasn’t quite as plentiful, but I thought of what a treat it must have been to walk the cloisters every day, each time seeing something different and inspiring.
Segesta
Leaving Mondello the next morning, we headed westward towards our first destination, the Greek ruins in Segesta. Judging from the distance on the map, I thought it would take longer, but the destination was only a short drive due to the good autostrada and the manageable size of the island. Here, green hills dominated the countryside landscape, accentuated by flowing fields of wild yellow flowers, essentially some of the same types we have in Tunisia. The Doric temple from about 430 BC was in a remarkable state of preservation, except for the absence of a roof. Through the plain columns, one could see quite a distance, distracted only by a few tour groups. After a snack at the shop, I walked up the mountain to see the theatre (cut in stone) with commanding views. Much smaller than the theatre in Dougga, Tunisia, I was a little disappointed in its scale but was treated to a great panorama of the area. Hiking back down the mountain, I once again caught sight of the temple, dominated by the sea of flowers, clothed in colors of yellow, purple, white, and orange.
Erice
Moving onward, we headed towards the medieval hill-town off Erice. The view going up the mountain was spectacular, but the narrow windy road prevented us from stopping to enjoy the view of the sea below. Remembering our difficulty finding parking in Monreale, we parked at one of the first lots we saw. The streets were narrow in the characteristic medieval fashion (some barely wide enough for one car – we would have to step in a doorway to let the car pass by), and I was fascinated by the pattern created with the cobblestones, also worn smooth over the years. Hungry, we wandered the streets looking for an open restaurant, eating a tasty meal of fried squid and pasta.
Satisfied with our meal, we headed towards the castle. Fog suddenly rolled in. Within a few minutes, we couldn’t even see the castle right in front of us! Capturing a view of the sea below was also impossible. Clumped between stone slabs were purple flowers we hadn’t seen before. The castle, essentially a ruin, had moss growing over its walls, with the fog accentuating a sense of ancient mystery.
Trampani
Eager to make it down the mountain to Trampani for the evening, we descended in the fog. Although I found the hotels recommended in the guidebook, there was no place to park in this historical section. After driving around some more, we settled on a 2 star hotel right on the sea. Along with some bicycle racers, we were the only people in the hotel.
Route to Piazza Armerina
After a good breakfast, we headed eastward though central Sicily, determined to make it as close as we could to our next destination, the Roman Villa near Piazza Armerina. Once again in an agricultural area, we encountered sights that would become familiar to us – old stone homes and buildings dotting the green hills and mountains, and herds of sheep. Sometimes the sheep were crossing the road, with their bells tied to their necks sounding their every move. Other times, we saw them at a distance, looking like “moving stones” on the lush hills. True to character, the narrow windy roads had few signs, providing little assurance that the last turn was the correct one. Along the way, we passed by some tractors, a few motorists, and some brave bicyclists. Clouds began to hug the mountains, threatening inclement weather.
Hungry, we reached the town of Caltanissetta. Shortly after we entered the “R” patisserie, it began to rain and hail. The owner and his family were very friendly, fondly recalling their recent trip to the US. Following his recommendations, we ate some local specialities and then each had a cannolicchi all ricotta – a sweet but tasty dessert filled with ricotta and dusted with cinnamon, ground hazelnuts and almonds. Due to the cool, unpredictable weather, we decided to check into the hotel a short drive from the Roman Villa and spend the time lounging with a book.
Vila Romana del Casale
The next morning, we started our adventure by touring the Roman villa, property of a Roman dignitary of some standing and wealth. The sheer size of the 4th century villa was impressive, but its mosaics (enclosed with a protective structure) were in a remarkable state of preservation, most likely due to the mud under which it had been buried and only recently excavated in 1950. Unlike in Tunisia where one could walk right over the ancient mosaics, this site had the mosaics cordioned off with ropes and elevated walkways. A long corridor contained a highly detailed hunting scene, considered to be one of the finest mosaics ever found. After touring many rooms with mosaics of different themes, we finally came to the famed mosaics of girls sporting bikinis, demonstrating their athletic abilities! Over 50 rooms were labeled, with many others unlabeled and still other sections remaining buried under mud. An impressive site indeed!
Enna
Satisfied that we had now seen the “bikini girls” mosaic and others of higher quality, we pushed onward, taking a lunch break at Enna, another medieval city high on a hill, with the newer parts down below. Spotting the castle, it took a walk around the entire perimeter to find the entrance. Once inside, there wasn’t much left to see. Near the castle, we found a restaurant with a friendly waiter. Here, I had ravioli with shrimp and a cream sauce.
Route to Taorima
The ride to Taorima was beautiful – full of curvy roads, up and down through medieval towns, and past small country stone homes. Some larger villas were perched on the hilltops or settled along the side of hills. Often unable to stop due to the narrow curvy roads, we commented on the villas, speculating on how beautiful they could be if restored. Sheep and cows with bells lazily crossed the road. Along the way, I took a few photos of Mt. Etna, appearing ever closer. Instead of intersection signs providing some guidance, they were confusing, sometimes posting in the same direction cities on opposite parts of the island! Or, others had the same town on signs pointing in two different directions, with no indication of which path was better or more direct. Nearing dusk, we found the interstate, taking us to the seaside touristy village of Taorima. In absence of seeing signs in the now dark environment, we drove too far up the hill when we realized we were in another town. Driving back down, we tried to find some of the recommended hotels without success – I couldn’t even orient myself! We finally found a hotel, run by an older kindly man. Showing him the map of Taorima in the guidebook, I asked him if he could indicate where exactly we were. Smiling, he said we were in Giardini-Naxos – we went down too far! Right by the sea (and unfortunately the view hindered by an Esso gas station), we slept with the sounds of waves rolling in to the shore. The next morning, I was awaken by the sunrise streaming light through the balcony window, providing me the opportunity to take a few sunrise photos overlooking the sea.
Giardina-Naxos and Taorima
After a slightly more substantial breakfast, we walked over to the nearby information office to check on possible tours up Mt. Etna. Unfortunately, most start in April. They also said that there were no cable cars up one section – a fact confirmed by the hotel owner, indicating that it was “kaput,” destroyed in the last eruption. Hoping to find a hotel right by the water in a more quiet area, we walked along sea past the docked small fishing boats in the direction of several hotels. Along the way, we stopped by a few shops, including one selling higher quality pieces. Here, Andrea spotted some nicely-done lemon and fruit paintings on canvas and on terra-cotta plates. In fact, she really liked them. We went in a few more places, containing pieces that weren’t nearly of the same quality. Man, shopping is fun – even if you don’t buy anything! Right on the sea we found the 1 star hotel recommended by the information office. Satisfied, we decided to make the hotel our base for two days. As we walked out, I noticed a keychain in the lock in the shape of the hand of Fatima. Commenting on it, the manager’s face brightened as he told us that he was Tunisian! Whether or not it made a difference, we got great service there after that.
We then walked back towards the hotel and the paintings that were calling Andrea’s name. People strolled along, with parents playing with their children on the playgrounds. After a lengthy debate, Andrea bought the painting – and the ceramic plate. We also bought a colorful hand-painted plate for school, knowing that the cafeteria manager would be delighted to hang it as part of her collection on the cafeteria wall.
After a lunch of mussles and clams with spaghetti in a small restaurant near the hotel, we drove up to Taorima and strolled along. Here, tourist shops lined the main street. Some were filled with antiques or ceramic wares, while others contained cheap souvenirs. With Andrea’s shopping out of the way, we focused on finding a doll representative of Sicily to add to my collection. Unfortunately, we found none of decent quality. On the main piazza, men sat on the church steps and chatted away. Contemplating the great hillside view of the sea below, people silently ate ice cream. Vendors tried to sell cheap trinkets, including inflatable Tellitubbies and other figures as well as obnoxious mewing toy cats. When we reached our rental car, we were dismayed to find a parking ticket – we had unknowingly parked in a spot reserved for local people only! ☹
Back at our one star hotel, I paused to take a picture of nearby Mt. Etna, with even its smoke cast in the pink of the sunset. With our patio door open all day, the room was now rather cold – with no heater to be found! That night it was rather cold sleeping. In the morning, the balcony provided welcome warmth, enhanced by the sounds of the water rushing and pooling against the dark volcanic rocks. In the distance, boats headed towards the sun. That morning, we had our best breakfast of the entire trip. Once again, the manager was very friendly and accommodating. Asked how our sleep was, I commented that I enjoyed hearing the ocean but was a bit cold. Horrified, the manager apologized and said he would ensure that extra blankets and a portable heater would be brought up promptly.
Mt. Etna and the Circumetna Route
Inspired by the clear, blue sky, we promptly headed towards the smoking giant of Mt. Etna. As we neared the volcano, we passed through several towns, all dirtied with a film of ash/dust. Produce vendors hauling their fresh goods in the bed of their 3-wheel trucks announced their appearance with loudspeakers. In one town, an entrepreneurial man even sold clothing from the back of his truck! Along the sides of the road, the same black soot piled up, much like snow.
The ascent was not as steep as other routes we had taken in recent days. Petrified lava flow, including some areas with small trees/bushes growing began appearing. Off to one side, forests of trees stood still in their sleepy leafless state of early spring, clearly demarking the location where the lava flow boundary ended. Other areas had little or no plant life, likely indicating site of a more recent flow. Melting white snow contrasted against the charcoal black lava. The road abruptly ended near Rifugio Sapienza with the lava flow from the 2001 eruption. As we had been told, the cable car service was not in service, also victim to the furies of the eruption.
Parking near the tourist shop, we walked up the snowy mound to the crater formed in the 1986 eruption. Varying mounds of black contrasted with the white patches of snow. Teenagers on a class trip resumed activities of younger years, picking up snowballs and throwing them at classmates.
After a short while, we got back in the car and went down the volcano by another route, circumnavigating Etna. Seeing a sign for pistachios, we stopped into the small roadside store. Although there were no pistachios this time of the year, the man did have some local specialties including pistachio pesto. Hungry, we stopped in the town of Randazzo in search of some restaurants. Hampered by construction and lack of signs, we were unable to quickly locate the places recommended in the guidebooks. Walking past a grocery store, we asked a lady for the location of a good restaurant to eat. After looking and thinking a moment, she decided that it would be too difficult to explain how to get there, so she offered to give us a lift. The generous woman dropped us off at the restaurant we had been searching for! Indeed, the long noodles with mushrooms and butter were very tasty.
After making good time traveling through the small towns, we decided to visit the gorge the information center had recommended. Suddenly we saw a sign that said panoramic view. Was this it? Several steep and sharp turns later, we realized that this probably wasn’t the right route – and even if it was, we didn’t care to go there. Unfortunately, there was no place to turn around. So, we had to make the best of the situation, closely watching the road while at the same time capturing glimpses of the beautiful terraced fields, trees, and orchards. Old small homes dotted the hillside, many constructed out of volcanic rock. Ahead of us on the road was a man with some cows and a few sheep. Smiling but looking a bit perplexed as to why tourists would be up this way, he herded his animals off to the side and motioned us to drive forward – except his dog contentedly sat right in our path seemingly unconcerned! Finally the valleys became closer. Essentially deciding that we were not slated to discover the site of the gorge, we drove onward towards our seaside hotel. There in front of us was a sign pointing to the gorge! Due to high rainfall and consequential high water levels, a large portion of the walk was unavailable. The river view was pretty, but nothing that different from many I have seen in northern Wisconsin. A short distance later, we saw some unusual rocks whose thinly terraced vertical or horizontal formations must have been created by a great force.
Giardini to Stefano
After eating another pleasant breakfast, we grudgingly packed our belongings and left our little one star hotel, heading to the coastal area on the way to Palermo. Along the way, we passed by more villas in varying states of disrepair. Lemon and citrus groves looked even brighter against the blue sky. Along the windy roads, we also passed by numerous vineyards. Although unmarked by signs indicating which was the main route to Stefano, we soon realized that the increasingly windy narrow steep road was not the route we had wanted, instead creating a slight diversion through the Parc Nebrodi. In one area, the road was so narrow that a stoplight was installed, permitting safe travel in one direction while the cars at the opposite end waited their turn. As we waited for our turn, the birds happily serenaded us, filling the wildflower-covered steep hill with music.
With the delay of the “scenic route,” we arrived in Stefano a little later than anticipated. Many stores in this town noted for its ceramics production had already closed down for lunch. Unfortunately, most were still closed even after we finished our lunch. We chose a café with outdoor seating in hopes of soaking up some of the pleasant sunrays. Although the food was rather unremarkable, we will remember the café for its bathroom – the lights in the bathroom were on a very short timer, plundering the small room in total darkness if you weren’t quick enough!
Cefalù
Moving onward, we reached the coastal city of Cefalù, once a quiet fishing with a medieval center and now the premier tourist destination along the Tyrrhenian coast. We spotted what looked like a hotel, but found it challenging to reach it due to the multitude of one-way and dead-end streets – only to find out that it was closed for the day due to major cleaning! We found a second hotel farther away from the center, but since it had available parking, we decided to take it. This two star hotel lacked the charm of our previous one. Hoping that the open window would air out the lingering smoky smell in the room, we decided to leave and head towards the medieval center on foot. The steep streets finally took us to the cobblestoned narrow streets with shops and other touristy things. We went inside the cathedral to see the mosaics touted in the guidebook to be some of the most beautiful in Sicily, but were disappointed to find the stark walls of restoration. After an “early” supper of tasty gnocci around 6:45, we once again meandered the old streets, peering into some stores.
Cuccamo
The guidebook led us to the high town of Cuccamo, a popular day trip out of Termini Imerese. Walking towards the Norman castle, we passed through the medieval residential section of the city, complete with narrow cobblestone arched alleys and steep paths aided by stairs. Finally I walked up the stony cobbled path up to the courtyard of the well-preserved castle. Vines and grasses grew up one wall. Even up here I could still hear the veggie seller, announcing with a microphone as he drove through the narrow old streets. Entering the main building, I was disappointed to see that the interior was remodeled and even had a conference room. Hoping that some areas would be unspoiled by the remodeling, I instead found many closed doors or areas blocked off. A strange collection of latrines and washbasins were on display in a few rooms. Another contained a display of art prints of drawings of the old city. Outside once again, I looked over the lower castle walls and viewed the man-made lake and rolling green hills.
Termini Imerese
Going through the new, more industrial part off Termini, we reached the old higher section and found a good parking spot near the Piazza del Duomo. Unfortunately, the cathedral was not open. In the piazza, people happily ate ice cream, chatting amongst themselves or on cell phones. Walking a little further, I stopped by the overlook displaying panoramic views of the sea and industry below. Ferries docked along the port. Large industrial plants marred the seaside. The city seemed to be in a state of decline, probably due to the widespread unemployment caused by closure of several plants. Walking along, I headed towards the tree-lined public garden known as Villa Palmieri. Along one side of the pretty cobblestoned main path were some faint remains of a Roman amphitheatre.
Back to Palermo and Mondello
Once on the autoroute, it didn’t take long for us to get back to the congested busy streets of Palermo. Finding a pleasant-looking Mondello restaurant with outdoor seating, we happily sampled a tasty meal of fresh seafood. Along the street, darker-skinned men peddled cheap sunglasses, incense and miscellaneous items. Several video game and pool halls catered to the younger crowds. Minutes away, we reached the B&B we stayed at for the first two nights of our trip. A short distance away from the airport, this we felt would be a good location for the last night as well. That evening we drove for the last time to downtown Palermo, There, Andrea found a needed luggage item, had her hair done, and then we ate a smaller meal at a patisserie. Back again at the renovated castle, we spent the night and got up a little earlier to make it to the airport and gas up the rental car. Our sight-filled trip was now over.
Oudna, Tunisia Adventure - Dec. 2003
December 14, 2003
Today one of the teachers asked if I wanted to go to Oudna, an ancient Roman site about 30 minutes from our house, with her. She has two large dogs that quietly rode in the back seat. It’s nice to get out of the concrete white building surroundings and out into the rolling, green countryside.
Traveling on the road that hugged the path of the Roman aqueducts that at one time carried water from the springs in Zaigouan to Carthage, we knew we were close to the site. Things were going well until we abruptly stopped at the sight before us – a storm-made river flowing over the now-impassable road. Drat! We could see the fortress (built over the Roman-age royal dwellings) high on the hill before us. After following a different road, we decided that it seemed to meander farther away from archaeology site. So, we turned around and headed back to the storm river. Grateful that I had worn sneakers and jeans, I soon wished that I had some boots. The wet, muddy ground began clinging to my shoes and weighing it down, reminding me of when we picked sweet corn early on a dew-filled summer morning for sale – the mud clung to the rubbers so thickly that I would almost lose my footwear!
Realizing that there was no place narrow enough to cross, we headed back to the road. Perhaps another tractor or large truck would be headed the same way, able to successfully navigate through the floodwaters. Sure enough, a large truck that had crossed towards us turned around offered to take us across – how nice! After thanking him, we headed across the green fields towards our destination. In the unplowed wet fields, jack-in-the-pulpits and a variety of early purple and orange wildflowers poked their way in between the dominating thistles. I hope that the wildflowers are merely a bit confused by the warm weather we had in late November, so they will instead come back in spring when Mom and Dad arrive. I am so eager to share with them Tunisia’s magnificent example of God’s glorious creation.
After passing through the entry gates, we headed to the amphitheatre, still in the process of excavation and restoration. Much smaller and in less (at least what we could see) complete state than the one in El Jem, this amphitheatre didn’t have the same impact. After that, we headed towards the groupings of short walls on the opposite side of the road, beyond a cluster of large stone blocks belonging to some Roman building. Just excavated in recent months, a large layout of what appeared to be a home was visible. Beyond one wall was the impressive well-preserved mosaic depicting daily life: hunting and farming scenes, local animals, and the dwellings of the local people. Beneath several inches of fresh rainwater, the mosaic colors were more vibrant and the details more plainly visible. I enjoyed seeing the mosaic in its natural, original environment – would archeologists choose to keep it here, or would it end up in the Bardo museum, where it could be more preserved and viewed by more visitors? A few rooms down, a larger mosaic of people in Roman-style clothing commanded attention, framed in a rectangle and surrounded by cherubs attending the grapes on the meandering vines. A short distance away, another dwelling had been excavated, revealing more fully the semi-circular mosaic of a fishing scene on the wall of the private bath.
Moving onward, we headed towards the huge sections of a structure perched on a hill, obviously moved from their original horizontal position to near vertical ones by some significant force. Later, we found out from a local young man that the structure had been an unfortunate recipient of a bomb during WWII. While the upper structure was now unrecognizable, the lower portion was incredibly well preserved. Further darkened by the windows and alternate entrances that had filled in, the underground area was quite dark. Next time we will have to bring a flashlight to explore further. What had the structure and its underground area been used for? Close-by, we came across another site that had narrow wooden stairs leading sharply down into a lower area. The configuration of the vaulted arches reminded me of the Antonine Baths in Carthage. The young Tunisian man who was eager to practice speaking English confirmed our presumptions. Of course, he could also speak Arabic, French, Italian, some German and even Chinese. To think that most Americans are only able to speak their native language!
As we followed the narrow path towards the fortress on top of the Roman building, the recent waters washed up fragments of pottery, marble, and mosaic pieces. The closer we got to the excavated sites, the larger the pieces of marble became- various shades of grey, white, orange and peach. Before we saw the structure our young guide described as a palace, he was eager to show us more mostly-underground structures that he said were once used to hold prisoners. Although he was unsure of the structures’ original purposes, they reminded me of the cisterns just a few minutes walk from my house. So close to the aqueducts, it was definitely possible…. Already somewhat tired from the trekking through muddy fields, we reached the immense “palace” prominently making its mark below the smaller fortress so out of place on top. Our young guide explained that while excavation and restoration has begun in several places at Oudna, there is so much that remains to be done – but not enough money is available to do a thorough job.
After thanking our “guide” and his friend for the tour, we headed back through the fields to the flooded road. Just as we reached the water, an elderly farmer drove up, hauling bales of straw on his small wagon. Thankful for the lift, we hopped on the bales and encouraged the large water dogs to follow us through the muddy floodwaters. After he kindly drove us right up to our car, we thanked him for the ride and had a simple lunch before we headed back to the urban Tunis.
Although it was quite a trek (especially due to the muddy fields), it was an enjoyable adventure, full of new discoveries. I hope to go down South for the Christmas break, which sounds like another great adventure. More opportunities to see new places and be filled with excitement as we discover a vastly different area of Tunisia. And for me, it’s an opportunity to take more photos to be used as inspiration for more artwork!
Today one of the teachers asked if I wanted to go to Oudna, an ancient Roman site about 30 minutes from our house, with her. She has two large dogs that quietly rode in the back seat. It’s nice to get out of the concrete white building surroundings and out into the rolling, green countryside.
Traveling on the road that hugged the path of the Roman aqueducts that at one time carried water from the springs in Zaigouan to Carthage, we knew we were close to the site. Things were going well until we abruptly stopped at the sight before us – a storm-made river flowing over the now-impassable road. Drat! We could see the fortress (built over the Roman-age royal dwellings) high on the hill before us. After following a different road, we decided that it seemed to meander farther away from archaeology site. So, we turned around and headed back to the storm river. Grateful that I had worn sneakers and jeans, I soon wished that I had some boots. The wet, muddy ground began clinging to my shoes and weighing it down, reminding me of when we picked sweet corn early on a dew-filled summer morning for sale – the mud clung to the rubbers so thickly that I would almost lose my footwear!
Realizing that there was no place narrow enough to cross, we headed back to the road. Perhaps another tractor or large truck would be headed the same way, able to successfully navigate through the floodwaters. Sure enough, a large truck that had crossed towards us turned around offered to take us across – how nice! After thanking him, we headed across the green fields towards our destination. In the unplowed wet fields, jack-in-the-pulpits and a variety of early purple and orange wildflowers poked their way in between the dominating thistles. I hope that the wildflowers are merely a bit confused by the warm weather we had in late November, so they will instead come back in spring when Mom and Dad arrive. I am so eager to share with them Tunisia’s magnificent example of God’s glorious creation.
After passing through the entry gates, we headed to the amphitheatre, still in the process of excavation and restoration. Much smaller and in less (at least what we could see) complete state than the one in El Jem, this amphitheatre didn’t have the same impact. After that, we headed towards the groupings of short walls on the opposite side of the road, beyond a cluster of large stone blocks belonging to some Roman building. Just excavated in recent months, a large layout of what appeared to be a home was visible. Beyond one wall was the impressive well-preserved mosaic depicting daily life: hunting and farming scenes, local animals, and the dwellings of the local people. Beneath several inches of fresh rainwater, the mosaic colors were more vibrant and the details more plainly visible. I enjoyed seeing the mosaic in its natural, original environment – would archeologists choose to keep it here, or would it end up in the Bardo museum, where it could be more preserved and viewed by more visitors? A few rooms down, a larger mosaic of people in Roman-style clothing commanded attention, framed in a rectangle and surrounded by cherubs attending the grapes on the meandering vines. A short distance away, another dwelling had been excavated, revealing more fully the semi-circular mosaic of a fishing scene on the wall of the private bath.
Moving onward, we headed towards the huge sections of a structure perched on a hill, obviously moved from their original horizontal position to near vertical ones by some significant force. Later, we found out from a local young man that the structure had been an unfortunate recipient of a bomb during WWII. While the upper structure was now unrecognizable, the lower portion was incredibly well preserved. Further darkened by the windows and alternate entrances that had filled in, the underground area was quite dark. Next time we will have to bring a flashlight to explore further. What had the structure and its underground area been used for? Close-by, we came across another site that had narrow wooden stairs leading sharply down into a lower area. The configuration of the vaulted arches reminded me of the Antonine Baths in Carthage. The young Tunisian man who was eager to practice speaking English confirmed our presumptions. Of course, he could also speak Arabic, French, Italian, some German and even Chinese. To think that most Americans are only able to speak their native language!
As we followed the narrow path towards the fortress on top of the Roman building, the recent waters washed up fragments of pottery, marble, and mosaic pieces. The closer we got to the excavated sites, the larger the pieces of marble became- various shades of grey, white, orange and peach. Before we saw the structure our young guide described as a palace, he was eager to show us more mostly-underground structures that he said were once used to hold prisoners. Although he was unsure of the structures’ original purposes, they reminded me of the cisterns just a few minutes walk from my house. So close to the aqueducts, it was definitely possible…. Already somewhat tired from the trekking through muddy fields, we reached the immense “palace” prominently making its mark below the smaller fortress so out of place on top. Our young guide explained that while excavation and restoration has begun in several places at Oudna, there is so much that remains to be done – but not enough money is available to do a thorough job.
After thanking our “guide” and his friend for the tour, we headed back through the fields to the flooded road. Just as we reached the water, an elderly farmer drove up, hauling bales of straw on his small wagon. Thankful for the lift, we hopped on the bales and encouraged the large water dogs to follow us through the muddy floodwaters. After he kindly drove us right up to our car, we thanked him for the ride and had a simple lunch before we headed back to the urban Tunis.
Although it was quite a trek (especially due to the muddy fields), it was an enjoyable adventure, full of new discoveries. I hope to go down South for the Christmas break, which sounds like another great adventure. More opportunities to see new places and be filled with excitement as we discover a vastly different area of Tunisia. And for me, it’s an opportunity to take more photos to be used as inspiration for more artwork!
A Tuesday Outing to Nortnern Tunisia - 2003
A Tuesday Outing to Northern Tunisia
Spring in the Mediterranean climate of Tunisia has provided a sense of renewal. The clear blue skies and gentle warmth of the sun beckon people to leave their winter shelter and do whatever possible to be outside. This past Tuesday, the beginning of Muslim New Year, provided us an opportunity to leave the cinder blocks and crowded thoroughfares of Tunis and travel to the green valleys of northern Tunisia.
Our destination: Sejnane. Visitors pass through the rather insignificant village, scouring the countryside roads until they find roadside stands with ceramics characteristic of the region. True, we could find the pit-fired terracotta clay figures glazed with natural cream, rust, and black colors sold in other parts of Tunisia, but we wanted to go to the source. For me, witnessing the actual creation of the pieces in the artist’s natural environment enhances the meaning and memories of the items.
Outside of Tunis, the large highway eventually narrowed into a simple, but well-paved country road. Modes of transportation began to vary more, with everything from donkey or horse carts to mopeds to public transportation vans, speeding by at a terrifying speed. Along the roadside and scattered up the hills, shepherds tended their flocks of varying size – some with only a few sheep and others with huge flocks of the wooly animals. Occasionally, herds of black and white cows would be spotted in the distance, grazing on the green grasses provided by the plentiful rains.
As we neared one of the small villages hugging the road, we could see more people walking and carrying goods in and out of the village. In contrast to the French/Arabic bilingual signs typically posted in Tunis, one would see more store or road signs only in Arabic. Luckily many of the business signs also were illustrated. Men, in their characteristic fashion, sat in simple cafés, talking, smoking, and drinking sugar-laden tea. Others relaxed at the café, smoking the chicha pipes. Were they thinking of the women in the fields nearby, laboring with their backs bent towards the ground?
Traveling onwards, the terrain changed, giving way to high, grassy hills and even low mountains in the distance. Fruit trees and almond trees neatly marched up the hills, adding to the texture. Abundant wild yellow daisies glowed in the bright sunshine, contrasting with the cool dark greens of the leaves and grasses. Tractors, including Massey Fergusons and even a John Deere model worked up the fields. In other fields, scores of women and children manually labored as a group. Homes were small and simple, many whitewashed in typical Tunisian style. Laundry dried on the lines or spread over bushes. Roosters, chickens, donkeys, and other animals freely roamed the small farm. Occasionally one would spot a larger French building, remnants of the colonial days of Tunisia.
After quite a stretch of narrow roads winding up, down, and around the hilly terrain, we decided to pull over and stop to have a picnic. It was a picturesque spot, with fields of yellow daisies, trees, and flowing hills. Narrow dirt paths meandered across the fields like ribbons. Puffy white clouds lazily floated across the blue sky. Down the road emerged two women and two young children, riding on a donkey. One of the teachers in our group spoke Arabic and went to greet the women as they headed over to a field. After the initial greetings, one of the women asked us what we thought of the impending war. How, we inquired of the women, did they hear about such matters? TV, of course, one of the women replied. After a few more minutes of conversation and an invite to go to their home to share some bread, the older woman promptly went to work, cutting weeds with a heavy hewn hoe. When I offered the women and children a sweet snack comprised mostly of sesame seeds and honey, the women acknowledged their gratitude and gave the pieces to the curly-haired children. Hesitant to taste unfamiliar things, the traditional women did not eat any until our Arabic group member explained the ingredient contents of the Tunisian-produced snack.
Refreshed with our picnic lunch, we placed the items in the car trunk, said goodbye to our new friends, and proceeded towards Sejnane. As we pulled up near the driveway of the well-known potter Sabiha, some children politely greeted us. Sabiha and her aunt quickly came to the car, smiling as they greeted some of our group by name, even though the couple had not visited the area in over a year. Walking up the rutted road to the main buildings, Sabiha explained that the simple but unfinished cinder block building near the road was being erected with government grant money to display her ceramic work.
In front of the small barn, large plain clay tiles dried in the sun. We followed Sabiha into a barn that housed several cows on one side. Drying cow chips for the outdoor stove adorned the indoor walls. Sabiha walked over to the large container of clay that she had already cleaned and premixed with ground pottery bits for strength. Both the clay and engobe colors of black, rust and cream were all gathered from the nearby hills. Back outside amongst the sun-drying pottery, Sabiha and her aunt squatted on low stools and began to knead the clay in their hands. Both women quickly transformed the lumps into vessels, turning the clay pinched pots on a crude “wheel” comprised of an upside-down metal pot and a slab of plywood.
While working, Sabiha explained that she loved being a ceramicist (as introduced to her by her mother) so much that she willingly made certain sacrifices. In order to keep working, Sabiha would have to remain single and live with her aunt. A formal education including learning to read had also been deferred, with her entire energy put forth in her work. Like the women in the field, Sabiha and her aunt wore a mélange of clothing styles and layers. Knit pants were worn underneath a simple skirt and a kerchief was tied around her dark-haired head. Cheap simple plastic slip-on shoes were worn over bulky socks. Sabiha’s aunt wore a more traditional dress, held in place over a western-style sweater with large silver Berber pins.
After the demonstration, Sabiha and the entourage of polite children led us to the simple rooms where the finished pieces were stored. We each quickly located something to purchase, including some whimsical clay animals and shallow bowls with traditional Berber designs. In gratitude, Sabiha instructed the children to give us a couple small clay animals as a gift. Before we left, they insisted we take a few loaves of flat round bread, just pulled out of the outdoor stove. Thanking Sabiha, her aunt, and the children for their hospitality, we proceeded back down the road.
Moving onward, we stopped a few roadside displays, hoping to find some clay Berber dolls in the same style. The pushiness and aggressiveness of the children and adults at these places made us want to leave quickly. With our fragile pieces in the trunk, we headed towards the seaside town of Bizerte. Along the way, we saw entire fields underwater, victim to the higher-than usual amounts of rain and a flooded dam upstream in Algeria. After a drought lasting several years, the rain has been seen as a welcome sign. We momentarily stopped to take photos of some storks roosting on the roof of an old French railway station and then headed on. As we crossed the large bridge of Bizerte and onto the expressway, we knew it wouldn’t be long before we arrived back in the capital city. Less than an hour later, the tall white buildings of Tunis filled the skyline, replacing the green flowery hills we so enjoyed on this trip. With a good road system and relatively short distances to a variety of destinations, we’ll be sure to travel again.
Spring in the Mediterranean climate of Tunisia has provided a sense of renewal. The clear blue skies and gentle warmth of the sun beckon people to leave their winter shelter and do whatever possible to be outside. This past Tuesday, the beginning of Muslim New Year, provided us an opportunity to leave the cinder blocks and crowded thoroughfares of Tunis and travel to the green valleys of northern Tunisia.
Our destination: Sejnane. Visitors pass through the rather insignificant village, scouring the countryside roads until they find roadside stands with ceramics characteristic of the region. True, we could find the pit-fired terracotta clay figures glazed with natural cream, rust, and black colors sold in other parts of Tunisia, but we wanted to go to the source. For me, witnessing the actual creation of the pieces in the artist’s natural environment enhances the meaning and memories of the items.
Outside of Tunis, the large highway eventually narrowed into a simple, but well-paved country road. Modes of transportation began to vary more, with everything from donkey or horse carts to mopeds to public transportation vans, speeding by at a terrifying speed. Along the roadside and scattered up the hills, shepherds tended their flocks of varying size – some with only a few sheep and others with huge flocks of the wooly animals. Occasionally, herds of black and white cows would be spotted in the distance, grazing on the green grasses provided by the plentiful rains.
As we neared one of the small villages hugging the road, we could see more people walking and carrying goods in and out of the village. In contrast to the French/Arabic bilingual signs typically posted in Tunis, one would see more store or road signs only in Arabic. Luckily many of the business signs also were illustrated. Men, in their characteristic fashion, sat in simple cafés, talking, smoking, and drinking sugar-laden tea. Others relaxed at the café, smoking the chicha pipes. Were they thinking of the women in the fields nearby, laboring with their backs bent towards the ground?
Traveling onwards, the terrain changed, giving way to high, grassy hills and even low mountains in the distance. Fruit trees and almond trees neatly marched up the hills, adding to the texture. Abundant wild yellow daisies glowed in the bright sunshine, contrasting with the cool dark greens of the leaves and grasses. Tractors, including Massey Fergusons and even a John Deere model worked up the fields. In other fields, scores of women and children manually labored as a group. Homes were small and simple, many whitewashed in typical Tunisian style. Laundry dried on the lines or spread over bushes. Roosters, chickens, donkeys, and other animals freely roamed the small farm. Occasionally one would spot a larger French building, remnants of the colonial days of Tunisia.
After quite a stretch of narrow roads winding up, down, and around the hilly terrain, we decided to pull over and stop to have a picnic. It was a picturesque spot, with fields of yellow daisies, trees, and flowing hills. Narrow dirt paths meandered across the fields like ribbons. Puffy white clouds lazily floated across the blue sky. Down the road emerged two women and two young children, riding on a donkey. One of the teachers in our group spoke Arabic and went to greet the women as they headed over to a field. After the initial greetings, one of the women asked us what we thought of the impending war. How, we inquired of the women, did they hear about such matters? TV, of course, one of the women replied. After a few more minutes of conversation and an invite to go to their home to share some bread, the older woman promptly went to work, cutting weeds with a heavy hewn hoe. When I offered the women and children a sweet snack comprised mostly of sesame seeds and honey, the women acknowledged their gratitude and gave the pieces to the curly-haired children. Hesitant to taste unfamiliar things, the traditional women did not eat any until our Arabic group member explained the ingredient contents of the Tunisian-produced snack.
Refreshed with our picnic lunch, we placed the items in the car trunk, said goodbye to our new friends, and proceeded towards Sejnane. As we pulled up near the driveway of the well-known potter Sabiha, some children politely greeted us. Sabiha and her aunt quickly came to the car, smiling as they greeted some of our group by name, even though the couple had not visited the area in over a year. Walking up the rutted road to the main buildings, Sabiha explained that the simple but unfinished cinder block building near the road was being erected with government grant money to display her ceramic work.
In front of the small barn, large plain clay tiles dried in the sun. We followed Sabiha into a barn that housed several cows on one side. Drying cow chips for the outdoor stove adorned the indoor walls. Sabiha walked over to the large container of clay that she had already cleaned and premixed with ground pottery bits for strength. Both the clay and engobe colors of black, rust and cream were all gathered from the nearby hills. Back outside amongst the sun-drying pottery, Sabiha and her aunt squatted on low stools and began to knead the clay in their hands. Both women quickly transformed the lumps into vessels, turning the clay pinched pots on a crude “wheel” comprised of an upside-down metal pot and a slab of plywood.
While working, Sabiha explained that she loved being a ceramicist (as introduced to her by her mother) so much that she willingly made certain sacrifices. In order to keep working, Sabiha would have to remain single and live with her aunt. A formal education including learning to read had also been deferred, with her entire energy put forth in her work. Like the women in the field, Sabiha and her aunt wore a mélange of clothing styles and layers. Knit pants were worn underneath a simple skirt and a kerchief was tied around her dark-haired head. Cheap simple plastic slip-on shoes were worn over bulky socks. Sabiha’s aunt wore a more traditional dress, held in place over a western-style sweater with large silver Berber pins.
After the demonstration, Sabiha and the entourage of polite children led us to the simple rooms where the finished pieces were stored. We each quickly located something to purchase, including some whimsical clay animals and shallow bowls with traditional Berber designs. In gratitude, Sabiha instructed the children to give us a couple small clay animals as a gift. Before we left, they insisted we take a few loaves of flat round bread, just pulled out of the outdoor stove. Thanking Sabiha, her aunt, and the children for their hospitality, we proceeded back down the road.
Moving onward, we stopped a few roadside displays, hoping to find some clay Berber dolls in the same style. The pushiness and aggressiveness of the children and adults at these places made us want to leave quickly. With our fragile pieces in the trunk, we headed towards the seaside town of Bizerte. Along the way, we saw entire fields underwater, victim to the higher-than usual amounts of rain and a flooded dam upstream in Algeria. After a drought lasting several years, the rain has been seen as a welcome sign. We momentarily stopped to take photos of some storks roosting on the roof of an old French railway station and then headed on. As we crossed the large bridge of Bizerte and onto the expressway, we knew it wouldn’t be long before we arrived back in the capital city. Less than an hour later, the tall white buildings of Tunis filled the skyline, replacing the green flowery hills we so enjoyed on this trip. With a good road system and relatively short distances to a variety of destinations, we’ll be sure to travel again.
Sunday Matinee and Slavas - Nov. 2005
November 20, 2005
It now feels like winter is coming. Over the past weeks, the leaves have fallen from the trees. At school, the custodians no longer are seen shaking trees or holding up a leaf blower to get off leaves. Only the stubborn leaves remain. I now can see neighbors’ homes and backyards. Yesterday, light flurries danced in the grey morning sky. The temperature for the first time this season has dipped into the single (plus and minus) digits Celsius.
Today I went with Pat (an American married to a Serbian) to a matinee movie. It was the first one I went to that was in Serbian. (Next weekend I will see the new Harry Potter movie, which will be in English with Serbian subtitles.) After paying the 200 dinar ticket fee (about $2.75), we found a seat. There was no overpriced popcorn, candy, or soda to tempt us. If you wanted to, you could buy popcorn, roasted chestnuts, or soda on the street and bring it in. I was glad that there was no smoking inside. As we entered the theater door, I noticed a sign forbidding the use of cell phones, cameras, and camcorders. The latter ban is particularly appropriate, as there still is a high incidence of movie bootlegging and taping of movies, including in theatres.
Pat had heard that the movie would be enjoyable, even if I couldn’t understand any of the words. It was about a man and his family’s slava, a 3-day religious festivity in which the family and its guests celebrate the family’s patron saint. Despite the family’s careful preparations, the slava quickly changed when, to the father’s chagrin, five male guests decided to stay, eating partying straight – even past the three days. The movie, set in the late 1800’s, was visually rich in the costumes, hairstyles, and everyday life of people in the south of Serbia. Although I could get the gist of things through careful observation and listening to the voice inflections and the expressive music, once in a while I leaned over and asked Pat for clarification. The lighthearted movie provided quite a few laughs and chuckles.
Celebrating a slava is a distinctly Serbian Orthodox practice. The practice began in the 13th century when, in attempt to convert Serbs to Christianity, families were assigned patron saints that replaced the pagan gods previously worshiped by the family. The slava has been practice since then, but underwent periods of suppression and secrecy during the times of Turkish occupation and Communism. The family celebrates the father’s patron saint. St. George, St. Marko, and St. Nicholas are three of such saints. Many of the slavas occur in the winter months, including the one for St. Nicholas. Just as in years past, a great deal of food is made, accommodating guests that may appear over the three days. The priest comes and blesses the house, performs a small ceremony with incense, and cuts a special bread called slavski kolac. Guests come and go during these three days, but it is expected that if you are invited, you show up, even if it is for a short time. When it is your slava, you are expected to reciprocate. The slava takes place at the elder father’s house, unless he and his wife are too elderly to undertake such a large event, at which time it passes to the son. Traditional slavas are a religious, formal event, but in recent years the attire has become less formal and music is sometimes included. A family’s slava typically is much more important than one’s birthday. However, gifts typically are not included, apart from a bottle of wine or a bouquet of flowers. If you want to find out more about slavas, visit the website article by Pat: http://www.expat.org.yu/culture/slava.php
After a hot chocolate at the McDonald’s right next to the movie theater, we parted ways and I headed towards my tram stop. Most of the stores were closed, but an increasing number are staying open on Sundays. A few storefronts had their Christmas displays set up. Others were beginning to hang up outdoor Christmas lights. People were out on the pedestrian street, but walked with a brisker pace due to the cold. At Trg Republike (Republic Square), a small booth was set up by supporters of Slobodan Milosevic (the former president now at The Hague for war crimes). You could buy buttons, posters or next year’s calendar with his photo. For a country that suffered so much during his presidency (sanctions, NATO bombings, etc.), there are some that still seem to cling to Milosevic’s nationalistic fervor.
For our Thanksgiving break, I will be going with Olja (a Serbian teacher from school) to Sokobana, a town in southern Serbia that has thermal spas and excellent hiking opportunities. I will try to write more when I return.
Until then,
Melissa
It now feels like winter is coming. Over the past weeks, the leaves have fallen from the trees. At school, the custodians no longer are seen shaking trees or holding up a leaf blower to get off leaves. Only the stubborn leaves remain. I now can see neighbors’ homes and backyards. Yesterday, light flurries danced in the grey morning sky. The temperature for the first time this season has dipped into the single (plus and minus) digits Celsius.
Today I went with Pat (an American married to a Serbian) to a matinee movie. It was the first one I went to that was in Serbian. (Next weekend I will see the new Harry Potter movie, which will be in English with Serbian subtitles.) After paying the 200 dinar ticket fee (about $2.75), we found a seat. There was no overpriced popcorn, candy, or soda to tempt us. If you wanted to, you could buy popcorn, roasted chestnuts, or soda on the street and bring it in. I was glad that there was no smoking inside. As we entered the theater door, I noticed a sign forbidding the use of cell phones, cameras, and camcorders. The latter ban is particularly appropriate, as there still is a high incidence of movie bootlegging and taping of movies, including in theatres.
Pat had heard that the movie would be enjoyable, even if I couldn’t understand any of the words. It was about a man and his family’s slava, a 3-day religious festivity in which the family and its guests celebrate the family’s patron saint. Despite the family’s careful preparations, the slava quickly changed when, to the father’s chagrin, five male guests decided to stay, eating partying straight – even past the three days. The movie, set in the late 1800’s, was visually rich in the costumes, hairstyles, and everyday life of people in the south of Serbia. Although I could get the gist of things through careful observation and listening to the voice inflections and the expressive music, once in a while I leaned over and asked Pat for clarification. The lighthearted movie provided quite a few laughs and chuckles.
Celebrating a slava is a distinctly Serbian Orthodox practice. The practice began in the 13th century when, in attempt to convert Serbs to Christianity, families were assigned patron saints that replaced the pagan gods previously worshiped by the family. The slava has been practice since then, but underwent periods of suppression and secrecy during the times of Turkish occupation and Communism. The family celebrates the father’s patron saint. St. George, St. Marko, and St. Nicholas are three of such saints. Many of the slavas occur in the winter months, including the one for St. Nicholas. Just as in years past, a great deal of food is made, accommodating guests that may appear over the three days. The priest comes and blesses the house, performs a small ceremony with incense, and cuts a special bread called slavski kolac. Guests come and go during these three days, but it is expected that if you are invited, you show up, even if it is for a short time. When it is your slava, you are expected to reciprocate. The slava takes place at the elder father’s house, unless he and his wife are too elderly to undertake such a large event, at which time it passes to the son. Traditional slavas are a religious, formal event, but in recent years the attire has become less formal and music is sometimes included. A family’s slava typically is much more important than one’s birthday. However, gifts typically are not included, apart from a bottle of wine or a bouquet of flowers. If you want to find out more about slavas, visit the website article by Pat: http://www.expat.org.yu/culture/slava.php
After a hot chocolate at the McDonald’s right next to the movie theater, we parted ways and I headed towards my tram stop. Most of the stores were closed, but an increasing number are staying open on Sundays. A few storefronts had their Christmas displays set up. Others were beginning to hang up outdoor Christmas lights. People were out on the pedestrian street, but walked with a brisker pace due to the cold. At Trg Republike (Republic Square), a small booth was set up by supporters of Slobodan Milosevic (the former president now at The Hague for war crimes). You could buy buttons, posters or next year’s calendar with his photo. For a country that suffered so much during his presidency (sanctions, NATO bombings, etc.), there are some that still seem to cling to Milosevic’s nationalistic fervor.
For our Thanksgiving break, I will be going with Olja (a Serbian teacher from school) to Sokobana, a town in southern Serbia that has thermal spas and excellent hiking opportunities. I will try to write more when I return.
Until then,
Melissa
Excursion to Sokobanja, Serbia - 2005
Excursion to Sokobanja
During Thanksgiving break Olja and I headed to Sokobanja, a health resort town about 236 km from Belgrade. The area was already known in Roman times and became quite popular during the Turkish occupation, at which time the town’s first thermal spa was erected. Today people still visit Sokobanja for its clean, rich air and its thermal springs, which provide healing benefits for people with respiratory ailments.
Upon arriving at the bus station, a taxi driver took us to a small pension place. It was nothing fancy, but we had all three meals included and it was close to the walking street. After dropping off our suitcase and eating a late lunch, we headed into the downtown. The snow was beginning to melt, but still covered much of the wide walking street. There were people walking about doing errands or simply enjoying a walk, but it was not crowded as Olja had recalled when she visited here during a warmer part of the year. After stopping briefly at the information center and nearby gallery, we went for a walk in the hills just outside of town. Unfortunately it got dark quickly, so we headed back into town, stopping by a café for a rich hot chocolate drink. Since they had many different flavors, we vowed to come back the next evening to enjoy another flavor.
The next day, the morning blue sky provided a positive sign that we would have a great day for hiking. After a hearty breakfast, we headed up towards the mountain. Along the road, tractors with chains around the tires were parked. Wood was neatly piled up next to homes, ready for winter consumption. Heading back once again to the walking street, the sun began turning the snow into slush. On the wide street, people were walking at a relaxed pace, not overly busy. Recalling our experience in Rudnik with its confusing and poorly-marked trails, we decided to ask some locals which path to take to reach some of the desired sites. Different advice and directions were given, and others couldn’t help us at all. I found that a bit odd, but Olja explained that many of those who hike in the mountains are visitors, many of whom come for the healing benefits. In fact, Sokobanja’s spa tourism officially began in1837.
Spotting a sign in Cyrillic to one scenic spot, we headed up the snow-covered narrow road. Here we had a great view of the surrounding mountains, rivers, hills, and some of Sokobanja. Snow still peaked through the openings between the bare trees and pine trees. We then proceeded up the main road to the Sanatorium, as we knew that road would be open. In areas where the sun hit gravel, the snow had melted; in others, it was slushy. To avoid getting wet feet, we often walked on the tire track paths. When the sun rays hit us, we sometimes unzipped our coats, only to zip them back up later when gusts of wind cooled things down. As we headed up the mountain, things became quite calm and peaceful. The sun shone through the bare tree forest, with the snow shimmering below. We heard a hawk cry from above. The air was fresh and invigorating.
In the distance we spotted some larger buildings, which we assumed were part of the sanatorium. Occasionally we spotted a bench or some shoe prints, indicators of people from the sanatorium who walked as part of their healing regimen. We now had a good view of Sokobanja below. It was larger than I expected, with a number of larger hotels jutting above the modest residential areas. Indeed, this area must be quite busy during the high tourist season. In front of one of the sanatorium buildings, we met a kind man. He offered to take us to the waterfall, as he was going quite close to there to feed some poultry. As we passed the heating plant for the complex, I saw a man pushing a cart of coal on rail tracks. We proceeded down the snow-covered hill, a short distance to the man’s birds. Thanking the man for his kindness, we headed down the path to the waterfall. With the cold temperatures, the waterfall (the largest in Serbia) wasn’t very active, but the frozen icicles jutted out in beautiful abstract formations. Pausing there for a bit, we enjoyed the sound of the falling water surrounded by the peace of nature.
Although we would have liked to explore more paths, we knew that we must head back in order to arrive at the Turkish hammam in time for our appointment. Located right on the walking street, the 16th century Turkish bath structure is a beautiful, well-reserved historical landmark. After a quick lunch at the hotel, we grabbed our swimming suit and headed to the hammam. On the left side of the entrance, a newer reception area and special room for inhalation therapy was located. Young women workers in their white lab coats sat in the office, chatting merrily as they ate cookies and drank Coke – rather strange, I thought, for a health spa. After paying for the session (about $10) at a nearby building, the receptionist escorted us to the changing area and large room with the thermal bath. She explained that the tiles in the baths and faucet areas, all in very good preservation, were original. Steam rose gently to the small vent in the sloped ceiling. The natural thermal water was body temperature and felt very soft. We stayed in the bath for the full 25 minutes recommended by the receptionist, enjoying every minute. A massage then followed, completing the experience.
With the remaining light available, we went to visit the small church on the walking street, dating back to 1884. It had old frescoes on the ceiling dome, in varying states of condition. Religious, iconoclastic paintings adorned the altar and surrounding walls. As in other Serbian churches I had visited, cloth-covered pedestals held other iconoclastic paintings. After saying a brief prayer and kissing the painting, church members left coins around the painting as a token of gratitude. The sound of church bells and the arrival of the priest indicated that a service was about to begin, so we exited the church and headed towards the café for our second sampling of hot chocolate.
I would like to visit Sokobanja again when it is warmer, taking the opportunity to visit the famed medieval Soko grad castle and other destinations in the oxygen-rich mountains. When the leaves are out on the trees and the flowers are in bloom, the nature must be quite beautiful. Of course, another visit to the Turkish bath would be a must….
During Thanksgiving break Olja and I headed to Sokobanja, a health resort town about 236 km from Belgrade. The area was already known in Roman times and became quite popular during the Turkish occupation, at which time the town’s first thermal spa was erected. Today people still visit Sokobanja for its clean, rich air and its thermal springs, which provide healing benefits for people with respiratory ailments.
Upon arriving at the bus station, a taxi driver took us to a small pension place. It was nothing fancy, but we had all three meals included and it was close to the walking street. After dropping off our suitcase and eating a late lunch, we headed into the downtown. The snow was beginning to melt, but still covered much of the wide walking street. There were people walking about doing errands or simply enjoying a walk, but it was not crowded as Olja had recalled when she visited here during a warmer part of the year. After stopping briefly at the information center and nearby gallery, we went for a walk in the hills just outside of town. Unfortunately it got dark quickly, so we headed back into town, stopping by a café for a rich hot chocolate drink. Since they had many different flavors, we vowed to come back the next evening to enjoy another flavor.
The next day, the morning blue sky provided a positive sign that we would have a great day for hiking. After a hearty breakfast, we headed up towards the mountain. Along the road, tractors with chains around the tires were parked. Wood was neatly piled up next to homes, ready for winter consumption. Heading back once again to the walking street, the sun began turning the snow into slush. On the wide street, people were walking at a relaxed pace, not overly busy. Recalling our experience in Rudnik with its confusing and poorly-marked trails, we decided to ask some locals which path to take to reach some of the desired sites. Different advice and directions were given, and others couldn’t help us at all. I found that a bit odd, but Olja explained that many of those who hike in the mountains are visitors, many of whom come for the healing benefits. In fact, Sokobanja’s spa tourism officially began in1837.
Spotting a sign in Cyrillic to one scenic spot, we headed up the snow-covered narrow road. Here we had a great view of the surrounding mountains, rivers, hills, and some of Sokobanja. Snow still peaked through the openings between the bare trees and pine trees. We then proceeded up the main road to the Sanatorium, as we knew that road would be open. In areas where the sun hit gravel, the snow had melted; in others, it was slushy. To avoid getting wet feet, we often walked on the tire track paths. When the sun rays hit us, we sometimes unzipped our coats, only to zip them back up later when gusts of wind cooled things down. As we headed up the mountain, things became quite calm and peaceful. The sun shone through the bare tree forest, with the snow shimmering below. We heard a hawk cry from above. The air was fresh and invigorating.
In the distance we spotted some larger buildings, which we assumed were part of the sanatorium. Occasionally we spotted a bench or some shoe prints, indicators of people from the sanatorium who walked as part of their healing regimen. We now had a good view of Sokobanja below. It was larger than I expected, with a number of larger hotels jutting above the modest residential areas. Indeed, this area must be quite busy during the high tourist season. In front of one of the sanatorium buildings, we met a kind man. He offered to take us to the waterfall, as he was going quite close to there to feed some poultry. As we passed the heating plant for the complex, I saw a man pushing a cart of coal on rail tracks. We proceeded down the snow-covered hill, a short distance to the man’s birds. Thanking the man for his kindness, we headed down the path to the waterfall. With the cold temperatures, the waterfall (the largest in Serbia) wasn’t very active, but the frozen icicles jutted out in beautiful abstract formations. Pausing there for a bit, we enjoyed the sound of the falling water surrounded by the peace of nature.
Although we would have liked to explore more paths, we knew that we must head back in order to arrive at the Turkish hammam in time for our appointment. Located right on the walking street, the 16th century Turkish bath structure is a beautiful, well-reserved historical landmark. After a quick lunch at the hotel, we grabbed our swimming suit and headed to the hammam. On the left side of the entrance, a newer reception area and special room for inhalation therapy was located. Young women workers in their white lab coats sat in the office, chatting merrily as they ate cookies and drank Coke – rather strange, I thought, for a health spa. After paying for the session (about $10) at a nearby building, the receptionist escorted us to the changing area and large room with the thermal bath. She explained that the tiles in the baths and faucet areas, all in very good preservation, were original. Steam rose gently to the small vent in the sloped ceiling. The natural thermal water was body temperature and felt very soft. We stayed in the bath for the full 25 minutes recommended by the receptionist, enjoying every minute. A massage then followed, completing the experience.
With the remaining light available, we went to visit the small church on the walking street, dating back to 1884. It had old frescoes on the ceiling dome, in varying states of condition. Religious, iconoclastic paintings adorned the altar and surrounding walls. As in other Serbian churches I had visited, cloth-covered pedestals held other iconoclastic paintings. After saying a brief prayer and kissing the painting, church members left coins around the painting as a token of gratitude. The sound of church bells and the arrival of the priest indicated that a service was about to begin, so we exited the church and headed towards the café for our second sampling of hot chocolate.
I would like to visit Sokobanja again when it is warmer, taking the opportunity to visit the famed medieval Soko grad castle and other destinations in the oxygen-rich mountains. When the leaves are out on the trees and the flowers are in bloom, the nature must be quite beautiful. Of course, another visit to the Turkish bath would be a must….
Trip to Dogon, Djenne - 2001
Day One – December 26
Ségou
About 235 km east from Bamako, Ségou is one of Mali’s larger, more important cities. Located on the Niger River, Ségou has the potential for economic importance. It was the capital for French occupation, the location for the Office du Niger. This project sought to provide France with raw materials such as cotton. Although a dam was built, the canals (which were dug by forced labor) were never finished; cotton was abandoned, with rice and sugarcane being planted in its stead.
Ségou seemed much less busy than Bamako. Donkey carts hauling sacks of grain were quite common on the streets. Fewer cars and mopeds were present. Especially near the wharf and river, there were several small shops and vendors wanting to sell you arts and crafts, including imitation Dogon pieces. Tuareg vendors were especially prevalent on the streets, wanting to sell small boxes and knives. In the evening we went to the wharf where we saw a rather nice sunset.
Ségoukoro
A small village about 10 km away from Ségou along the road to Bamako, Ségoukoro is the original site from where Bambara kings ruled a kingdom that stretched for thousands of kilometers across West Africa in the 18th century. A typical Malian Bambara village, composed of walled mud brick houses, the village still only has 1500 people.
I was surprised to see how simple the village was, being that it had such an important role. Aside from Biton Coulibaly’s tomb (founder of the kingdom), there were few signs to indicate the village’s importance. We met the chief, a descendant of Coulibaly.
Walking through the village, we saw the village’s three mosques, one built by Coulibaly for his Islamic mother – the king himself was animist. The newest mosque is used by the people for worship only on Fridays.
Day Two - December 27
San
Along the longer trek of the trip, we stopped at San. Although not mentioned in the guidebooks, San has a cooperative that makes beautiful mudcloth. In fact, the designs and technique were some of the most impressive boologan cloth I’ve seen. Because the end of Ramadan happened to fall on this day, we were unable to see the demonstration. On the way back, we saw an abbreviated version.
Mudcloth “Bologan”
The long strips of cloth are woven by local weavers using a sort of backstrap loom and operated using the feet. The cloth is dyed yellow using the leaves of the acacia tree, which breaks down into a juice. The cloth is then set to dry.
Next, black is applied using local mud. A toothbrush is a common applicator. After this color is dry, the reddish color is then applied. This color comes from resin from the anea tree’s bark. The white paste is a mixture of bleach, local soap, and homo. In San, this brilliant white is applied with a squeeze bottle.
I learned that the cooperative in San uses no stencils. The designs are varied and depend on the artistic freedom and creativity of the makers. The strips are handsewn before the designs are painted.
Day Three – December 28
Djenne
Situated on an island in the Niger Inland Delta with a population of around 10,000, Djenne is one of Mali’s pre-eminent tourist attractions. Named a Wold Heritage Site in 1988, the city has taken great care to preserve the mud architecture, including the world-famous mosque. You can easily feel what sub-saharan Africa must have felt like a century ago. At one time, Djenné was competing with Timbuktu as the western Sudan’s pre-eminent center of trans-Saharan trade and Islamic scholarship. Now it is more of an agricultural (and tourist) town.
Djenne’s most famous (and dominating) site is the mosque. It is actually the third mosque built at the site. The first mosque was built by the Soninke king Koï Kounboro who destroyed his palace in the 13th century for its construction. The second mosque was built in 1834 after the first one was left to ruin after it became “contaminated” by evil practices. The present mosque, built in 1905, is in the style of the original mosque. Three towers, each 11 meters high and topped with an ostrich egg, can be seen from quite a distance. In fact, the mosque is the worlds’ tallest mud building. It is built in two years with handmade mud bricks, formed with a banco mixture of soil, water, and straw/grasses which become ripe after on e month. Wooden beams protruding from the building serve an aesthetic purpose as well as scaffolding, to repair the building after the rainy season.
We arrived in Djenne on the day of the Ramadan feast. Everyone was wearing their new boubous, hats, and had their hair intricately done. Men had clean new haircuts, while the women and girls braided their hair, often with beads and other ornamental decorations. After walking through the narrow alleys, we climbed up to the top of a few buildings to get an aerial view of the city. From that vantage point, we could see the bustling crowds, the city’s many goats, and the mud architecture, either of Moorish or Tukulor style. The tops and windows of the buildings were especially impressive. In addition, the Tukulor houses have an overhang over the door, presumably to protect it from the rain.
Djenne-Jeno
Just 2km from the town of Djenne lies the ancient town of Djenne-Jeno. Although it is difficult to see much more than some remnants of the handmade bricks of a building and tons of pottery shards, the site is the oldest known sub-saharan city – dating back to the third century BC. A highly developed society of about 10,000 inhabitants, the site was mysteriously abandoned in the 14th century. Prior to visiting the site, we went to the Mission Culturelle, where we saw informative displays including examples of pottery, sculptures, and iron, which helped give an idea of what was discovered at the site in 1977.
Day Four – December 29
Mopti
Built on three islands connected by dykes, Mopti is the country’s major route intersection. Peoples from many groups call Mopti home, including the Bambara, Songhai, Fula, Tuaregs (and their former slave – the Bellasha), Moors, Bozos, and Dogon. Once a Bozo fishing village, it has the largest river port in what was the French Sudan and now has about 100,000 people. Pirogues and their larger counterparts, pinasses, carry goods up and down the Bani/Niger River. Transport is even possible to Timbuktu during and after the rainy season.
While in Mopti, we walked over to the busy port. Here we saw slabs of salt and other items that had come from Timbuktu. People were boarding pinasses and pirogues, for either transportation or fishing. The Niger river as well as the converging Bani river is much higher than what the Niger is in Bamako. Fishing continues to be of great importance. We also walked through the older part of Mopti. While it too had mud architecture, neither the mosque or houses were as impressive as those in Djenne.
On the second day we took a pinasse to the opposite side of the Niger River, to a Tuareg slave village and then to a Bozo village. Like children at other villages, the Bozo children followed us, full of curiosity. However, their energy levels and demands for bics and bonbons far overshadowed any others. In the evening, we were treated to a glorious sunset while traveling by river back to the hotel.
Some interesting facts about the Niger
It is the 2nd longest river – 4,200km. Of which, 1,700km are in Mali.
The Niger runs through Buinea, Mali, Niger, and Nigeria.
The River Senegal is 1,700 km, of which 700km are in Mali
Dogon Country
One of Mali’s most visited areas, the area known as Dogon Country is a rather geographically isolated area inhabited by about 350,000 Dogon people. Until the end of the colonial era, the Dogon were one of the few African peoples who had most successfully retained their culture and traditional ways of life. Even now, despite the presence of Islam and Christianity, Dogon peoples have largely held onto their animist beliefs.
Once the residence of the Tellem people, the Dogon moved into the Bandiagara escarpment around the 14th or 15th century. At first sharing the escarpment with the Dogon for a few centuries, the Tellem were pushed out and migrated to Burkina Faso. The tiny buildings of these short people can still be seen, perched safely in higher parts of the cliffs.
Day Five – December 30
We arrived in the larger town of Bandiagara, capital and starting point of Dogon Country. While waiting for the heat of the day to subside, we sat in the hotel’s sheltered area. Here we began speaking with a Dogon man, who happened to be a schoolmaster for the school in Kani-Goguna. Along with 4 teachers, he is entrusted with the care of 512 children from ages 6-18. Paper, books and supplies are sparse to non-existent. When presented with some donated art supplies and a few packs of paper, he was so excited and appreciative. This was echoed by the other schoolmasters who were also given supplies.
That afternoon, we drove 25 km to the village of Pelou. Here we were treated to two things – first a dance by the older women and then the masked dance for which we had come. The women danced collectively in a circle with intensity and vigor. Some were carrying instruments made from gourds; other had children strapped to their backs, and many were using plastic whistles. All were singing and swaying a pagne cloth back and forth. The masked dancers wore beautiful masks and clothing – the best that I saw in Dogon. Cowrie shells adorned many of the headresses and masks. A large variety of masked dancers were presented, but several were featured, including the fulani mask “women” on stilts, the maison masked dancers, and the Kanaga masked dancer. Such a visual feast it was on our first day in Dogon!
Day Six – December 31
After breakfast we departed for the village of Djiguibombo. Touring the village, we again gave away art supplies. Several important buildings of a dogon village were pointed out, including the menstruation house, the togu-na, and the house of the ginna bana. Women stay in the menstruation house during their periods because they are viewed as unclean during that time. Raised images of a man and woman interconnected were visible on the outside of the building. The togu-na is a low-roofed building where the older men gather to discuss village affairs, socialize and swap stories. Its design is intEndéd to defuse arguments, since no one can stand up. In some villages, the eight wooden pillars holding up the building were intricately carved. The village of Djiguibombo also contained an excellent ginna bana house, which houses the head of the extEndéd family or lineage. Taller than the average building, it contains an altar where the founders of the village are honored. On the outside of the front wall there were rows of eight niches representing the eight Dogon ancestors. Things were placed inside some of the niches. The granaries were built in the typical style – conical straw roofs, mud/rock walls, and raised stone legs to help protect the crops from vermin. Houses were built with rock and mud brick, a flat roof, and interlinked stone walls. A “ladder” made from a single piece of Y-shaped wood with chiseled “steps” was against a side of the homes, enabling access to the roof for sleeping, etc.
We then took the 4x4 over a combination of rocky and paved roads 5km to Kani Kambolé. Its sudanic mosque was framed by a grove of baobab trees. It also had an escarpment composed of Tellem houses and some abandoned Dogon houses.
In the afternoon we traveled 3km to Téli. It was here that we would spend our first night (and the last day of the year) under the brilliant assortment of stars. We were treated with a smaller mask ceremony as well. Before we settled in for the day, we went to nearby Endé, where we visited the market – a bustling crowed profusion of selling and goods under a canopy of trees. Tired, we went to bed long before the NewYear celebration. Roosters and donkeys ushered in the dawn of the first day of the year.
Day 7 – January 1
After breakfast we climbed the rocks until we came to the original village. Like many other villages along the escarpment, Téli gradually moved down a little lower, but very near their former habitations. The Tellem buildings were quite close, but still many were quite high and would require extensive climbing. Peering into a female granary, we saw the four large compartments with a smaller round one in the center. The females store crops and personal possessions such as jewelry, cloth and money. The make granary was more simple in style inside.
We then left and drove the 4km to Endé. Present along the escarpment were the Tellem buildings, although much higher than in Téli. The village seemed to bustle slightly more than Téli as well. I viewed more evidence of arts and crafts. Beautiful carvings could be seen in the togu-nas and on some doors. Mudcloths similar in style and quality to those in San were draped along the sides of the walls, much like flags. Indigo cloth was even made in the village. Some of the best woodcarvers presented their wares to sell – and were successful.
After the heat of the day, we began trekking on the sandy path between the already-harvested fields of millet. A horse cart carried our goods and provided an occasional rest from walking. Different views of the bizarre rock formation (a large rock with a tiny almost precarious base), the pierre unique d’ Endé were seen. Reaching the foot of the escarpment, porters carried our baggage as we climbed up to the top to the village of Begnimato. When we arrived, a masked dance celebration was just finishing up. Some non-masked dancers were also with them, imitating the dancers’ moves. Perhaps they are learning to become masked dancers? The evening was crowded and noisy, full of tourists who most likely came to see the dance.
Day 8 – January 2
Gathering our bags, we trekked 7km across rocky and sometimes steep terrain to the village of Dourou. After some needed rest, we began another trek to our final destination, Nombori. The terrain to this beautiful village was some of the most varied – and steep. We crossed small valleys, mounds of rocks, and then finally down the steep breathtakiing gorge. Looking through a “window” framed by the tall rocks of the gorge, I could see the sprawling plains – reddish dirt with green tops of trees interspersed. As I neared the bottom, I could finally see the village – and the drumming that I had been hearing. Rocky steps gave way to the sandy plains. Alongside us were incredible gardens, fenced in. The bounty of crops, including the famous Dogon onions, tomatoes, as well as calabashes, potatoes and other items were astounding. People were collectively working together to water and tend to the crops. The people of Nombori seemed to be very happy and content. Dancing and singing occurred past dark. What a wonderful sound to sleep by!
Day 9 – January 3
We awoke to an obnoxious chorus of roosters and donkeys. The roosters seemed to be having a contest – seeing who could be the loudest. Although it wasn’t light out yet, I got up and observed the sun rise once again. Putting band-aids on any blisters or sores on our feet, we climbed farther up the escarpment (the village of Nombori already is built on a rocky area of the cliff) to get closer to the older buildings and get a wonderful view of the village.
Saying good-bye to our last village, we began the more difficult climb back up to the top. (Walking down was so much easier). After meeting the 4x4, we then drove back to Bandigara for lunch, and then to Mopti for the evening. A nice long shower helped rid the skin of dirt and the hair from sweat. Although I enjoyed the opportunity to sleep on the rooftops, I also liked the comforts of a shower, a sit-down toilet, etc. Looking at some of the video footage of the trip, I already missed Dogon country.
Day 10 – January 4
Long drive back to Bamako – stopped at San for a “demonstration” of the mudcloth process. Then we ate in Segou. A lot more animals seemed to be on the road. Unfortunately, we hit a goat. We were also stopped several times and delayed by the checkpoints. Some were looking for money bribes and others just had a power hunger. Returning back, I changed into clean clothes and began the process of unpacking. Gosh, there were a lot of things to wash!
I always enjoy going on trips. On each one, I learn things about people and places that could only be discovered with direct experience. I am eager to develop the photos and share my journey with others.
Mask Types
Antelope Mask
• Identify by the ears and long two horns
• Dogon name: Walu
Rabbit Mask
• Identify by the smaller tear-drop shaped ears
• Dogon name: Djomo
Bird Mask
• Identify by feathers covering mask
Crocodile Mask
• Identify by triangular-shaped wooden mask with many teeth on the inside of the mouth
Dogon Sisters
• Identify by female figure wearing skirt with hands outstretched, forming a “W”
• Symbol of pride
• Dogon name: Salimbé
Fulani Woman Mask (on stilts)
• Identify by the use of stilts, semi-circle “hair style” on top of head
• Proud and elegant
Fulani Woman Mask
• Identify by semi-circle “hairstyle” on top of head, no stilts
• An extensive amount of cowrie shells are often used to decorate the mask
• Always performed by males (no women allowed in mask ceremony)
Guardian of the Trees
• Identify by grass-like covering of face, carrying of branches in hands
• Protects the fruits and trees
Maison á Etage Mask (Building Mask)
• Identify by very tall plank of wood that extends far above the head
• Represents the many levels on a house
• Act of lowering mask to the ground demonstrates the wearer’s strength and power
Hyena Mask
• Identify by dark masses of hair nearly covering face, perhaps a bow-like ears
• Dogon name: Hyéne
Kanaga Mask
• Identify by the two “U” like wooden shapes on headdress: Top one pointing up, Bottom one pointing down
• Mask of the heavens and earth
• Well-known symbol of the Dogon and Mali
Monkey Mask
• Identify by wooden monkey-like figure crouching with hands touching face
• Dogon name: Masque Deninque
Ségou
About 235 km east from Bamako, Ségou is one of Mali’s larger, more important cities. Located on the Niger River, Ségou has the potential for economic importance. It was the capital for French occupation, the location for the Office du Niger. This project sought to provide France with raw materials such as cotton. Although a dam was built, the canals (which were dug by forced labor) were never finished; cotton was abandoned, with rice and sugarcane being planted in its stead.
Ségou seemed much less busy than Bamako. Donkey carts hauling sacks of grain were quite common on the streets. Fewer cars and mopeds were present. Especially near the wharf and river, there were several small shops and vendors wanting to sell you arts and crafts, including imitation Dogon pieces. Tuareg vendors were especially prevalent on the streets, wanting to sell small boxes and knives. In the evening we went to the wharf where we saw a rather nice sunset.
Ségoukoro
A small village about 10 km away from Ségou along the road to Bamako, Ségoukoro is the original site from where Bambara kings ruled a kingdom that stretched for thousands of kilometers across West Africa in the 18th century. A typical Malian Bambara village, composed of walled mud brick houses, the village still only has 1500 people.
I was surprised to see how simple the village was, being that it had such an important role. Aside from Biton Coulibaly’s tomb (founder of the kingdom), there were few signs to indicate the village’s importance. We met the chief, a descendant of Coulibaly.
Walking through the village, we saw the village’s three mosques, one built by Coulibaly for his Islamic mother – the king himself was animist. The newest mosque is used by the people for worship only on Fridays.
Day Two - December 27
San
Along the longer trek of the trip, we stopped at San. Although not mentioned in the guidebooks, San has a cooperative that makes beautiful mudcloth. In fact, the designs and technique were some of the most impressive boologan cloth I’ve seen. Because the end of Ramadan happened to fall on this day, we were unable to see the demonstration. On the way back, we saw an abbreviated version.
Mudcloth “Bologan”
The long strips of cloth are woven by local weavers using a sort of backstrap loom and operated using the feet. The cloth is dyed yellow using the leaves of the acacia tree, which breaks down into a juice. The cloth is then set to dry.
Next, black is applied using local mud. A toothbrush is a common applicator. After this color is dry, the reddish color is then applied. This color comes from resin from the anea tree’s bark. The white paste is a mixture of bleach, local soap, and homo. In San, this brilliant white is applied with a squeeze bottle.
I learned that the cooperative in San uses no stencils. The designs are varied and depend on the artistic freedom and creativity of the makers. The strips are handsewn before the designs are painted.
Day Three – December 28
Djenne
Situated on an island in the Niger Inland Delta with a population of around 10,000, Djenne is one of Mali’s pre-eminent tourist attractions. Named a Wold Heritage Site in 1988, the city has taken great care to preserve the mud architecture, including the world-famous mosque. You can easily feel what sub-saharan Africa must have felt like a century ago. At one time, Djenné was competing with Timbuktu as the western Sudan’s pre-eminent center of trans-Saharan trade and Islamic scholarship. Now it is more of an agricultural (and tourist) town.
Djenne’s most famous (and dominating) site is the mosque. It is actually the third mosque built at the site. The first mosque was built by the Soninke king Koï Kounboro who destroyed his palace in the 13th century for its construction. The second mosque was built in 1834 after the first one was left to ruin after it became “contaminated” by evil practices. The present mosque, built in 1905, is in the style of the original mosque. Three towers, each 11 meters high and topped with an ostrich egg, can be seen from quite a distance. In fact, the mosque is the worlds’ tallest mud building. It is built in two years with handmade mud bricks, formed with a banco mixture of soil, water, and straw/grasses which become ripe after on e month. Wooden beams protruding from the building serve an aesthetic purpose as well as scaffolding, to repair the building after the rainy season.
We arrived in Djenne on the day of the Ramadan feast. Everyone was wearing their new boubous, hats, and had their hair intricately done. Men had clean new haircuts, while the women and girls braided their hair, often with beads and other ornamental decorations. After walking through the narrow alleys, we climbed up to the top of a few buildings to get an aerial view of the city. From that vantage point, we could see the bustling crowds, the city’s many goats, and the mud architecture, either of Moorish or Tukulor style. The tops and windows of the buildings were especially impressive. In addition, the Tukulor houses have an overhang over the door, presumably to protect it from the rain.
Djenne-Jeno
Just 2km from the town of Djenne lies the ancient town of Djenne-Jeno. Although it is difficult to see much more than some remnants of the handmade bricks of a building and tons of pottery shards, the site is the oldest known sub-saharan city – dating back to the third century BC. A highly developed society of about 10,000 inhabitants, the site was mysteriously abandoned in the 14th century. Prior to visiting the site, we went to the Mission Culturelle, where we saw informative displays including examples of pottery, sculptures, and iron, which helped give an idea of what was discovered at the site in 1977.
Day Four – December 29
Mopti
Built on three islands connected by dykes, Mopti is the country’s major route intersection. Peoples from many groups call Mopti home, including the Bambara, Songhai, Fula, Tuaregs (and their former slave – the Bellasha), Moors, Bozos, and Dogon. Once a Bozo fishing village, it has the largest river port in what was the French Sudan and now has about 100,000 people. Pirogues and their larger counterparts, pinasses, carry goods up and down the Bani/Niger River. Transport is even possible to Timbuktu during and after the rainy season.
While in Mopti, we walked over to the busy port. Here we saw slabs of salt and other items that had come from Timbuktu. People were boarding pinasses and pirogues, for either transportation or fishing. The Niger river as well as the converging Bani river is much higher than what the Niger is in Bamako. Fishing continues to be of great importance. We also walked through the older part of Mopti. While it too had mud architecture, neither the mosque or houses were as impressive as those in Djenne.
On the second day we took a pinasse to the opposite side of the Niger River, to a Tuareg slave village and then to a Bozo village. Like children at other villages, the Bozo children followed us, full of curiosity. However, their energy levels and demands for bics and bonbons far overshadowed any others. In the evening, we were treated to a glorious sunset while traveling by river back to the hotel.
Some interesting facts about the Niger
It is the 2nd longest river – 4,200km. Of which, 1,700km are in Mali.
The Niger runs through Buinea, Mali, Niger, and Nigeria.
The River Senegal is 1,700 km, of which 700km are in Mali
Dogon Country
One of Mali’s most visited areas, the area known as Dogon Country is a rather geographically isolated area inhabited by about 350,000 Dogon people. Until the end of the colonial era, the Dogon were one of the few African peoples who had most successfully retained their culture and traditional ways of life. Even now, despite the presence of Islam and Christianity, Dogon peoples have largely held onto their animist beliefs.
Once the residence of the Tellem people, the Dogon moved into the Bandiagara escarpment around the 14th or 15th century. At first sharing the escarpment with the Dogon for a few centuries, the Tellem were pushed out and migrated to Burkina Faso. The tiny buildings of these short people can still be seen, perched safely in higher parts of the cliffs.
Day Five – December 30
We arrived in the larger town of Bandiagara, capital and starting point of Dogon Country. While waiting for the heat of the day to subside, we sat in the hotel’s sheltered area. Here we began speaking with a Dogon man, who happened to be a schoolmaster for the school in Kani-Goguna. Along with 4 teachers, he is entrusted with the care of 512 children from ages 6-18. Paper, books and supplies are sparse to non-existent. When presented with some donated art supplies and a few packs of paper, he was so excited and appreciative. This was echoed by the other schoolmasters who were also given supplies.
That afternoon, we drove 25 km to the village of Pelou. Here we were treated to two things – first a dance by the older women and then the masked dance for which we had come. The women danced collectively in a circle with intensity and vigor. Some were carrying instruments made from gourds; other had children strapped to their backs, and many were using plastic whistles. All were singing and swaying a pagne cloth back and forth. The masked dancers wore beautiful masks and clothing – the best that I saw in Dogon. Cowrie shells adorned many of the headresses and masks. A large variety of masked dancers were presented, but several were featured, including the fulani mask “women” on stilts, the maison masked dancers, and the Kanaga masked dancer. Such a visual feast it was on our first day in Dogon!
Day Six – December 31
After breakfast we departed for the village of Djiguibombo. Touring the village, we again gave away art supplies. Several important buildings of a dogon village were pointed out, including the menstruation house, the togu-na, and the house of the ginna bana. Women stay in the menstruation house during their periods because they are viewed as unclean during that time. Raised images of a man and woman interconnected were visible on the outside of the building. The togu-na is a low-roofed building where the older men gather to discuss village affairs, socialize and swap stories. Its design is intEndéd to defuse arguments, since no one can stand up. In some villages, the eight wooden pillars holding up the building were intricately carved. The village of Djiguibombo also contained an excellent ginna bana house, which houses the head of the extEndéd family or lineage. Taller than the average building, it contains an altar where the founders of the village are honored. On the outside of the front wall there were rows of eight niches representing the eight Dogon ancestors. Things were placed inside some of the niches. The granaries were built in the typical style – conical straw roofs, mud/rock walls, and raised stone legs to help protect the crops from vermin. Houses were built with rock and mud brick, a flat roof, and interlinked stone walls. A “ladder” made from a single piece of Y-shaped wood with chiseled “steps” was against a side of the homes, enabling access to the roof for sleeping, etc.
We then took the 4x4 over a combination of rocky and paved roads 5km to Kani Kambolé. Its sudanic mosque was framed by a grove of baobab trees. It also had an escarpment composed of Tellem houses and some abandoned Dogon houses.
In the afternoon we traveled 3km to Téli. It was here that we would spend our first night (and the last day of the year) under the brilliant assortment of stars. We were treated with a smaller mask ceremony as well. Before we settled in for the day, we went to nearby Endé, where we visited the market – a bustling crowed profusion of selling and goods under a canopy of trees. Tired, we went to bed long before the NewYear celebration. Roosters and donkeys ushered in the dawn of the first day of the year.
Day 7 – January 1
After breakfast we climbed the rocks until we came to the original village. Like many other villages along the escarpment, Téli gradually moved down a little lower, but very near their former habitations. The Tellem buildings were quite close, but still many were quite high and would require extensive climbing. Peering into a female granary, we saw the four large compartments with a smaller round one in the center. The females store crops and personal possessions such as jewelry, cloth and money. The make granary was more simple in style inside.
We then left and drove the 4km to Endé. Present along the escarpment were the Tellem buildings, although much higher than in Téli. The village seemed to bustle slightly more than Téli as well. I viewed more evidence of arts and crafts. Beautiful carvings could be seen in the togu-nas and on some doors. Mudcloths similar in style and quality to those in San were draped along the sides of the walls, much like flags. Indigo cloth was even made in the village. Some of the best woodcarvers presented their wares to sell – and were successful.
After the heat of the day, we began trekking on the sandy path between the already-harvested fields of millet. A horse cart carried our goods and provided an occasional rest from walking. Different views of the bizarre rock formation (a large rock with a tiny almost precarious base), the pierre unique d’ Endé were seen. Reaching the foot of the escarpment, porters carried our baggage as we climbed up to the top to the village of Begnimato. When we arrived, a masked dance celebration was just finishing up. Some non-masked dancers were also with them, imitating the dancers’ moves. Perhaps they are learning to become masked dancers? The evening was crowded and noisy, full of tourists who most likely came to see the dance.
Day 8 – January 2
Gathering our bags, we trekked 7km across rocky and sometimes steep terrain to the village of Dourou. After some needed rest, we began another trek to our final destination, Nombori. The terrain to this beautiful village was some of the most varied – and steep. We crossed small valleys, mounds of rocks, and then finally down the steep breathtakiing gorge. Looking through a “window” framed by the tall rocks of the gorge, I could see the sprawling plains – reddish dirt with green tops of trees interspersed. As I neared the bottom, I could finally see the village – and the drumming that I had been hearing. Rocky steps gave way to the sandy plains. Alongside us were incredible gardens, fenced in. The bounty of crops, including the famous Dogon onions, tomatoes, as well as calabashes, potatoes and other items were astounding. People were collectively working together to water and tend to the crops. The people of Nombori seemed to be very happy and content. Dancing and singing occurred past dark. What a wonderful sound to sleep by!
Day 9 – January 3
We awoke to an obnoxious chorus of roosters and donkeys. The roosters seemed to be having a contest – seeing who could be the loudest. Although it wasn’t light out yet, I got up and observed the sun rise once again. Putting band-aids on any blisters or sores on our feet, we climbed farther up the escarpment (the village of Nombori already is built on a rocky area of the cliff) to get closer to the older buildings and get a wonderful view of the village.
Saying good-bye to our last village, we began the more difficult climb back up to the top. (Walking down was so much easier). After meeting the 4x4, we then drove back to Bandigara for lunch, and then to Mopti for the evening. A nice long shower helped rid the skin of dirt and the hair from sweat. Although I enjoyed the opportunity to sleep on the rooftops, I also liked the comforts of a shower, a sit-down toilet, etc. Looking at some of the video footage of the trip, I already missed Dogon country.
Day 10 – January 4
Long drive back to Bamako – stopped at San for a “demonstration” of the mudcloth process. Then we ate in Segou. A lot more animals seemed to be on the road. Unfortunately, we hit a goat. We were also stopped several times and delayed by the checkpoints. Some were looking for money bribes and others just had a power hunger. Returning back, I changed into clean clothes and began the process of unpacking. Gosh, there were a lot of things to wash!
I always enjoy going on trips. On each one, I learn things about people and places that could only be discovered with direct experience. I am eager to develop the photos and share my journey with others.
Mask Types
Antelope Mask
• Identify by the ears and long two horns
• Dogon name: Walu
Rabbit Mask
• Identify by the smaller tear-drop shaped ears
• Dogon name: Djomo
Bird Mask
• Identify by feathers covering mask
Crocodile Mask
• Identify by triangular-shaped wooden mask with many teeth on the inside of the mouth
Dogon Sisters
• Identify by female figure wearing skirt with hands outstretched, forming a “W”
• Symbol of pride
• Dogon name: Salimbé
Fulani Woman Mask (on stilts)
• Identify by the use of stilts, semi-circle “hair style” on top of head
• Proud and elegant
Fulani Woman Mask
• Identify by semi-circle “hairstyle” on top of head, no stilts
• An extensive amount of cowrie shells are often used to decorate the mask
• Always performed by males (no women allowed in mask ceremony)
Guardian of the Trees
• Identify by grass-like covering of face, carrying of branches in hands
• Protects the fruits and trees
Maison á Etage Mask (Building Mask)
• Identify by very tall plank of wood that extends far above the head
• Represents the many levels on a house
• Act of lowering mask to the ground demonstrates the wearer’s strength and power
Hyena Mask
• Identify by dark masses of hair nearly covering face, perhaps a bow-like ears
• Dogon name: Hyéne
Kanaga Mask
• Identify by the two “U” like wooden shapes on headdress: Top one pointing up, Bottom one pointing down
• Mask of the heavens and earth
• Well-known symbol of the Dogon and Mali
Monkey Mask
• Identify by wooden monkey-like figure crouching with hands touching face
• Dogon name: Masque Deninque
Sanakunya - "Joking Relationship" - 2001
Background
By definition, Sanakunya is the sustaining of social cohesion through jokes. In 1076 AD, when the Ghana Empire was destroyed by the Muslim reformers, people moved south for land and to escape Islamic conversion. In exchange for some land, the newcomers promised to do no harm and endow kindness on the landowners and their families. Joke telling began between the new families and original settlers. Depending on the region, you would find different families settling.
Types
There are several different types of Sanakunya. One is between two ethnic groups, such as between the Malinke and Songhay. Another is between caste and nobles, such as between the Fulani and blacksmiths. A third type, perhaps the most important, is between grandparents and grandchildren. Old people (and grandparents in particular) are a revered and respected source of knowledge in Malian societies. After and through a little joking, grandparents would transmit knowledge to their grandchildren. In fact, the primary way of educating a child was done through the family. You will also find the joking relationship between in-laws and between cousins.
Importance
Sanakunya serves two main functions. Through the joke telling, people learn how to endure suffering and criticism. Accepting criticism as pointed out through jokes enabled people to understand their own faults and change their attitudes. Although it may be difficult to tell a person directly about a particular item, it was much easier to tell (and take) through the form of a joke. In fact, the second main function of Sanakunya is to stop wars between ethnic groups. Conflicts are resolved through the telling of jokes rather than through bloodshed. Indeed, Mali, with its unique system called Sanakunya, has been spared the ethnic and civil conflicts that are so prevalent in other African countries.
Threats
Modern day society threatens to destroy the social practice of Sanakunya. Money and its influence (namely the need for it and the greed) has resulted in people taking actions that they would never have done under full practice of Sanakunya. For example, you now hear of people robbing the homes of others with whom they would have had a joking relationship. With the stressed importance of money, some people feel that they are better than others are and don’t want to be insulted. In addition to the threat of money, religions (Islam and Christianity) also threaten the existence of Sanakunya. Both religions do teach that it is not right to publicly insult others.
Dogon and Bozo
To this day, the Dogon and Bozo people do not intermarry. A long time ago, the Bozo and Dogon moved to escape the imposition of Islam. While a Bozo and Dogon child were playing together, an accident happened and the Dogon child was killed. Afraid for what the Dogon father might say, the Bozo father felt that it would be better if it sounded as if a disease caused the death. He killed his own son and buried both in the same grave. He then went back to the Dogon father and told him that both children had died in a smallpox epidemic. The Dogon father, while sad, said that it was the will of God, and that it should be accepted. Then a serpent came up from the grave and told him that the children were made alive. Not wanting to offend each other, the two ethnic groups decided that no blood should ever be shed between them. This even includes things such as childbirth. To avoid any kind of bloodshed, there is no intermarriage to this day.
By definition, Sanakunya is the sustaining of social cohesion through jokes. In 1076 AD, when the Ghana Empire was destroyed by the Muslim reformers, people moved south for land and to escape Islamic conversion. In exchange for some land, the newcomers promised to do no harm and endow kindness on the landowners and their families. Joke telling began between the new families and original settlers. Depending on the region, you would find different families settling.
Types
There are several different types of Sanakunya. One is between two ethnic groups, such as between the Malinke and Songhay. Another is between caste and nobles, such as between the Fulani and blacksmiths. A third type, perhaps the most important, is between grandparents and grandchildren. Old people (and grandparents in particular) are a revered and respected source of knowledge in Malian societies. After and through a little joking, grandparents would transmit knowledge to their grandchildren. In fact, the primary way of educating a child was done through the family. You will also find the joking relationship between in-laws and between cousins.
Importance
Sanakunya serves two main functions. Through the joke telling, people learn how to endure suffering and criticism. Accepting criticism as pointed out through jokes enabled people to understand their own faults and change their attitudes. Although it may be difficult to tell a person directly about a particular item, it was much easier to tell (and take) through the form of a joke. In fact, the second main function of Sanakunya is to stop wars between ethnic groups. Conflicts are resolved through the telling of jokes rather than through bloodshed. Indeed, Mali, with its unique system called Sanakunya, has been spared the ethnic and civil conflicts that are so prevalent in other African countries.
Threats
Modern day society threatens to destroy the social practice of Sanakunya. Money and its influence (namely the need for it and the greed) has resulted in people taking actions that they would never have done under full practice of Sanakunya. For example, you now hear of people robbing the homes of others with whom they would have had a joking relationship. With the stressed importance of money, some people feel that they are better than others are and don’t want to be insulted. In addition to the threat of money, religions (Islam and Christianity) also threaten the existence of Sanakunya. Both religions do teach that it is not right to publicly insult others.
Dogon and Bozo
To this day, the Dogon and Bozo people do not intermarry. A long time ago, the Bozo and Dogon moved to escape the imposition of Islam. While a Bozo and Dogon child were playing together, an accident happened and the Dogon child was killed. Afraid for what the Dogon father might say, the Bozo father felt that it would be better if it sounded as if a disease caused the death. He killed his own son and buried both in the same grave. He then went back to the Dogon father and told him that both children had died in a smallpox epidemic. The Dogon father, while sad, said that it was the will of God, and that it should be accepted. Then a serpent came up from the grave and told him that the children were made alive. Not wanting to offend each other, the two ethnic groups decided that no blood should ever be shed between them. This even includes things such as childbirth. To avoid any kind of bloodshed, there is no intermarriage to this day.
Niger River Trip to Timbuktu - 2002
Niger River Trip to Timbuktu
Although it is possible to reach the fabled city of Timbuktu by modern transportation (car or airplane), we chose to go by pinasse on the Niger River. Although it considerably lengthened our time spent in transit (a 4WD vehicle can go from Mopti to Timbuktu in about 6 hours), the nearly three days spent on the river up to Timbuktu and two days back to Mopti were romantic, leisurely, and filled with scenes that could come right out of National Geographic.
On the 26th of December, we boarded the pinasse in Mopti, the main port city in Mali. Many pirogues (narrow dugout canoes) had already docked on the shore, with the fishermen hastily unloading their morning catch. Making the journey to Timbuktu were the Director of AISB where I work, her adopted 8-year-old daughter, a music teacher from Kenya International School, our guide, the three-crew members of the boat, and me.
The Niger, Source of Life for many
As we departed Mopti, boys and young men in pirogues were throwing out their nets in hopes of catching capitane and other local fish. Typically, these fishermen would be from the Bozo ethnic group, traditional fishermen of the Niger. One could spot an occasional donkey cart on the shores of the river, as well as women washing clothes in the river, and special pumps with hoses that enabled nearby fields to be irrigated. Women pounded millet in much the same manner that their ancestors pounded the grain staple food. Children from the Bozo and Fulani (ethnic group that traditionally are the cattle herders) villages enthusiastically waved and greeted us as our pinasse (essentially a larger version of the pirogue boat and with a domed canopy woven from grasses) passed by. Suddenly children would come out of homes or stop their chores including tending the nets, pounding millet, or tending cattle.
Occasionally, another pinasse would pass us by, typically equipped with a larger motor. Some pinasses were transporting tourists to Timbuktu, including a boatload of Asian tourists equipped with camcorders, cameras, and other fancy gadgets. Other pinasses heavily laden with local passengers, produce, motor bikes, and even sheep.
In order to reach our destination in a timely manner, we knew that it was important to keep the boat moving rather than making stops. Fish was often purchased from the fishermen just pulling up their nets. It was cooked over a hot coal “stove” right on the boat. On the same hot surface water was heated for tea or Nescafe. Spaghetti and potatoes were other common meals. For dessert we had watermelon – for some reason, it was especially fun to spit the seeds out into the water.
Although it took us longer to reach our destination, our slower motor enabled us to see and enjoy the abundant activity occurring both in the water and along its shores. Near the Fulani village of Seweri, we had the opportunity to witness cattle crossing the river, sometimes with only their head, horns, and humped back sticking out of the water.
The Niger River, especially in the flood plain area around Mopti, is an ornithologist’s delight, filled with numerous types of birds, many of which are migratory. White herons, finches and kingfishers lined the shores. Others swooped through the sky in a huge flock, changing direction and color simultaneously. At times the river became rather narrow, enabling a closer view of life along the shore.
After a supper of fish caught by a Bozo fisherman and some rice cooked right on the boat, we watched the sunset be replaced by a full moon and a glorious array of stars. With the moon illuminating our way, the crew navigated until we reached the seasonal Lake Débo. The tents we pitched provided some protection against the mosquitoes and other pests, but not against the chilly air. We got up a little after 5:30 am so our boat could cross the lake before the waves got too rough. Even though the lake was quite wide, it was also rather shallow, with patches of weeds already showing up in areas. One could also see piles of sticks anchored but floating, indicating good fishing or the depth of the water.
The first village we stopped at was Aka. It had a mixture of people from the ethnic groups Bozo, Balla (former slaves of the Tuareg), Fulani, and Songhay. Like most villages along the river, it had no hospital, doctor, or even a school. The mud brick structures had a definite Moor influence, similar to some of the architecture I saw in Djenne. I found it rather ironic and amusing to see TV antennae amongst some of these mud structures. Near the village we spotted wild monkeys in the tall weeds.
Later on in the day we stopped in the village of Niafounki, home to Mali’s blues musician Ali Farkatouré. I was surprised at the large size of the town, complete with a bustling market. In the congested market, bras were being sold right next to a stall selling the to and other local foods, roots, enamel cookware, plastic goods, and huge hunks of dangling meat. In the street, women were baking pita-like bread in open stoves. Some of this was purchased, providing a break from the baguette bread we normally had for breakfast. In addition to the fish and vegetables purchased in the town, the local bread provided a wonderful supper. A little past the shores of Niafounki, we once again slept on the shores of the Niger.
Once again up at 5:40, we headed to our final destination, although slowed by rough waters. To get our fish for lunch, the crew parked the boat by a tiny village composed of temporary dwellings of the Songhay and Balla groups. We took this opportunity to meet the local people and stretch our legs. Some of the children were completely naked or scantily clothed. Others were dressed in ragged western clothes. Evidently not getting many light-skinned visitors, we were quite the curiosity to them. Small fish was being smoked over the hot coals. Chickens and sheep were wandering about. Prior to taking off, we gave the children (many with runny noses) some crackers and our empty water bottles.
For several different ethnic groups, the Niger River provided a livelihood as well as a source of life. The Bozo people are known as the fishermen. Especially prominent in the Niger River flood plain near Mopti, they can be seen throwing out nets or special traps to catch capitane and other fish. Their homes are typically made from mud brick, sometimes with a roof covered with grass. The Fulani traditionally are the cattle herdsmen. They wander in search for grass and water for their cattle. The Songhay are more common closer to Timbuktu. They often grow rice in the wet season and either raise cattle or fish, especially in the dry season. Some homes of the Songhay people are mud brick while others are more temporary. The Balla people, former slaves of the Tuareg people, are essentially a mixture of different ethnic groups stripped of their identity. Along the Niger, the Balla try to survive through fishing. Like their Tuareg counterparts, the Balla typically live in non-permanent domed tent-like homes and can be rather nomadic.
Along the shore, vegetation began changing from the grassy and almost marshy areas nearer Mopti to few to no shrubs in the sandy soil. Some trees were growing in the water, most likely on dry land during the height of the dry season. During the third day on the boat, the shore became sandier. One could see where the level of the water had been during the rainy season, carved in the sandy ground.
Ever nearing our destination, we spotted a hippo. At first only the uppermost part of its head and body was sticking out of the water. Then it gave a half-hearted yawn. Anxiously watching the unusual site until it was beyond our view, we were once again reminded why the slower river travel is also a more memorable method. The river’s edge began changing from the green provided by the flood plain to fringes of the Sahara. Tiny villages continued to dot the river’s edge. I found it so odd to see TV antennae in these remote and sometimes transient villages with no running water and solar panels providing the means of power for the televisions. A few donkeys and even some horses were seen, typically hitched to a cart or doing other manual labor.
Timbuktu
At 5:05 pm, our cabin fever was relieved as we arrived in Koroumé, the river village nearest to Timbuktu. Several pinasses were docked, including some that had passed us along the way. After loading our belongings into a 4WD, we began the final 10km to Timbuktu – on a paved road! I was surprised to see rice fields along the tree-lined road, an area that at one time was part of the Niger. People were living in makeshift tents right off the fields and busy road. Some were riding donkeys. Other donkeys were piled high with grasses. Women were seen wearing cloth veils around their head to provide shelter from the sun and dust. Some trees even grew in water. Suddenly the trees gave way to shrubs and sand. We were in the fringes of the Sahara. The road as we entered the fabled city changed to sand, in some places rather deep. Almost immediately upon arrival, I went out to photograph the sunset. At first I could see the white sands right up to the pink sky. Then the Tuareg temporary shelters became silhouetted as the sun went down. I was pleasantly surprised that the temperature was comfortable. Our hotel was right on the edge of the Sahara. Outside, children were playing soccer. I could spot a school and some other more “modern” buildings.
The next morning, we toured the rather sleepy Timbuktu. As the wind kicked up the sand, it was rather difficult to imagine that even 30 years ago the Niger River ran through Timbuktu. At present Timbuktu only receives about 100 mm of rain a year, coming down in short but torrential rainfall. The sandy streets were wider than those in Djenné. In fact, some were quite wide. All were covered with rather loose sand, some with animal droppings. The soft, fine, white sand made walking a little more difficult and required drivers to go faster in order to not get stuck. Unfortunately sections of the city and even the bushes in the desert were littered with plastic bags and other rubbish of modern society. Women were baking loaves of bread in outdoor ovens, sliding their pan through sand before slapping a lump of dough on them and then into the oven. Indeed, the rather flat bread did have a slightly sandy texture. Other women were pounding millet. In addition, I saw a man making mud bricks by hand, much like his ancestors probably made. The occasional man with a turban covering his face and some tourists going to specific destinations were also observed. Given the fame and mystique of the city, I was surprised that there wasn’t a more organized tourist souvenir presence, such as postcards, T-shirts with Timbuktu on them and even the Tuaregs selling their work.
Many of the homes had old doors adorned with silver decorations and small red pieces of red cloth behind the silver shapes. Some buildings had fancier wooden Moroccan-style windows, especially on the second floor.
First we toured Djingareiber (meaning “big mosque” in Songhay), the oldest mosque in Timbuktu. Architects from southern Spain built the mud façade structure in 1325. Taking off my sandals, I entered a mosque for the first time. The hallway was rather dark, with the only light coming from the entry. Many of the 390 pillars (stone covered with mud) had oscillating fans attached to them. Although the temperature was currently quite pleasant, the fans were likely essential during the oppressive heat (sometimes over 47°C) occurring much of the year. In one of the rather dark passageways, three wooden pieces protruded from the wall, now worn smooth by the multitude of hands touching them for purification. In the 16th century the mosque, preferred for Friday worship, was expanded. A separate worship area was designated for the women. There also was a covered courtyard that was a popular place for prayer during the week. Every morning a man still goes up the minaret to perform the call to prayer, without the use of loudspeakers or other artificial means. From the rooftop we had a good view of the city including the encroaching Sahara Desert.
Although Timbuktu currently is a fraction of its religious dominance held during its golden age, there are reminders of Islam all around, including over 300 holy men buried all over the city. In fact, Timbuktu might be considered as an alternative place to come instead of making the journey to Mecca. In addition, the city still is part of the salt route. The very heavy and hard slabs take 18 days to arrive by camel in Timbuktu from the salt mines deep in the Malian Sahara.
After touring the mosque, we proceeded down the sandy streets. We passed the preserved home where René Caille lived. In front of the mosque Sidi Yehia, a group of girls played a game, singing and dancing in a circle. Although not impressive in terms of size or overall architectural beauty (it had no minarets), the mosque did have wooden doors adorned with silver symbolic ornaments including the moon and stars. We then went to Boctou’s well, the place where Timbuktu was founded. The city is named after Bouctou (whose name means “lady with a big navel) and Tim means “well (or water).” On the same property as the small well was a modest museum. On the door were two circles, with the larger top silver circle representing men and the smaller bottom circle representing women. A narrow ring connected the two, representing the mysterious link between men and women. Near the top of the door was a dove-like design, signifying peace. Next to the dove were small raised circles representing the number of children the family had. Other symbols are unique to the family, protecting the family. Inside the museum there was a nice collection of Tuareg musical instruments. According to the guide, women make the instruments and play the string instruments, while the men often play the drums. I was particularly interested in the N’djerbâ, an instrument that looked like the forerunner of the violin, complete with a bow shaped more like a hunting bow. In addition to instruments, the small museum’s collection also consisted of clothing. The gofa was a dress worn during the initiation ceremony, typically after being married. Quite similar to the Tuareg women I saw perform at the Ambassador’s residence in Bamako, the women would interweave gold items into their hair. They also would wear ankle bracelets. Such a costume often was an heirloom, passed down the generations.
Our next main stop involved visiting the manuscripts in the Ahmed Baba library. In the small room lit by a single fluorescent light were precious religious manuscripts. Many of the aged handwritten manuscripts were stored in glass bookcases or a metal cabinet. The most rare or old manuscripts were enclosed in a glass display table. Others were simply piled on the table. Efforts are being made to gather religious manuscripts all over the country to be preserved and stored at the Ahmed Baba center. Ahmed Baba, for whom the library is named, was a highly intelligent scholar deported to Morocco to use his scholarly skills. Refusing to offer his assistance, Ahmed was exiled in Morocco for 14 years. After being freed by the prince of Morocco he went back to Timbuktu where he preserved manuscripts and wrote many more.
After the typical noon siesta, we began preparing for a late afternoon camel ride. I proceeded to put on my hiking shoes when I realized that something was in my right shoe. Thinking that it was merely some debris accumulated during our boat trip, I stuck my right hand in the shoe toe area to scrape out the debris. Unfortunately the “debris” stung me, providing an instant combination of burning, throbbing, and pain. Instead of touring the market, I spent the time at the clinic in Timbuktu, receiving treatment for an unknown (it disappeared as someone shook out the shoe) insect. With my right ring finger bandaged and still quite painful, I was determined to still to on the camel ride. Starting a short distance past the hotel, we mounted our camels and began the slow and bumpy 40-minute ride into the Sahara. The surroundings included scrub bushes, thorn bushes, the occasional desert beetle, and lots of white sand. As we got closer to the Tuareg encampment, we could see small herds of goats, some Tuareg men in their traditional turban, and some children playing. Unfortunately we also saw behind a sand dune a pile of alcohol cans, obviously left by some tourists. Not only did the cans litter and mar the landscape, they also served as a terrible example of tourist invasion and alteration of the environment.
Shortly after we arrived, we were led by our Tuareg guide to a group of women, all of whom were dressed in indigo cloth. With their bronze-colored skin, fine features and smooth black hair, their appearance contrasted sharply with members of other Malian ethnic groups. They began singing a response echo began by one of the women. Two women played simple drums balanced on two flip-flops, whose tension and pitch was altered with the addition of small amounts of water or sand. The old woman who expertly drummed the rather repetitive rhythm especially intrigued me. Next to her was a toddler wearing a shirt but nothing on the bottom. Flies covered the child’s light-skinned face that was struggling to smile. As the women began clapping a rhythm, I could see the blue dye of the indigo on their hands, giving credence to their nickname “blue men of the North.” A few men in traditional Tuareg flowing clothing (also blue) and turbans revealing only their eyes began a mock sword demonstration.
Following the customary sweet tea in tiny glasses the size of shot glasses, we were obliged to look at the goods created by the Tuareg salesmen. Some laid out leather boxes, others silver jewelry, others had embellished swords and knifes with leather sheathes. I bought a small camel leather spice purse whose symbolic etched designs were colored by dyes from local plants. We then made the camel ride back to the city. Walking by moonlight, our Tuareg guide led us to a nice restaurant. Here we had a meal of lamb, and a wheat grain in a shape of a bun, similar to a large dumpling. A flavorful sauce enhanced the dish. After eating we greeted the staff members of the travel guide series Lonely Planet that had been traveling throughout Mali gathering data and photos to make a guidebook. Across from the restaurant we could see a monument being constructed. Called “Place de la Famne de la Paix” (place of the flame of peace), it is the place where 10,000 people watched as 3,000 weapons of Tuareg rebels and the Malian army were burned in 1996.
Return River Trip
We stopped at the village of Sebi for fish. A number of older men were gathered around a circle, playing Wali, a popular Songhay strategy game using stones and sticks. The men were quite involved in the game, throwing down sticks or smooth stones in succession. Showing them the short clip I had videotaped of the game action, the group was quite enamored, pointing out their position on the LCD screen and a particularly strategic move. Another man was repairing a small fish net would typically be placed in shallow water for one or two days. Just prior to leaving the village, we were asked if we had any medicine to give. Uneducated about the correct usage and risks of medicine, the villagers of this remote village believed that western medicine was like magic candy and could automatically be of benefit.
We stopped for fish at the village of Dagna. Even though we stayed in the boat, we were treated to an unusual sight – boys were sitting atop small bundles of carefully tied sticks, using a pole to navigate the shallow water. In a carefree manner, the boys seemed to enjoy their little game. A couple expertly stood up on the bundle, balancing them. The whole situation reminded me of the ingenuity of Malian children – they can have fun with simple things and will make the toys out of nothing if necessary. That night the boat continued traveling until 10:30 pm, navigating by the full moon, which was occasionally partly veiled by thin clouds. As I huddled under my blankets in the small tent, I could hear dogs and the strong waves lapping against the shore and parked boat.
The next morning, or second day on the boat, we got up around 5:40 am. Breakfast consisted of the bread from Timbuktu (slightly sandy) and jelly. We saw many birds, including the small birds that flock together, simultaneously changing directions.
In contrast to the way up to Timbuktu, the water was very calm on the way back. This provided a smoother ride, faster time and wonderful reflections in the water. After sunset, the sky became filled with a beautiful array of stars. The moon took its time to finally shine, but when it did it was full and bright. In hopes of reaching Mopti at an earlier time, we decided to travel a little longer by boat during the night before stopping for the night. Suddenly several fish jumped on the boat. Too small to eat, I threw them back in the water. Shortly after, several more jumped in. All total, we had 8 fish join us on the pinasse. At 9:30pm, we arrived at the sandy shores of a village. Since it was noisy and would not provide restful sleep, we decided to continue on, traveling all night in hopes of reaching Mopti by late morning. Late at night, the sudden landing of the boat on the shore awakened me – the boat driver had dozed off. It took the efforts of all the crew members to push the boat into navigable waters. At about 4 am, we arrived in Mopti and slept on the boat until a more reasonable hour.
After taking a shower and putting on clean clothes at Mac’s Refuge in Sevare, we finally felt human again. I recharged my camcorder and digital camera batteries, knowing that there wouldn’t be such electrical opportunities in Dogon. After a wonderful home-cooked Chinese-thematic meal including egg drop soup and sweet-sour pork, we went to bed early that night. The next morning we had a hearty breakfast including buckwheat pancakes (toppings included guava jam, bissop, mint, or maple syrup) and rice pudding.
Dogon
We then left left for Dogon. The road which was a dusty construction path last year was now completed – the paved road made the trip to Bandigiara smooth and quick. Some notebooks and pens were purchased for the school in Kondou and the essential kola nuts were also purchased.
Three hours after we started from Mopti, we arrived in the large Dogon village of Sangha. The 4WD was parked and our bags unloaded. Proceeding with some porters who carried our luggage and boxes of bottled water on their heads, we started heading down the escarpment. The view was beautiful, but you also had to be mindful of your footing, especially with the many loose rocks and narrow paths. We stopped for lunch and a break in Banani. While waiting for our meal of sauce and rice, we had a coke and then went to a few shops full of Dogon woodcarvings. For good or bad, I didn’t bring much money with me and so I didn’t buy anything. The village seemed a little too touristy to me and the prices were high. We also observed a man who, in addition to having a mental problem, also had a drinking problem. He went around asking people if they had millet beer or if some money could be given so he could purchase some. Our Dogon guide Boubacar gave him a kola nut, hoping that the nut with a caffeine buzz would appeal to him for at least a while.
Late afternoon we reached the plains entrance to the village of Neni. While waiting for the masked dance to start, we were shown some museum-quality Tellem artifacts that a Dogon man had for sale. Admiring the good condition of the pieces and small size of the wooden spoon and bowl (the Tellem were the size of pygmies), we replied that we couldn’t purchase the pieces but thanked him for showing us. A few women were preparing for a funeral as well, putting on their best dress and jewelry. At the appointed hour we began our ascent to the main part of the village. Along the way we saw a colorful blanket carefully folded up and placed on a rock. Shanti (the impulsive and inquisitive 8 year old with us) was about to touch the blanket when our guide told us that the blanket was used during the funeral process and, as a consecrated object must not be touched.
Villagers and a couple tourists began gathering around the flat spot where the masked dance was to occur, climbing on the many rocks to get a good view. Drums invited the masked dancers to come forth, moving in rhythmical patterns. Aside from some variations, we saw many of the same type of masks as we did last year in Pelou, a village in southern Dogon. Most masks were carved out of wood, with a woven cloth covering the wearer’s back of head, a fiber bikini-style top covered with conch shells and colorful (using the resin from the l’anea resin tree) grass skirts, anklets and bracelets. I identified the rabbit, antelope, kanaga, hunter, and maison mask. Each type of mask seemed to have its own particular move, with the kanaga swooping its head/mask in a circular fashion and the maison mask leaping high into the air while balancing the tall mask. Showing its strength and control, the maison mask then carefully bent its head down until the tall thin mask finally touched the ground in front of him and then repeat the process tipping the mask backwards until it touched the ground in back of him. Next a hunter mask came out with a spear, engaging in a duel with an older Dogon man wearing a Fulani hat and cane. Adague, guardian of the environment, wore a fibrous mask with what looked like several eyes. It had a leather-like shield and an axe, and also engaged in the duel.
After the masked dance the funeral began. The funeral could be thought of more like a memorial service, in that the dead person had been buried for some time already. This was a chance for friends and family from distant villages to gather and remember the dead woman. According to our Dogon guide Boubacar, the funeral (a non-masked ceremony since it was for a woman) typically would last for five days. The mostly woman funeral procession began dancing and singing in a line in the crowded area. Drums accompanied the singing, occasionally enhanced by the sound of plastic whistles. In a small area near the drummers, a man and woman took off their sandals and began dancing as if communicating with each other. Then the woman began dancing solo and blowing a whistle, with the sleeping baby tied to her back bouncing up and down. Although I would have liked to stay longer, it was time for us to leave and set up our base in Kondou. Lit by the moonlight, the walk to the village was pleasant.
Although the accommodations were quite simple, the hotel was packed. Tables in the sandy courtyard were filled with tourists from Germany, France, and other countries. People set up tents in the courtyard or on the flat roof of the hotel buildings. People were waiting in line to wash up in the outdoor stalls with a bucket and others wanted to use the outdoor bathroom stall consisting of a hole in the ground behind a beautiful carved wooden door. Our hotel room was simple as well, consisting of a table, two windows, a fluorescent light, and a cane bed with a thin mattress and single sheet almost covering the mattress surface, and inch-thick foam for a pillow. Looking around the room, I could find no electric outlets. I became even more grateful that I had the opportunity to recharge batteries while at Mac’s Refuge in Sevaré. Luckily many of the hotel guests that had been rather noisy during the night left the next morning. For the next two nights the hotel was much less congested.
In the morning we left for the villages of Youga Nah and Youga Dogourou. I choose to ride on the cow cart, anticipating a challenging climb. A few boys joined us, indicating that they had nothing better to do. While trekking up the rocky escarpment, we encountered an older man who was blind, weaving a shallow bowl out of local grasses. After purchasing a bowl and giving the kindly man a kola nut, we continued our trek upward. Periodically we paused for a few moments for a mini-break, drinking water and capturing a panoramic view of the plains and escarpment climbed so far. Even in these steep, rocky areas one could see evidence of millet stalks and other crops carefully planted and then harvested in the tiny areas of ground. In a small opening between some stone houses was a narrow loom, with the sizeable amount of the white fabric already accumulated around a narrow bolt. In another spot in Yougou Na, we saw a fetish, which essentially looked like a tall mound of mud covered with white millet porridge.
Continuing our trek, we reached Yougo Dougourou, the village where the tradition of mask originated. Climbing up a little further, we reached the toguna where we found the hogon of the village. Small in stature, the older man with a white beard and eyebrows, simple indigo cloth shirt and cotton Dogon hat, and held a carved walking stick. He walked and spoke with a commanding presence. The hogon and another man in the toguna began drinking millet beer, a favorite to the Dogon. Boubacar gave the gentle hogon a few kola nuts, accepted a drink of the beer from the large calabash, thanked the hogon for his hospitality, and then we continued on. Nestled in between the Tellem dwellings high in the cliffs, was the place where the hogon originally lived. After spending some time marveling at the architectural wonders of both the Dogon and their Tellem predecessors, we made our way back down to the village encampment. Here we rested, had a coke, read, and had lunch before heading back to Kondou.
Our final trekking day consisted of visiting the Kondou villages up on the escarpment and the important place called Arou. We began climbing up the rocky hill right behind the hotel, up to Kondou Ginna. Like the typical Dogon village, granaries (used for storing grain and other valuables) were made out of mud, with a thatched conical roof protecting the contents during deluges of the rainy season. To protect the precious contents from vermin such as rats, the granaries are raised from the ground with piled stones. At one granary, the beautifully carved window was opened, and the young girl who had climbed up the ladder began hauling down some of the millet to make into food. Homes were more often made out of rocks and/or mud and had a flat roof.
Continuing further up the escarpment, we came to Kondou Kekeni. Here we saw some monkey skulls imbedded into the stone surface. Mindful of the knowledgeable advice or our Dogon guide, we did not take photos or attempt to touch the important site. Like in some other villages, residents had quickly laid out some wooden carvings, eager for a sale. They even offered us some millet beer; I took a sip of the warm locally-brewed beer. Boubacar also showed us a source of drinking water, located below a large sheet of escarpment rock. In order to preserve the quality of the drinking water, those wanting to go down to the water had to take off their shoes.
Finally we reached the topmost village Kondou Da, where we would spend some time exploring and resting. Just beyond the village one could see a green valley. It was a large garden with onions, tobacco, eggplant, squash, mangoes, calabashes, lettuce, papaya, spices, potatoes, and other items. Water was carried in calabashes from a nearby pond, seemingly protected by a crocodile perched on a rock. The crocodile seemed to be enjoying itself, as if it knew that the revered nature of the crocodiles would provide safety. Beneath some jutting rocks, Boubacar pointed out some human skeletons and bones. For lunch and our daily siesta, we stayed at a nice encampment, complete with cane cots and foam pads, flowers, and beautiful carved wooden doors. To pass the time, I enjoyed looking at the wooden carvings and artifacts in the small boutique. No one complained about the higher prices for cokes in remote villages such as this, since such items had to be carried up the steep, rocky escarpment. As we left the village, we encountered a fetish on a large rock, with the fetish rock upright and smaller ones around it. The number of fetishes spotted and placement of them was intriguing.
Following our siesta, we continued our trek to Arou, the place where the highest Hogon resided. People represented from each village come to offer sacrifices here for rain. The high Hogon is the important decision-maker for the Dogon, and even is consulted as a representative of the Dogon in political matters of the country. After climbing even higher, we finally reached the small home where the gatekeeper of Arou lived. Prior to going up to the ginna, the elderly gatekeeper told us that his wife was suffering from an eye ailment and wondered if we had anything that might be of help. All we had for her swollen eye area (which looked like conjunctivitis or similar eye condition) was some Tylenol. After giving her some advice/instructions, we proceeded up the rocks to the hogon and temple, with the gatekeeper going before us to announce our presence to the hogon. At the foot of a large baobab tree was a circular path. Boubacar instructed us to enter in a clockwise direction. The other way was reserved for people of special status. The Hogon was sitting in the low-roofed toguna next to the ginna. He welcomed us and indicated that it was an honor to have us as guests. The high hogon was simply dressed in white with the traditional strip-sewn cloth and a small white hat. Neither his placement, voice, or dress marked any significance; neither did he exert his authority in our presence. A rooster and hen were running about. The ginna temple in Arou was the largest ginna in all Dogon. It had 9 rounded points on top of the retangular-shaped façade, with 8 ostrich eggs on top of the points (one of the points didn’t have an egg). Even though there was a door opening, it was not possible to see inside the religious building. Above the door were 8 narrow vertical openings, representing the 8 ancestors. The hogon was presented with some money for photography, a small handful of kola nuts, and a reply of thankfulness. At that time we headed down towards the plains, taking the longer but less strenuous route near the village of Ibi. On the sandy road we saw a chameleon making its way to some dry grass. According to Boubacar, sighting of a chameleon is a sign of good luck. Grubby with sweat and dust, we all eagerly took a bucket bath that night before our meal.
With the Director’s large female wooden sculpture carefully placed in the 4WD’s luggage rack and our luggage in the back of the vehicle, we began our journey out of Dogon. Honoring our promise to the man we saw at Neni with the Tellem artifacts, we went to a small village near Neni and Ibi and went into his boutique. In these two rooms lit only by a few small windows, were Tellem and Dogon artifacts. After marveling at the wonderful collection of artifacts, we suggested that perhaps instead the man might want to charge a small amount to see the museum-quality pieces. Feeding and providing for his family now was more important to him than any delayed compensation of museum admission fees.
As the driver skillfully manipulated the vehicle through the narrow curvy roads up the escarpment near Banani, we decided to stop to appreciate the wonderful view. Before us were the villages of Banani Amou, Banani Kokoro, Banani Bassirou, and Banani Na, occupying spots below, on, and above the rocky escarpment. Driving further up the escarpment, we stopped at Komo Ouguro, site of a Tellem village in a cave. Once inside the cave, we were able to walk right up to the purely Tellem village. Some of the buildings made from mud brick were in ruins; others were rather well preserved. Each building seemed to be founded on a separate stone slab. Next to these small buildings, bricks still bearing the deep fingerprints of the masons were evident. I also saw some rocks with a deep bowl-shaped indentation, probably used for the extraction of oil. It was a wonderful opportunity to see Tellem architecture in a settlement occupied and used only by these mysterious people.
On the outskirts of a Sangha, we stopped at a place that initially looked non-descript to me. Here was a small version of the fetishes we had seen in some of the other villages. In addition, there were some markings drawn into the sand, with sticks and stones occupying strategic positions inside the long, narrow oval. Warning us not to disturb the fragile design, Boubacar then explained to us that it was created by a diviner. First the sticks, stones are placed and special symbols drawn in the sand. Based on the changes occurred as jackals walking through the design at night, the diviner interprets the results and makes predictions about what will happen in the life of the person seeking consultation.
Following a lunch at the Swiss hotel/restaurant Cheval Blanc, we drove out of Bandigiara, the main entry village into Dogon. Prior to our departure of the Dogon area, we drove past a village that was having market day. People, dressed up in their better clothes, were on donkey carts heading to or from the village. Some were hauling firewood and large bags of produce. Women, walking in colorful dresses, were carrying plastic buckets full of tomatoes and other produce. For quite some distance we met people either going to or returning from the market, eager to buy or sell goods.
Back to Bamako
Late afternoon we reached Mac’s Refuge in Sevare, where we once again treated ourselves to a shower and some home-cooked meals. The next morning we headed off on the long drive back to Bamako. As soon as the 4WD stopped in the Sevare gas station, a number of locals headed towards the vehicle in hopes for a sale of items including Fulani blankets, jewelry, hats, shoes, cigarettes, and produce.
Between Sevare and the town of San, we passed through villages also holding markets. Many people on donkey carts and the occasional horse-pulled carts were making their way to the market. Others were walking, carrying large loads in baskets expertly balanced on their heads. Boys pushed small carts with a pole full of chickens balanced on it. Other kids held up guinea hens, hoping for a roadside sale. Along the way we passed by seasonal riverbeds, now completely dry and sandy. On the road we passed large white passenger trucks, crammed with people in back and gourds, sheep, sacks, plastic bowls, and other goods piled high and tied down on the roof. Sometimes there were even people on top of that! Some larger trucks hauled sheep on the bottom, and large numbers of people filling every spare inch of the open area. Our driver had to constantly be aware of hazards on the road, including slow-moving donkey carts, potholes, and animals such as goats, sheep, cattle, and donkeys attempting to cross the narrow paved road.
In Segou, numerous signs indicated the upcoming COCAN, the all-Africa soccer tournament held starting in mid-January in 5 regions of Mali. New restaurants were built; lodging, stores and roads with streetlights were added. New soccer stadiums were erected. I hope that Mali and its citizens reap great rewards from the tournament, both in the immediate future and for some time to come.
As we neared the capital city of Bamako, darkness began to envelop the area. A curious white fog seemed to hang in the distance towards Bamako. The closer we got to the city, the worse the “fog” was. We then realized that the “fog” burning our eyes and making it difficult to breathe was created by burning garbage – a practice encouraged in order to clear the area of garbage prior to the tournaments. Our thirteen-day trip was now over. The next day we started school, adding with it all the familiar routines.
Mali is a country with people proud of their tradition. Despite the numerous cultures and ethnic groups, people generally co-exist peacefully. Life is not easy – most are in subsistence mode, barely able to make enough money or grow enough crops to support their family. Many things are still done as they were hundreds of years ago. New technology and ways of doing things are gradually encroaching, even into isolated areas. It remains to be seen whether the introductions will be positive or harmful to the culture, environment, and overall way of life. Although poor financially, Mali is rich in its diversity and warmth of people. Once again, I have had the pleasure and opportunity to witness this.
Although it is possible to reach the fabled city of Timbuktu by modern transportation (car or airplane), we chose to go by pinasse on the Niger River. Although it considerably lengthened our time spent in transit (a 4WD vehicle can go from Mopti to Timbuktu in about 6 hours), the nearly three days spent on the river up to Timbuktu and two days back to Mopti were romantic, leisurely, and filled with scenes that could come right out of National Geographic.
On the 26th of December, we boarded the pinasse in Mopti, the main port city in Mali. Many pirogues (narrow dugout canoes) had already docked on the shore, with the fishermen hastily unloading their morning catch. Making the journey to Timbuktu were the Director of AISB where I work, her adopted 8-year-old daughter, a music teacher from Kenya International School, our guide, the three-crew members of the boat, and me.
The Niger, Source of Life for many
As we departed Mopti, boys and young men in pirogues were throwing out their nets in hopes of catching capitane and other local fish. Typically, these fishermen would be from the Bozo ethnic group, traditional fishermen of the Niger. One could spot an occasional donkey cart on the shores of the river, as well as women washing clothes in the river, and special pumps with hoses that enabled nearby fields to be irrigated. Women pounded millet in much the same manner that their ancestors pounded the grain staple food. Children from the Bozo and Fulani (ethnic group that traditionally are the cattle herders) villages enthusiastically waved and greeted us as our pinasse (essentially a larger version of the pirogue boat and with a domed canopy woven from grasses) passed by. Suddenly children would come out of homes or stop their chores including tending the nets, pounding millet, or tending cattle.
Occasionally, another pinasse would pass us by, typically equipped with a larger motor. Some pinasses were transporting tourists to Timbuktu, including a boatload of Asian tourists equipped with camcorders, cameras, and other fancy gadgets. Other pinasses heavily laden with local passengers, produce, motor bikes, and even sheep.
In order to reach our destination in a timely manner, we knew that it was important to keep the boat moving rather than making stops. Fish was often purchased from the fishermen just pulling up their nets. It was cooked over a hot coal “stove” right on the boat. On the same hot surface water was heated for tea or Nescafe. Spaghetti and potatoes were other common meals. For dessert we had watermelon – for some reason, it was especially fun to spit the seeds out into the water.
Although it took us longer to reach our destination, our slower motor enabled us to see and enjoy the abundant activity occurring both in the water and along its shores. Near the Fulani village of Seweri, we had the opportunity to witness cattle crossing the river, sometimes with only their head, horns, and humped back sticking out of the water.
The Niger River, especially in the flood plain area around Mopti, is an ornithologist’s delight, filled with numerous types of birds, many of which are migratory. White herons, finches and kingfishers lined the shores. Others swooped through the sky in a huge flock, changing direction and color simultaneously. At times the river became rather narrow, enabling a closer view of life along the shore.
After a supper of fish caught by a Bozo fisherman and some rice cooked right on the boat, we watched the sunset be replaced by a full moon and a glorious array of stars. With the moon illuminating our way, the crew navigated until we reached the seasonal Lake Débo. The tents we pitched provided some protection against the mosquitoes and other pests, but not against the chilly air. We got up a little after 5:30 am so our boat could cross the lake before the waves got too rough. Even though the lake was quite wide, it was also rather shallow, with patches of weeds already showing up in areas. One could also see piles of sticks anchored but floating, indicating good fishing or the depth of the water.
The first village we stopped at was Aka. It had a mixture of people from the ethnic groups Bozo, Balla (former slaves of the Tuareg), Fulani, and Songhay. Like most villages along the river, it had no hospital, doctor, or even a school. The mud brick structures had a definite Moor influence, similar to some of the architecture I saw in Djenne. I found it rather ironic and amusing to see TV antennae amongst some of these mud structures. Near the village we spotted wild monkeys in the tall weeds.
Later on in the day we stopped in the village of Niafounki, home to Mali’s blues musician Ali Farkatouré. I was surprised at the large size of the town, complete with a bustling market. In the congested market, bras were being sold right next to a stall selling the to and other local foods, roots, enamel cookware, plastic goods, and huge hunks of dangling meat. In the street, women were baking pita-like bread in open stoves. Some of this was purchased, providing a break from the baguette bread we normally had for breakfast. In addition to the fish and vegetables purchased in the town, the local bread provided a wonderful supper. A little past the shores of Niafounki, we once again slept on the shores of the Niger.
Once again up at 5:40, we headed to our final destination, although slowed by rough waters. To get our fish for lunch, the crew parked the boat by a tiny village composed of temporary dwellings of the Songhay and Balla groups. We took this opportunity to meet the local people and stretch our legs. Some of the children were completely naked or scantily clothed. Others were dressed in ragged western clothes. Evidently not getting many light-skinned visitors, we were quite the curiosity to them. Small fish was being smoked over the hot coals. Chickens and sheep were wandering about. Prior to taking off, we gave the children (many with runny noses) some crackers and our empty water bottles.
For several different ethnic groups, the Niger River provided a livelihood as well as a source of life. The Bozo people are known as the fishermen. Especially prominent in the Niger River flood plain near Mopti, they can be seen throwing out nets or special traps to catch capitane and other fish. Their homes are typically made from mud brick, sometimes with a roof covered with grass. The Fulani traditionally are the cattle herdsmen. They wander in search for grass and water for their cattle. The Songhay are more common closer to Timbuktu. They often grow rice in the wet season and either raise cattle or fish, especially in the dry season. Some homes of the Songhay people are mud brick while others are more temporary. The Balla people, former slaves of the Tuareg people, are essentially a mixture of different ethnic groups stripped of their identity. Along the Niger, the Balla try to survive through fishing. Like their Tuareg counterparts, the Balla typically live in non-permanent domed tent-like homes and can be rather nomadic.
Along the shore, vegetation began changing from the grassy and almost marshy areas nearer Mopti to few to no shrubs in the sandy soil. Some trees were growing in the water, most likely on dry land during the height of the dry season. During the third day on the boat, the shore became sandier. One could see where the level of the water had been during the rainy season, carved in the sandy ground.
Ever nearing our destination, we spotted a hippo. At first only the uppermost part of its head and body was sticking out of the water. Then it gave a half-hearted yawn. Anxiously watching the unusual site until it was beyond our view, we were once again reminded why the slower river travel is also a more memorable method. The river’s edge began changing from the green provided by the flood plain to fringes of the Sahara. Tiny villages continued to dot the river’s edge. I found it so odd to see TV antennae in these remote and sometimes transient villages with no running water and solar panels providing the means of power for the televisions. A few donkeys and even some horses were seen, typically hitched to a cart or doing other manual labor.
Timbuktu
At 5:05 pm, our cabin fever was relieved as we arrived in Koroumé, the river village nearest to Timbuktu. Several pinasses were docked, including some that had passed us along the way. After loading our belongings into a 4WD, we began the final 10km to Timbuktu – on a paved road! I was surprised to see rice fields along the tree-lined road, an area that at one time was part of the Niger. People were living in makeshift tents right off the fields and busy road. Some were riding donkeys. Other donkeys were piled high with grasses. Women were seen wearing cloth veils around their head to provide shelter from the sun and dust. Some trees even grew in water. Suddenly the trees gave way to shrubs and sand. We were in the fringes of the Sahara. The road as we entered the fabled city changed to sand, in some places rather deep. Almost immediately upon arrival, I went out to photograph the sunset. At first I could see the white sands right up to the pink sky. Then the Tuareg temporary shelters became silhouetted as the sun went down. I was pleasantly surprised that the temperature was comfortable. Our hotel was right on the edge of the Sahara. Outside, children were playing soccer. I could spot a school and some other more “modern” buildings.
The next morning, we toured the rather sleepy Timbuktu. As the wind kicked up the sand, it was rather difficult to imagine that even 30 years ago the Niger River ran through Timbuktu. At present Timbuktu only receives about 100 mm of rain a year, coming down in short but torrential rainfall. The sandy streets were wider than those in Djenné. In fact, some were quite wide. All were covered with rather loose sand, some with animal droppings. The soft, fine, white sand made walking a little more difficult and required drivers to go faster in order to not get stuck. Unfortunately sections of the city and even the bushes in the desert were littered with plastic bags and other rubbish of modern society. Women were baking loaves of bread in outdoor ovens, sliding their pan through sand before slapping a lump of dough on them and then into the oven. Indeed, the rather flat bread did have a slightly sandy texture. Other women were pounding millet. In addition, I saw a man making mud bricks by hand, much like his ancestors probably made. The occasional man with a turban covering his face and some tourists going to specific destinations were also observed. Given the fame and mystique of the city, I was surprised that there wasn’t a more organized tourist souvenir presence, such as postcards, T-shirts with Timbuktu on them and even the Tuaregs selling their work.
Many of the homes had old doors adorned with silver decorations and small red pieces of red cloth behind the silver shapes. Some buildings had fancier wooden Moroccan-style windows, especially on the second floor.
First we toured Djingareiber (meaning “big mosque” in Songhay), the oldest mosque in Timbuktu. Architects from southern Spain built the mud façade structure in 1325. Taking off my sandals, I entered a mosque for the first time. The hallway was rather dark, with the only light coming from the entry. Many of the 390 pillars (stone covered with mud) had oscillating fans attached to them. Although the temperature was currently quite pleasant, the fans were likely essential during the oppressive heat (sometimes over 47°C) occurring much of the year. In one of the rather dark passageways, three wooden pieces protruded from the wall, now worn smooth by the multitude of hands touching them for purification. In the 16th century the mosque, preferred for Friday worship, was expanded. A separate worship area was designated for the women. There also was a covered courtyard that was a popular place for prayer during the week. Every morning a man still goes up the minaret to perform the call to prayer, without the use of loudspeakers or other artificial means. From the rooftop we had a good view of the city including the encroaching Sahara Desert.
Although Timbuktu currently is a fraction of its religious dominance held during its golden age, there are reminders of Islam all around, including over 300 holy men buried all over the city. In fact, Timbuktu might be considered as an alternative place to come instead of making the journey to Mecca. In addition, the city still is part of the salt route. The very heavy and hard slabs take 18 days to arrive by camel in Timbuktu from the salt mines deep in the Malian Sahara.
After touring the mosque, we proceeded down the sandy streets. We passed the preserved home where René Caille lived. In front of the mosque Sidi Yehia, a group of girls played a game, singing and dancing in a circle. Although not impressive in terms of size or overall architectural beauty (it had no minarets), the mosque did have wooden doors adorned with silver symbolic ornaments including the moon and stars. We then went to Boctou’s well, the place where Timbuktu was founded. The city is named after Bouctou (whose name means “lady with a big navel) and Tim means “well (or water).” On the same property as the small well was a modest museum. On the door were two circles, with the larger top silver circle representing men and the smaller bottom circle representing women. A narrow ring connected the two, representing the mysterious link between men and women. Near the top of the door was a dove-like design, signifying peace. Next to the dove were small raised circles representing the number of children the family had. Other symbols are unique to the family, protecting the family. Inside the museum there was a nice collection of Tuareg musical instruments. According to the guide, women make the instruments and play the string instruments, while the men often play the drums. I was particularly interested in the N’djerbâ, an instrument that looked like the forerunner of the violin, complete with a bow shaped more like a hunting bow. In addition to instruments, the small museum’s collection also consisted of clothing. The gofa was a dress worn during the initiation ceremony, typically after being married. Quite similar to the Tuareg women I saw perform at the Ambassador’s residence in Bamako, the women would interweave gold items into their hair. They also would wear ankle bracelets. Such a costume often was an heirloom, passed down the generations.
Our next main stop involved visiting the manuscripts in the Ahmed Baba library. In the small room lit by a single fluorescent light were precious religious manuscripts. Many of the aged handwritten manuscripts were stored in glass bookcases or a metal cabinet. The most rare or old manuscripts were enclosed in a glass display table. Others were simply piled on the table. Efforts are being made to gather religious manuscripts all over the country to be preserved and stored at the Ahmed Baba center. Ahmed Baba, for whom the library is named, was a highly intelligent scholar deported to Morocco to use his scholarly skills. Refusing to offer his assistance, Ahmed was exiled in Morocco for 14 years. After being freed by the prince of Morocco he went back to Timbuktu where he preserved manuscripts and wrote many more.
After the typical noon siesta, we began preparing for a late afternoon camel ride. I proceeded to put on my hiking shoes when I realized that something was in my right shoe. Thinking that it was merely some debris accumulated during our boat trip, I stuck my right hand in the shoe toe area to scrape out the debris. Unfortunately the “debris” stung me, providing an instant combination of burning, throbbing, and pain. Instead of touring the market, I spent the time at the clinic in Timbuktu, receiving treatment for an unknown (it disappeared as someone shook out the shoe) insect. With my right ring finger bandaged and still quite painful, I was determined to still to on the camel ride. Starting a short distance past the hotel, we mounted our camels and began the slow and bumpy 40-minute ride into the Sahara. The surroundings included scrub bushes, thorn bushes, the occasional desert beetle, and lots of white sand. As we got closer to the Tuareg encampment, we could see small herds of goats, some Tuareg men in their traditional turban, and some children playing. Unfortunately we also saw behind a sand dune a pile of alcohol cans, obviously left by some tourists. Not only did the cans litter and mar the landscape, they also served as a terrible example of tourist invasion and alteration of the environment.
Shortly after we arrived, we were led by our Tuareg guide to a group of women, all of whom were dressed in indigo cloth. With their bronze-colored skin, fine features and smooth black hair, their appearance contrasted sharply with members of other Malian ethnic groups. They began singing a response echo began by one of the women. Two women played simple drums balanced on two flip-flops, whose tension and pitch was altered with the addition of small amounts of water or sand. The old woman who expertly drummed the rather repetitive rhythm especially intrigued me. Next to her was a toddler wearing a shirt but nothing on the bottom. Flies covered the child’s light-skinned face that was struggling to smile. As the women began clapping a rhythm, I could see the blue dye of the indigo on their hands, giving credence to their nickname “blue men of the North.” A few men in traditional Tuareg flowing clothing (also blue) and turbans revealing only their eyes began a mock sword demonstration.
Following the customary sweet tea in tiny glasses the size of shot glasses, we were obliged to look at the goods created by the Tuareg salesmen. Some laid out leather boxes, others silver jewelry, others had embellished swords and knifes with leather sheathes. I bought a small camel leather spice purse whose symbolic etched designs were colored by dyes from local plants. We then made the camel ride back to the city. Walking by moonlight, our Tuareg guide led us to a nice restaurant. Here we had a meal of lamb, and a wheat grain in a shape of a bun, similar to a large dumpling. A flavorful sauce enhanced the dish. After eating we greeted the staff members of the travel guide series Lonely Planet that had been traveling throughout Mali gathering data and photos to make a guidebook. Across from the restaurant we could see a monument being constructed. Called “Place de la Famne de la Paix” (place of the flame of peace), it is the place where 10,000 people watched as 3,000 weapons of Tuareg rebels and the Malian army were burned in 1996.
Return River Trip
We stopped at the village of Sebi for fish. A number of older men were gathered around a circle, playing Wali, a popular Songhay strategy game using stones and sticks. The men were quite involved in the game, throwing down sticks or smooth stones in succession. Showing them the short clip I had videotaped of the game action, the group was quite enamored, pointing out their position on the LCD screen and a particularly strategic move. Another man was repairing a small fish net would typically be placed in shallow water for one or two days. Just prior to leaving the village, we were asked if we had any medicine to give. Uneducated about the correct usage and risks of medicine, the villagers of this remote village believed that western medicine was like magic candy and could automatically be of benefit.
We stopped for fish at the village of Dagna. Even though we stayed in the boat, we were treated to an unusual sight – boys were sitting atop small bundles of carefully tied sticks, using a pole to navigate the shallow water. In a carefree manner, the boys seemed to enjoy their little game. A couple expertly stood up on the bundle, balancing them. The whole situation reminded me of the ingenuity of Malian children – they can have fun with simple things and will make the toys out of nothing if necessary. That night the boat continued traveling until 10:30 pm, navigating by the full moon, which was occasionally partly veiled by thin clouds. As I huddled under my blankets in the small tent, I could hear dogs and the strong waves lapping against the shore and parked boat.
The next morning, or second day on the boat, we got up around 5:40 am. Breakfast consisted of the bread from Timbuktu (slightly sandy) and jelly. We saw many birds, including the small birds that flock together, simultaneously changing directions.
In contrast to the way up to Timbuktu, the water was very calm on the way back. This provided a smoother ride, faster time and wonderful reflections in the water. After sunset, the sky became filled with a beautiful array of stars. The moon took its time to finally shine, but when it did it was full and bright. In hopes of reaching Mopti at an earlier time, we decided to travel a little longer by boat during the night before stopping for the night. Suddenly several fish jumped on the boat. Too small to eat, I threw them back in the water. Shortly after, several more jumped in. All total, we had 8 fish join us on the pinasse. At 9:30pm, we arrived at the sandy shores of a village. Since it was noisy and would not provide restful sleep, we decided to continue on, traveling all night in hopes of reaching Mopti by late morning. Late at night, the sudden landing of the boat on the shore awakened me – the boat driver had dozed off. It took the efforts of all the crew members to push the boat into navigable waters. At about 4 am, we arrived in Mopti and slept on the boat until a more reasonable hour.
After taking a shower and putting on clean clothes at Mac’s Refuge in Sevare, we finally felt human again. I recharged my camcorder and digital camera batteries, knowing that there wouldn’t be such electrical opportunities in Dogon. After a wonderful home-cooked Chinese-thematic meal including egg drop soup and sweet-sour pork, we went to bed early that night. The next morning we had a hearty breakfast including buckwheat pancakes (toppings included guava jam, bissop, mint, or maple syrup) and rice pudding.
Dogon
We then left left for Dogon. The road which was a dusty construction path last year was now completed – the paved road made the trip to Bandigiara smooth and quick. Some notebooks and pens were purchased for the school in Kondou and the essential kola nuts were also purchased.
Three hours after we started from Mopti, we arrived in the large Dogon village of Sangha. The 4WD was parked and our bags unloaded. Proceeding with some porters who carried our luggage and boxes of bottled water on their heads, we started heading down the escarpment. The view was beautiful, but you also had to be mindful of your footing, especially with the many loose rocks and narrow paths. We stopped for lunch and a break in Banani. While waiting for our meal of sauce and rice, we had a coke and then went to a few shops full of Dogon woodcarvings. For good or bad, I didn’t bring much money with me and so I didn’t buy anything. The village seemed a little too touristy to me and the prices were high. We also observed a man who, in addition to having a mental problem, also had a drinking problem. He went around asking people if they had millet beer or if some money could be given so he could purchase some. Our Dogon guide Boubacar gave him a kola nut, hoping that the nut with a caffeine buzz would appeal to him for at least a while.
Late afternoon we reached the plains entrance to the village of Neni. While waiting for the masked dance to start, we were shown some museum-quality Tellem artifacts that a Dogon man had for sale. Admiring the good condition of the pieces and small size of the wooden spoon and bowl (the Tellem were the size of pygmies), we replied that we couldn’t purchase the pieces but thanked him for showing us. A few women were preparing for a funeral as well, putting on their best dress and jewelry. At the appointed hour we began our ascent to the main part of the village. Along the way we saw a colorful blanket carefully folded up and placed on a rock. Shanti (the impulsive and inquisitive 8 year old with us) was about to touch the blanket when our guide told us that the blanket was used during the funeral process and, as a consecrated object must not be touched.
Villagers and a couple tourists began gathering around the flat spot where the masked dance was to occur, climbing on the many rocks to get a good view. Drums invited the masked dancers to come forth, moving in rhythmical patterns. Aside from some variations, we saw many of the same type of masks as we did last year in Pelou, a village in southern Dogon. Most masks were carved out of wood, with a woven cloth covering the wearer’s back of head, a fiber bikini-style top covered with conch shells and colorful (using the resin from the l’anea resin tree) grass skirts, anklets and bracelets. I identified the rabbit, antelope, kanaga, hunter, and maison mask. Each type of mask seemed to have its own particular move, with the kanaga swooping its head/mask in a circular fashion and the maison mask leaping high into the air while balancing the tall mask. Showing its strength and control, the maison mask then carefully bent its head down until the tall thin mask finally touched the ground in front of him and then repeat the process tipping the mask backwards until it touched the ground in back of him. Next a hunter mask came out with a spear, engaging in a duel with an older Dogon man wearing a Fulani hat and cane. Adague, guardian of the environment, wore a fibrous mask with what looked like several eyes. It had a leather-like shield and an axe, and also engaged in the duel.
After the masked dance the funeral began. The funeral could be thought of more like a memorial service, in that the dead person had been buried for some time already. This was a chance for friends and family from distant villages to gather and remember the dead woman. According to our Dogon guide Boubacar, the funeral (a non-masked ceremony since it was for a woman) typically would last for five days. The mostly woman funeral procession began dancing and singing in a line in the crowded area. Drums accompanied the singing, occasionally enhanced by the sound of plastic whistles. In a small area near the drummers, a man and woman took off their sandals and began dancing as if communicating with each other. Then the woman began dancing solo and blowing a whistle, with the sleeping baby tied to her back bouncing up and down. Although I would have liked to stay longer, it was time for us to leave and set up our base in Kondou. Lit by the moonlight, the walk to the village was pleasant.
Although the accommodations were quite simple, the hotel was packed. Tables in the sandy courtyard were filled with tourists from Germany, France, and other countries. People set up tents in the courtyard or on the flat roof of the hotel buildings. People were waiting in line to wash up in the outdoor stalls with a bucket and others wanted to use the outdoor bathroom stall consisting of a hole in the ground behind a beautiful carved wooden door. Our hotel room was simple as well, consisting of a table, two windows, a fluorescent light, and a cane bed with a thin mattress and single sheet almost covering the mattress surface, and inch-thick foam for a pillow. Looking around the room, I could find no electric outlets. I became even more grateful that I had the opportunity to recharge batteries while at Mac’s Refuge in Sevaré. Luckily many of the hotel guests that had been rather noisy during the night left the next morning. For the next two nights the hotel was much less congested.
In the morning we left for the villages of Youga Nah and Youga Dogourou. I choose to ride on the cow cart, anticipating a challenging climb. A few boys joined us, indicating that they had nothing better to do. While trekking up the rocky escarpment, we encountered an older man who was blind, weaving a shallow bowl out of local grasses. After purchasing a bowl and giving the kindly man a kola nut, we continued our trek upward. Periodically we paused for a few moments for a mini-break, drinking water and capturing a panoramic view of the plains and escarpment climbed so far. Even in these steep, rocky areas one could see evidence of millet stalks and other crops carefully planted and then harvested in the tiny areas of ground. In a small opening between some stone houses was a narrow loom, with the sizeable amount of the white fabric already accumulated around a narrow bolt. In another spot in Yougou Na, we saw a fetish, which essentially looked like a tall mound of mud covered with white millet porridge.
Continuing our trek, we reached Yougo Dougourou, the village where the tradition of mask originated. Climbing up a little further, we reached the toguna where we found the hogon of the village. Small in stature, the older man with a white beard and eyebrows, simple indigo cloth shirt and cotton Dogon hat, and held a carved walking stick. He walked and spoke with a commanding presence. The hogon and another man in the toguna began drinking millet beer, a favorite to the Dogon. Boubacar gave the gentle hogon a few kola nuts, accepted a drink of the beer from the large calabash, thanked the hogon for his hospitality, and then we continued on. Nestled in between the Tellem dwellings high in the cliffs, was the place where the hogon originally lived. After spending some time marveling at the architectural wonders of both the Dogon and their Tellem predecessors, we made our way back down to the village encampment. Here we rested, had a coke, read, and had lunch before heading back to Kondou.
Our final trekking day consisted of visiting the Kondou villages up on the escarpment and the important place called Arou. We began climbing up the rocky hill right behind the hotel, up to Kondou Ginna. Like the typical Dogon village, granaries (used for storing grain and other valuables) were made out of mud, with a thatched conical roof protecting the contents during deluges of the rainy season. To protect the precious contents from vermin such as rats, the granaries are raised from the ground with piled stones. At one granary, the beautifully carved window was opened, and the young girl who had climbed up the ladder began hauling down some of the millet to make into food. Homes were more often made out of rocks and/or mud and had a flat roof.
Continuing further up the escarpment, we came to Kondou Kekeni. Here we saw some monkey skulls imbedded into the stone surface. Mindful of the knowledgeable advice or our Dogon guide, we did not take photos or attempt to touch the important site. Like in some other villages, residents had quickly laid out some wooden carvings, eager for a sale. They even offered us some millet beer; I took a sip of the warm locally-brewed beer. Boubacar also showed us a source of drinking water, located below a large sheet of escarpment rock. In order to preserve the quality of the drinking water, those wanting to go down to the water had to take off their shoes.
Finally we reached the topmost village Kondou Da, where we would spend some time exploring and resting. Just beyond the village one could see a green valley. It was a large garden with onions, tobacco, eggplant, squash, mangoes, calabashes, lettuce, papaya, spices, potatoes, and other items. Water was carried in calabashes from a nearby pond, seemingly protected by a crocodile perched on a rock. The crocodile seemed to be enjoying itself, as if it knew that the revered nature of the crocodiles would provide safety. Beneath some jutting rocks, Boubacar pointed out some human skeletons and bones. For lunch and our daily siesta, we stayed at a nice encampment, complete with cane cots and foam pads, flowers, and beautiful carved wooden doors. To pass the time, I enjoyed looking at the wooden carvings and artifacts in the small boutique. No one complained about the higher prices for cokes in remote villages such as this, since such items had to be carried up the steep, rocky escarpment. As we left the village, we encountered a fetish on a large rock, with the fetish rock upright and smaller ones around it. The number of fetishes spotted and placement of them was intriguing.
Following our siesta, we continued our trek to Arou, the place where the highest Hogon resided. People represented from each village come to offer sacrifices here for rain. The high Hogon is the important decision-maker for the Dogon, and even is consulted as a representative of the Dogon in political matters of the country. After climbing even higher, we finally reached the small home where the gatekeeper of Arou lived. Prior to going up to the ginna, the elderly gatekeeper told us that his wife was suffering from an eye ailment and wondered if we had anything that might be of help. All we had for her swollen eye area (which looked like conjunctivitis or similar eye condition) was some Tylenol. After giving her some advice/instructions, we proceeded up the rocks to the hogon and temple, with the gatekeeper going before us to announce our presence to the hogon. At the foot of a large baobab tree was a circular path. Boubacar instructed us to enter in a clockwise direction. The other way was reserved for people of special status. The Hogon was sitting in the low-roofed toguna next to the ginna. He welcomed us and indicated that it was an honor to have us as guests. The high hogon was simply dressed in white with the traditional strip-sewn cloth and a small white hat. Neither his placement, voice, or dress marked any significance; neither did he exert his authority in our presence. A rooster and hen were running about. The ginna temple in Arou was the largest ginna in all Dogon. It had 9 rounded points on top of the retangular-shaped façade, with 8 ostrich eggs on top of the points (one of the points didn’t have an egg). Even though there was a door opening, it was not possible to see inside the religious building. Above the door were 8 narrow vertical openings, representing the 8 ancestors. The hogon was presented with some money for photography, a small handful of kola nuts, and a reply of thankfulness. At that time we headed down towards the plains, taking the longer but less strenuous route near the village of Ibi. On the sandy road we saw a chameleon making its way to some dry grass. According to Boubacar, sighting of a chameleon is a sign of good luck. Grubby with sweat and dust, we all eagerly took a bucket bath that night before our meal.
With the Director’s large female wooden sculpture carefully placed in the 4WD’s luggage rack and our luggage in the back of the vehicle, we began our journey out of Dogon. Honoring our promise to the man we saw at Neni with the Tellem artifacts, we went to a small village near Neni and Ibi and went into his boutique. In these two rooms lit only by a few small windows, were Tellem and Dogon artifacts. After marveling at the wonderful collection of artifacts, we suggested that perhaps instead the man might want to charge a small amount to see the museum-quality pieces. Feeding and providing for his family now was more important to him than any delayed compensation of museum admission fees.
As the driver skillfully manipulated the vehicle through the narrow curvy roads up the escarpment near Banani, we decided to stop to appreciate the wonderful view. Before us were the villages of Banani Amou, Banani Kokoro, Banani Bassirou, and Banani Na, occupying spots below, on, and above the rocky escarpment. Driving further up the escarpment, we stopped at Komo Ouguro, site of a Tellem village in a cave. Once inside the cave, we were able to walk right up to the purely Tellem village. Some of the buildings made from mud brick were in ruins; others were rather well preserved. Each building seemed to be founded on a separate stone slab. Next to these small buildings, bricks still bearing the deep fingerprints of the masons were evident. I also saw some rocks with a deep bowl-shaped indentation, probably used for the extraction of oil. It was a wonderful opportunity to see Tellem architecture in a settlement occupied and used only by these mysterious people.
On the outskirts of a Sangha, we stopped at a place that initially looked non-descript to me. Here was a small version of the fetishes we had seen in some of the other villages. In addition, there were some markings drawn into the sand, with sticks and stones occupying strategic positions inside the long, narrow oval. Warning us not to disturb the fragile design, Boubacar then explained to us that it was created by a diviner. First the sticks, stones are placed and special symbols drawn in the sand. Based on the changes occurred as jackals walking through the design at night, the diviner interprets the results and makes predictions about what will happen in the life of the person seeking consultation.
Following a lunch at the Swiss hotel/restaurant Cheval Blanc, we drove out of Bandigiara, the main entry village into Dogon. Prior to our departure of the Dogon area, we drove past a village that was having market day. People, dressed up in their better clothes, were on donkey carts heading to or from the village. Some were hauling firewood and large bags of produce. Women, walking in colorful dresses, were carrying plastic buckets full of tomatoes and other produce. For quite some distance we met people either going to or returning from the market, eager to buy or sell goods.
Back to Bamako
Late afternoon we reached Mac’s Refuge in Sevare, where we once again treated ourselves to a shower and some home-cooked meals. The next morning we headed off on the long drive back to Bamako. As soon as the 4WD stopped in the Sevare gas station, a number of locals headed towards the vehicle in hopes for a sale of items including Fulani blankets, jewelry, hats, shoes, cigarettes, and produce.
Between Sevare and the town of San, we passed through villages also holding markets. Many people on donkey carts and the occasional horse-pulled carts were making their way to the market. Others were walking, carrying large loads in baskets expertly balanced on their heads. Boys pushed small carts with a pole full of chickens balanced on it. Other kids held up guinea hens, hoping for a roadside sale. Along the way we passed by seasonal riverbeds, now completely dry and sandy. On the road we passed large white passenger trucks, crammed with people in back and gourds, sheep, sacks, plastic bowls, and other goods piled high and tied down on the roof. Sometimes there were even people on top of that! Some larger trucks hauled sheep on the bottom, and large numbers of people filling every spare inch of the open area. Our driver had to constantly be aware of hazards on the road, including slow-moving donkey carts, potholes, and animals such as goats, sheep, cattle, and donkeys attempting to cross the narrow paved road.
In Segou, numerous signs indicated the upcoming COCAN, the all-Africa soccer tournament held starting in mid-January in 5 regions of Mali. New restaurants were built; lodging, stores and roads with streetlights were added. New soccer stadiums were erected. I hope that Mali and its citizens reap great rewards from the tournament, both in the immediate future and for some time to come.
As we neared the capital city of Bamako, darkness began to envelop the area. A curious white fog seemed to hang in the distance towards Bamako. The closer we got to the city, the worse the “fog” was. We then realized that the “fog” burning our eyes and making it difficult to breathe was created by burning garbage – a practice encouraged in order to clear the area of garbage prior to the tournaments. Our thirteen-day trip was now over. The next day we started school, adding with it all the familiar routines.
Mali is a country with people proud of their tradition. Despite the numerous cultures and ethnic groups, people generally co-exist peacefully. Life is not easy – most are in subsistence mode, barely able to make enough money or grow enough crops to support their family. Many things are still done as they were hundreds of years ago. New technology and ways of doing things are gradually encroaching, even into isolated areas. It remains to be seen whether the introductions will be positive or harmful to the culture, environment, and overall way of life. Although poor financially, Mali is rich in its diversity and warmth of people. Once again, I have had the pleasure and opportunity to witness this.
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