Due to an unfortunate illness within Team Wam (Walsh + Sim = Wam), we have been in Banfora, Burkina Faso, for five days now, and it looks like another few will be necessary for recovery (all seems to be well now). This little town does not offer many exciting activites for a traveller, save for a small waterfall and a hippo-filled lake. As a result, I have spent my days walking aorund this sleepy little place, hiding from the sun at midday, napping, and planning further on in the trip. I have also had time to reflect on some of our experiences so far and will write a few of those thoughts here (please note that these comments reflect Malian society, not Burkinabé society).
First, one of our constant problems in Mali was the people - men, women, and children - asking us for 'un cadeau' (French for 'a gift'). At first I was torn because of the sheer number of people who seemed to need our help. However, as food was often looked at with disgust by these people, who wanted money istead, I realized that these people were not in the dire situation I originally perceived them to be in. It had nothing to do with needing anything from us, but a belief that white people ought to give them something. Obviously, this belief stems from tourists before who have readily opened their pockets to children, offering gifts and money. Unfortunately for travellers (I will make a distinction here - a tourist is someone with lots of money and little time, a traveller is someone with a lot lof time but little money), the people here assume every foreigner is rich and willing to give hand outs. Such is not the case, and since all literature covering these countries asks travellers not to give hand outs to children, many people refuse to give anything at anytime (sharing food or water being an exception).
On one of our treks through Dogon Country (see previous post), Matt and Heather were followed by a group of children, who were harrassing them for their empty nalgene bottles, for nearly fifteen minutes. Afterwards Matt and I decided that this was racism (discriminatory or abusive behaviour towards members of another race). The harrasment we received due to our skin colour in Mali was persistent, aggressive, intrusive, and constant. We payed more than the locals for the same items, and we were harrased by hawkers (street sellers) and guides at all times. I do not expect people to understand, or even agree with me, especially if you have never visited Africa. It is not like other places that I initially thought were aggressive... When I was in Peru we were often approached by street sellers, many of whom were children. Rather than looking for a handout, everyone had something to sell, and a simple 'no gracias' from us was sufficient to send the seller on his or her way.
I purposely made a note differentiating Mali from Burkina because it is well deserved by the Burkinabé people. Since our arrival in Burkina we have been seen and treated as people, not sources of gifts and money. When illness struck our team, the hostel security guard walked to the hospital to ensure it was open, then returned and walked us back to it - all of this occurring between 2 and 3am. He then returned at 4 or 5am to make sure all was okay, and the hostel owner came and checked up on us at 7am upon arriving at the hostel and finding one of his patrons sick. None of these people asked for, nor expected anything, in return for their help and kindness; it was done out of genuine concern for a fellow human being. When I went into the market on Sunday, I observed what locals were paying for fruits and vegetables, in order to gauge what I should be able to bargain down to. Imagine my surprise when the first price I was told was the same as that paid by the locals (amazing!). Burkina has not been perfect - in Ouagadougou a coffee girl purposely withheld the price for two coffees from us until we had drank the coffees, then charged us three-and-a-half-times the going rate. Despite my wanting to argue, Matt said we should leave it and we walked away. Once again Matt's peacefulness triumphed, when only moments later an artisan approached us and asked us to look at his work. Matt said that he would not buy anything in the area because the coffee girl had overcharged him (his French is improving rapidly). The artisan, upset that we would not visit his shop, and sorry that we had been ripped off, returned moments later with over half of our payment. He did not ask us again to visit his shop. It was a moment that would never have happened in Mali, and gave me great hope for Burkina, and the rest of West Africa.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Dogon Country
My last 6 nights/7 days have been spent hiking through Dogon Country. In all we hiked about 100km, mostly in the early morning and late afternoon, so as to avoid the midday heat. It all occurred along, or on top of, an escaprment that runs for about 140km and is 300 to 400m in height. Along the rock face of this escarpment is where many of the Dogon and their ancestors lived, with houses right in the side of the escarpment. It is something that must be seen to be understood. The hikes were broken up, with 7 to 9km at each time. The food was plentiful and tasty, although the toilets and showers left somethings to be desired (like toilet bowls and running water). None of the encampements had electricity, although some had solar panels or kerosene powered lamps...
One of my most memorable moments from the trip occured the third day as we hiked along the top of the escarpment early in the morning. The escarpment is about 400m high, with a vertical cliff face that runs at nearly 90 degrees to the Earth. The bottom of this escarpment marks the beginning of the Sahara Desert. Here is what I wrote in my journal asI walked along the edge of the escarpment that morning:
As I look out over the beginning of the Sahara - a landscape dotted with trees and scarred by sand dunes - the vast, flat surroundings stretch as far as the eye can see. The morning sky has set ablaze the World with colours of fire. So flat and vast is scene before me that the sky and the horizon blend together in an orange, gold, and yellow melody, making a distinction between the two impossible. The landscape is so magnificent and uninhabited that it feels as though we are at the end of the Earth, a place where life dares not to roam, and that the Earth is indeed flat. The melting of Sand into Sun off into the distance looks so pure and natural that nothing should exist beyond it....
My nights were spent sleeping on the roof tops of the encampements. I have not noticed the full range of the Moon in a long time. When we were at the Festival-au-Desert a week before Dogon, it was a New Moon and the stars were spectacular at night. Over the course of our week in Dogon I saw the moon go from half to full. As I witnessed its ability to light up the escarpment around me, the villages below me, and the Sahara beyond me, I was taken aback with regret for never noticing this at home in the city. It made me realize how important the Moon was, and still is, to communities and civilizations without electricity...
Of course, the trip was not perfect and our guide wound up being a drunk, a problem that increased as the days added up, culmenating in a near showdown in Sangha on the last day. Our guide, who was wasted at 11am, was arguing about money that wasn't rightfully his. Thankfully, Matt and his peacefulness - the ying to my too prideful yang - allowed cooler heads to prevail and we got back to Mopti without a scratch. On our arrival the tour operator was so apologetic that he refunded some of our money and promised to blacklist the guide. Although I know he will be used again in Dogon by other tour companies (his name is Seg), if he loses one job a month, I will be happy...
On a lighter note, we head to Ougadougou tomorrow (pronounced 'WAH-gah-DOO-goo', and the second best name of the trip so far, behind Djigibuimbou, pronounced 'Jiggy-BOOM-boo', a city in Dogon Country). After one night there we will head to Niamey, Niger, to walk with the only giraffes left in West Africa. After that we head to Benin where we hope to stay with José (from the pinasse trip and the Festival), he is there working with the Peace Corps. Benin will bring us to the Ocean, where we will forget about our struggles in the desert and laze in hammocks, drinking cold beers and reading good books.
One of my most memorable moments from the trip occured the third day as we hiked along the top of the escarpment early in the morning. The escarpment is about 400m high, with a vertical cliff face that runs at nearly 90 degrees to the Earth. The bottom of this escarpment marks the beginning of the Sahara Desert. Here is what I wrote in my journal asI walked along the edge of the escarpment that morning:
As I look out over the beginning of the Sahara - a landscape dotted with trees and scarred by sand dunes - the vast, flat surroundings stretch as far as the eye can see. The morning sky has set ablaze the World with colours of fire. So flat and vast is scene before me that the sky and the horizon blend together in an orange, gold, and yellow melody, making a distinction between the two impossible. The landscape is so magnificent and uninhabited that it feels as though we are at the end of the Earth, a place where life dares not to roam, and that the Earth is indeed flat. The melting of Sand into Sun off into the distance looks so pure and natural that nothing should exist beyond it....
My nights were spent sleeping on the roof tops of the encampements. I have not noticed the full range of the Moon in a long time. When we were at the Festival-au-Desert a week before Dogon, it was a New Moon and the stars were spectacular at night. Over the course of our week in Dogon I saw the moon go from half to full. As I witnessed its ability to light up the escarpment around me, the villages below me, and the Sahara beyond me, I was taken aback with regret for never noticing this at home in the city. It made me realize how important the Moon was, and still is, to communities and civilizations without electricity...
Of course, the trip was not perfect and our guide wound up being a drunk, a problem that increased as the days added up, culmenating in a near showdown in Sangha on the last day. Our guide, who was wasted at 11am, was arguing about money that wasn't rightfully his. Thankfully, Matt and his peacefulness - the ying to my too prideful yang - allowed cooler heads to prevail and we got back to Mopti without a scratch. On our arrival the tour operator was so apologetic that he refunded some of our money and promised to blacklist the guide. Although I know he will be used again in Dogon by other tour companies (his name is Seg), if he loses one job a month, I will be happy...
On a lighter note, we head to Ougadougou tomorrow (pronounced 'WAH-gah-DOO-goo', and the second best name of the trip so far, behind Djigibuimbou, pronounced 'Jiggy-BOOM-boo', a city in Dogon Country). After one night there we will head to Niamey, Niger, to walk with the only giraffes left in West Africa. After that we head to Benin where we hope to stay with José (from the pinasse trip and the Festival), he is there working with the Peace Corps. Benin will bring us to the Ocean, where we will forget about our struggles in the desert and laze in hammocks, drinking cold beers and reading good books.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Pinasse fever and the Festival
So I hear that those of you who read the Globe know about the Festival that occured in the desert this past weekend. The festival was amazing, but getting there was interesting in itself....
We decided to take a public pinasse because it was cheap due to the fact it takes a lot of cargo along the river. However, the captain had over-packed the pinasse and therefore we could not move when the wind was bad. As a result, a two day tripped turned into four, and we were not even close to Timbuktu, so ten of us jumped ship when it docked and piled into the back of a pick-up for a two and a half hour ride into the desert. Of course that is not the best part - the food was rice covered in fish gravy, and if we were lucky, a fish head. It was not bad the first few times we ate it, but by the fourth day of eating it three times a day I was ready to throw up. Of course, the rice sacks we slept on for three nights also did not help the comfort level. Despite all that (and the cockroaches we shared the boat and our food with) I am glad we did it. First, we met several people that we wound up spending most of our time at the festival with: a special note goes out to Jose who is Mexican by birth, American by education and now works in the Peace Corps in Benin. We plan on staying with him when we go through Benin in one month's time. Second, we read aloud "The Little Prince" to one another on our first afternoon, something that stirred nostalgic emotions (I haven't read aloud since high school). Third, the sunsets along the Niger were amazing. Lastly, it was an authentic experience that is unrivalled up to this point.
The festival itself was also tricky to set-up, but well worth the hassles. Although we had our own tents we were going to be charged to have someone watch them (pay us our get robbed), so we wound up renting a tent from a Toureg encampment that was less than the security costs (about $5/night). The encampment was incredibly safe and the people were gentle, even offering to cook us food.
At night we danced to numerous types of music, from a GErman accordian player to the most popular West African reggae group. The most memorable moment occurred on Friday night when the tambourines we brought along created a dance circle of 25 Malians and 5 foreigners. Of course everyone within the circle was colourblind, concerned only with having a good time. We were later told that we 'brought the party', no small feat for two Canadian boys in Africa. It was extremely exhausting however, and the next night was anti-climatic as the music and dancing did not have the same heart.
Of course, there were problems with the festival. First is the amount of in-your-face selling that occurs. Some of the sellers came right into our tent trying to sell us music or jewellery, and they are not always easy to get rid of. They seem to use the Western politeness as a way to push sales, and eventually one must be rude (ignore them completely or get ignorant verbally) in order to get rid of the seller. After three days of this constant invasion of privacy I was ready to punch someone out. This constant harrassement continues in the tourist areas, such as Mopti, with children walking up to you with their hand out asking for "un cadeau" (a gift). All the literature you read tells you not to succumb to this begging as it wreaks havoc on the communities because children are becoming professional beggars and avoiding school since they see no value in it compared to what the white people give them. Despite the warnings, I invariably see older people handing out toys and candy to children. This only creates more begging and more aggressive children. This has been the one sore point on the trip so far, and I am excited to get to less touristic areas so that the children will greet us as they did in Bamako, with a smile and a handshake (while shouting "Chu-bob-boo").
Although many of the children approach like this, not all of them do. Yesterday as we were on the ferry crossing the Niger (after the pinasse adventure we sprung for a ride back in a 4x4), a little girl came up to me as I was writing in my journal and wrote her name, age and 'enchante' (nice to meet you). She then began reciting the alphabet in my journal and I was nearly moved to tears with the hope and love I felt at that moment. This little girl, Djiena Bou Maiga aged 6, was the first genuine interaction I had had with a child in Africa in nearly a week, and it restored my faith in children.
Although I did not take many pictures at the festival, there is one image I would like to recollect here. On the Friday evening there was a display of camel racing (there were camels everywhere at the festival, it is the favoured mode of transportation among the desert people) by many of the Touregs. One rider in particular caught my eye and ingrained his image in my brain. He was on a white camel with a torquoise robe on, and as he rode over the white sand with the sunset behind him - his robe being taken by the wind behind him, thus resembling a cape on a super hero in flight - he raised his whip up into the air, and from my vantage point it looked like he was yielding a sword and riding into battle. It was very majestical, medieval, and Arabian nights all rolled into one.
Well, I guess that is good for now, although I have many other thoughts I must get my rest. We get up at 6am tomorrow morning to head into Dogon Country (try wikipedia-ing that) for six nights.
I am sorry to hear about my Colts, but Favre is going back to the dance.
We decided to take a public pinasse because it was cheap due to the fact it takes a lot of cargo along the river. However, the captain had over-packed the pinasse and therefore we could not move when the wind was bad. As a result, a two day tripped turned into four, and we were not even close to Timbuktu, so ten of us jumped ship when it docked and piled into the back of a pick-up for a two and a half hour ride into the desert. Of course that is not the best part - the food was rice covered in fish gravy, and if we were lucky, a fish head. It was not bad the first few times we ate it, but by the fourth day of eating it three times a day I was ready to throw up. Of course, the rice sacks we slept on for three nights also did not help the comfort level. Despite all that (and the cockroaches we shared the boat and our food with) I am glad we did it. First, we met several people that we wound up spending most of our time at the festival with: a special note goes out to Jose who is Mexican by birth, American by education and now works in the Peace Corps in Benin. We plan on staying with him when we go through Benin in one month's time. Second, we read aloud "The Little Prince" to one another on our first afternoon, something that stirred nostalgic emotions (I haven't read aloud since high school). Third, the sunsets along the Niger were amazing. Lastly, it was an authentic experience that is unrivalled up to this point.
The festival itself was also tricky to set-up, but well worth the hassles. Although we had our own tents we were going to be charged to have someone watch them (pay us our get robbed), so we wound up renting a tent from a Toureg encampment that was less than the security costs (about $5/night). The encampment was incredibly safe and the people were gentle, even offering to cook us food.
At night we danced to numerous types of music, from a GErman accordian player to the most popular West African reggae group. The most memorable moment occurred on Friday night when the tambourines we brought along created a dance circle of 25 Malians and 5 foreigners. Of course everyone within the circle was colourblind, concerned only with having a good time. We were later told that we 'brought the party', no small feat for two Canadian boys in Africa. It was extremely exhausting however, and the next night was anti-climatic as the music and dancing did not have the same heart.
Of course, there were problems with the festival. First is the amount of in-your-face selling that occurs. Some of the sellers came right into our tent trying to sell us music or jewellery, and they are not always easy to get rid of. They seem to use the Western politeness as a way to push sales, and eventually one must be rude (ignore them completely or get ignorant verbally) in order to get rid of the seller. After three days of this constant invasion of privacy I was ready to punch someone out. This constant harrassement continues in the tourist areas, such as Mopti, with children walking up to you with their hand out asking for "un cadeau" (a gift). All the literature you read tells you not to succumb to this begging as it wreaks havoc on the communities because children are becoming professional beggars and avoiding school since they see no value in it compared to what the white people give them. Despite the warnings, I invariably see older people handing out toys and candy to children. This only creates more begging and more aggressive children. This has been the one sore point on the trip so far, and I am excited to get to less touristic areas so that the children will greet us as they did in Bamako, with a smile and a handshake (while shouting "Chu-bob-boo").
Although many of the children approach like this, not all of them do. Yesterday as we were on the ferry crossing the Niger (after the pinasse adventure we sprung for a ride back in a 4x4), a little girl came up to me as I was writing in my journal and wrote her name, age and 'enchante' (nice to meet you). She then began reciting the alphabet in my journal and I was nearly moved to tears with the hope and love I felt at that moment. This little girl, Djiena Bou Maiga aged 6, was the first genuine interaction I had had with a child in Africa in nearly a week, and it restored my faith in children.
Although I did not take many pictures at the festival, there is one image I would like to recollect here. On the Friday evening there was a display of camel racing (there were camels everywhere at the festival, it is the favoured mode of transportation among the desert people) by many of the Touregs. One rider in particular caught my eye and ingrained his image in my brain. He was on a white camel with a torquoise robe on, and as he rode over the white sand with the sunset behind him - his robe being taken by the wind behind him, thus resembling a cape on a super hero in flight - he raised his whip up into the air, and from my vantage point it looked like he was yielding a sword and riding into battle. It was very majestical, medieval, and Arabian nights all rolled into one.
Well, I guess that is good for now, although I have many other thoughts I must get my rest. We get up at 6am tomorrow morning to head into Dogon Country (try wikipedia-ing that) for six nights.
I am sorry to hear about my Colts, but Favre is going back to the dance.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
A Few Days In
Our host in Mopti, a Danish man named Willem, was incredible. He has a house in a small village 15km outside Mopti, where his adopted son and his son's family live. Willem helps villages create sustainable gardening projects so that they may become self-sufficient. On Friday and Saturday nights he has children and their parents form all around the village and as far as Mopti (no small feat considering the lack of personal automobiles here) for movies that he shows via a projector and a wall on his house that he has painted white. We experienced this last night after our trip to Djené and it was truly amazing and inspiring to see what his man was doing for the people around his village.
While staying at Willem's place we slept in our tents on his roof. The one thing I am missing from home right now is a mattress, as I did not bring a thermarest air mattress (big mistake), and we will be tenting for the next two weeks or so as we head up to Timbuktu on a boat for three days (both ways), and then spend four or five nights in the desert.
The distance between Willem's house and Mopti made for an interesting trip one morning, as we rode in on a young boy's donkey cart for part of the way, and then we jumped in the back of a dumptruck with a bunch of teenaged boys heading to school. Although a worthy experience, it took a long time, so we rented bikes to get into town after that.
The aforementioned trip to Djené was said to be two hours, but with ten people packed into a 1970's station wagon designed for seven it did not move at top speed. Add in the fact it broke down, and the 4 hour trip felt more like 6. However, the town of Djené is like something out of a Star Wars movie, with everything constructed out of a mud mixture that is baked by the sun into rock-solid two-storey houses. In the center of the town is a mud mosque that is the pinnacle of mud-engineering.
On the ride back from Djené we were packed into a cargo van that showed us a harsh reality of African life. In the van was a young man (16 or 17), along with his father, who was in tremendous abdominal pain. Unfortunately the nearest real hospital was in Mopti, so this cargo van that, that at times was carrying over 22 people, also doubled as an ambulance - only without a single amenity that we would attribute to an ambulance. I do not believe anybody cries wolf in Africa, as the ride was miserable for me and I had water and music. I cannot imagine how the trip was for the boy and his father.
Tonight we sleeep on the roof of a hostel along the Niger, and then tomorrow we head to Timbuktu. on a pinasse, or local boat that will be packed for three days and two nights. Should be an experience.
We also met a teenaged boy, Osoan, who helped us immensely one day in Mopti. He helped us find camping gas, baragained on our behalf for ammenities and food, and gave us tips for travelling to Djené. We tipped him 5000CFI (about ten bucks), for which he was truly grateful. We say him in town again today and he joked and played with us briefly, telling us he is going to Timbuktu on the same boat as us to see his mother, whom he wants us to meet. Travelling always seems to work out like that, with pieces falling into place right when they should.
Go Habs.
While staying at Willem's place we slept in our tents on his roof. The one thing I am missing from home right now is a mattress, as I did not bring a thermarest air mattress (big mistake), and we will be tenting for the next two weeks or so as we head up to Timbuktu on a boat for three days (both ways), and then spend four or five nights in the desert.
The distance between Willem's house and Mopti made for an interesting trip one morning, as we rode in on a young boy's donkey cart for part of the way, and then we jumped in the back of a dumptruck with a bunch of teenaged boys heading to school. Although a worthy experience, it took a long time, so we rented bikes to get into town after that.
The aforementioned trip to Djené was said to be two hours, but with ten people packed into a 1970's station wagon designed for seven it did not move at top speed. Add in the fact it broke down, and the 4 hour trip felt more like 6. However, the town of Djené is like something out of a Star Wars movie, with everything constructed out of a mud mixture that is baked by the sun into rock-solid two-storey houses. In the center of the town is a mud mosque that is the pinnacle of mud-engineering.
On the ride back from Djené we were packed into a cargo van that showed us a harsh reality of African life. In the van was a young man (16 or 17), along with his father, who was in tremendous abdominal pain. Unfortunately the nearest real hospital was in Mopti, so this cargo van that, that at times was carrying over 22 people, also doubled as an ambulance - only without a single amenity that we would attribute to an ambulance. I do not believe anybody cries wolf in Africa, as the ride was miserable for me and I had water and music. I cannot imagine how the trip was for the boy and his father.
Tonight we sleeep on the roof of a hostel along the Niger, and then tomorrow we head to Timbuktu. on a pinasse, or local boat that will be packed for three days and two nights. Should be an experience.
We also met a teenaged boy, Osoan, who helped us immensely one day in Mopti. He helped us find camping gas, baragained on our behalf for ammenities and food, and gave us tips for travelling to Djené. We tipped him 5000CFI (about ten bucks), for which he was truly grateful. We say him in town again today and he joked and played with us briefly, telling us he is going to Timbuktu on the same boat as us to see his mother, whom he wants us to meet. Travelling always seems to work out like that, with pieces falling into place right when they should.
Go Habs.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
First Impressions of Africa
Bon Annee, or Happy New Years to everyone
Our arrival in Casablanca on the 29th was easy, but as we (my brother Matt and his girlfriend Heather) went to get on the train to take us into Casablanca I realized how far from home I was. The station was poorly lit and everyone was in the traditional Muslim dress. I could not help but notice that every set of eyes were focused our way, and this was a little unsettling at first. I did not feel comfortable until we got to the next train station, where there were kids running around, laughing and playing, and genuinely excited to see us. Immediately I felt at ease as we not only smiled with the children, but also with their parents. The ability for children to make one feel at ease is a remarkable power that seems to be constant throughout the world...
Our destination in Casablanca was the Hassan II Mosque (www.mosquehassan2.com). This religious building is stunning and the meticulous detail found throughout it is awe-inspiring. It provided a final realization that I was no where near home as I was again surrounded by the Muslim world. Despite what CNN and the Bush Admistration would have us believe, people of the Muslim faith are incredibly welcoming and always willing to help...
While walking around the outside of the Mosque I found myself looking out at the Atlantic Ocean from the shores of Africa, where I realized that no matter where in the World we may find ourselves, the warm feel of the sun on our necks, the refreshing blow of the wind at our backs, and the way waves break and crash into land are Universal, just as humans are the same through and through...
After only a few hours in Casablanca we made our way back to the airport to catch our connecting flight to Bamako, Mali. As we arrived in Bamako at 3am on the 30th we were swarmed by taxi drivers before we even got to our bags. Despite the aggressiveness, the man who helped us, Ismail, was genuinely friendly and honest. When I awoke the next afternoon I was met with 30 degrees of heat and red dirt that I feel will become a symbol of Africa for me long after I leave. Along with an Irish guy named Keith, who is staying at the same house as us, I went to the Grande Marche. In order to get there we jumped in on the public bus, a surprisingly effecient and effective mode of transportation. The market itself cannot be explained by words, so I will try to post pictures soon...
Last night was our New Years celebration. Matt, Heather, Keith; and I went to a local club called Le Hogon, where we had dinner and watched several live acts of traditional African music while bringing in the New Year. It was a New Years I will not soon forget...
Tomorrow the four of us (Keith is headed for the Festival au Desert as well) head for Mopti where we will sleep on the roof of a Danish man's house who we met on www.couchsurfers.com before floating up the Niger to Timbuktu for the three day festival www.festival-au-desert.org...
Enjoy the snow.
Our arrival in Casablanca on the 29th was easy, but as we (my brother Matt and his girlfriend Heather) went to get on the train to take us into Casablanca I realized how far from home I was. The station was poorly lit and everyone was in the traditional Muslim dress. I could not help but notice that every set of eyes were focused our way, and this was a little unsettling at first. I did not feel comfortable until we got to the next train station, where there were kids running around, laughing and playing, and genuinely excited to see us. Immediately I felt at ease as we not only smiled with the children, but also with their parents. The ability for children to make one feel at ease is a remarkable power that seems to be constant throughout the world...
Our destination in Casablanca was the Hassan II Mosque (www.mosquehassan2.com). This religious building is stunning and the meticulous detail found throughout it is awe-inspiring. It provided a final realization that I was no where near home as I was again surrounded by the Muslim world. Despite what CNN and the Bush Admistration would have us believe, people of the Muslim faith are incredibly welcoming and always willing to help...
While walking around the outside of the Mosque I found myself looking out at the Atlantic Ocean from the shores of Africa, where I realized that no matter where in the World we may find ourselves, the warm feel of the sun on our necks, the refreshing blow of the wind at our backs, and the way waves break and crash into land are Universal, just as humans are the same through and through...
After only a few hours in Casablanca we made our way back to the airport to catch our connecting flight to Bamako, Mali. As we arrived in Bamako at 3am on the 30th we were swarmed by taxi drivers before we even got to our bags. Despite the aggressiveness, the man who helped us, Ismail, was genuinely friendly and honest. When I awoke the next afternoon I was met with 30 degrees of heat and red dirt that I feel will become a symbol of Africa for me long after I leave. Along with an Irish guy named Keith, who is staying at the same house as us, I went to the Grande Marche. In order to get there we jumped in on the public bus, a surprisingly effecient and effective mode of transportation. The market itself cannot be explained by words, so I will try to post pictures soon...
Last night was our New Years celebration. Matt, Heather, Keith; and I went to a local club called Le Hogon, where we had dinner and watched several live acts of traditional African music while bringing in the New Year. It was a New Years I will not soon forget...
Tomorrow the four of us (Keith is headed for the Festival au Desert as well) head for Mopti where we will sleep on the roof of a Danish man's house who we met on www.couchsurfers.com before floating up the Niger to Timbuktu for the three day festival www.festival-au-desert.org...
Enjoy the snow.
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