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.