After 7 weeks of 'understanding' French, we arrived in Ghana, our first English speaking country in West Africa. Amazingly, we now pretend to speak French when we're trying to avoid hawkers...
Accra was beautiful, but incredibly expensive. After two days of used-book shopping in the capital we took off for Cape Coast, home to one of Britain's most important coastal forts in Ghana. The fort in Cape Coast bears the same name as the town, and we visited it as the sun was setting, giving us a stunning view of the coast and the town itself. The castle is a large white-washed fortress that is located on the rocks along the shore, loaded with canons and look-out points that hint at the former territorial claims fought over by the British, Dutch and Portuguese. Despite the grandeur of the place our guide was out of place as he thought he was in drama class (overly-theatrical and flamboyant, when I thought he should have been giving the straight facts), and I did not take much away from the guided tour. These forts were initially designed for the storage and shipment of goods, but as plantations began in the Americas slaves became the main export from these forts. As we were taken through the old dungeons that housed the slaves until they were bought and shipped across the ocean, I had to shudder at the thought of what had taken place within those walls for centuries. I felt as though I should not have been walking through the place - as if I did not deserve to walk within the walls as freely as I did. Although we were only shown the rooms pertaining to slavery we were allowed to walk around the fort after the tour. The fort was its own community complete with primary school, church, post office and medical services. The church was built directly above the slave dungeons, creating a heaven above/hell below situation on Earth. The use of Christianity to legitimize slavery was the topic of an essay I wrote in third year, so I won't bother venting here. It is amazing how people can twist the teachings of their religion to feed their own agenda. It is too bad we never seem to learn from past mistakes.
The next day we took a ride to Elmina to see St George's Castle. To give an idea of the age, it was built by the Portuguese ten years before Columbus discovered the Americas. It was the largest of all Ghana's coastal forts, and the most important in terms of slavery. It is believed that 12 million slaves passed through the fort over 300 years, only 4 million of whom actually made it to the Americas. The other 8 million died from any of a numerous reasons: the squalid conditions; death at the hands of soldiers; and suicide (slaves would starve themselves to death or jump out of the smaller boats that were delivering them to the larger boats while still in chains). The death of created little worry among the Europeans because the slaves were all profit. The guide here was fantastic, and the tour took in the entire castle. It was a similar setup to the first one, with the church right next to the dungeons. I took away a startling amount from that tour and was extremely glad we decided to go.
After the castles we headed up into the country, stopping first at Kumasi and then Tamale. Kumasi is the center of the Ashanti culture (the most influential tribe in Ghana). There we visited a culture grounds that was a bustle of activity. Within the grounds there was an Ashanti museum; a reggae ceremony complete with music and prayer happening; a live performance in the open-air auditorium; plus it was generally a great place to hang out and soak up some culture. Kumasi is also the place where I fell in love with Ghanaian cuisine because I searched out a great food stall and had an excellent lunch with a few local boys of the same age. I have turned Heather and Matt on to the 'red-red' and jollof rice with guinea fowl or gizzard (not the greatest meat, but no meat here is great). We also met a couchsurfer from Kumasi named Bright who showed us around for a day and had us trying 'fufu' (cassava and yam) and 'banku' (fermented maize) - local dishes that are unlike anything we know in Canada. He was excellent and showed us a side to Kumasi we otherwise would not have seen.
Tamale served as the jump-off to Mole National Park, where we camped for two nights. The campgrounds were situated over-looking a watering hole that was occupied by elephants more often than not. We went on two walks with an arm ranger that allowed us to get within 20 or 30m of wild elephants, an unparalleled experience. As we watched them bathe we couldn't help but notice that they are much darker than we thought, nearing black. The grey colour we often see them appearing as is due to dust and mud they rub on themselves to stay cool. Really, they are nearly black - charcoal grey at the lightest. The young elephants were the most entertaining to watch, as they constantly tried to climb on one another while bathing. I could picture my brothers and I wrestling in a similar manner when we were younger (actually, not that long ago). After watching the elephants for an hour or so each morning we retired to the lodge pool, where we fended off baboons from stealing our pineapples (we had to chase one down at one point) and watched the elephants from a distance - all the while keeping cool; not an easy task in Ghana. On the first night I sat over-looking the savannah in the dark. I was treated with Hyena barks, low growls in the distance, sounds of a struggle in the watering-hole (I think the crocodile won), and an amazing feel of nature at work.
We are now headed back to Kumasi to spend a few nights with a local man we met on Couch Surfing before heading back to the coast to check out an eco-friendly lodge we have read about. It's called the Green Turtle Lodge and can be checked out at www.greenturtlelodge.com
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Abomey and the Dahomey Kingdom
After Natitingou we headed to Abomey, the capital of the Dahomey Kingdom. The Dahomey Kingdom was the kingdom responsible for the slave-trade with the Europeans in this part of West Africa (these slaves were shipped out of Ouidah, where we were days earlier). The museum - a UNESCO World Heritage Site - left much to be desired, but the owner of our hotel (a local who grew up in Ouidah) gave us a tour of Abomey that was fantastic. He spoke English well, but with a foreign accent that gave him an air of authenticity in the African town. He told the stories of Dahomey's Kingdom with such enthusiasm and mysticism that we were forced to listen with the fascanation of a child listening to his bedtime story; wide-eyed and grinning ear-to-ear. The Godfather (as we dubbed him) began the tour with his friends and himself singing an ancient Dahomey song that people in Abomey still sing when they have laboruious work to do, and it ended with the same song. It was a great touch and had a beautiful melody.
During our tour of Abomey - which consisted of visiting the ruins of several palaces of former kings, as well as sacred Voodoo temples - we saw a funeral procession along the main road. The casket was a typical casket, complete with a crucifix affixed to it, but the procession that consumed it was all Voodoo. There was music and chanting, singing and praising. Passerbys and onlookers threw change onto the coffin, or else placed it on the wife's forehead, where it would then fall to the ground and to be picked up by other family members. The most startling part of the procession was when the two young men carrying the coffin - who we assumed to be sons - got to the centre of the roundabout and began running as fast as they could with the coffin, coming within inches of a sealed door (that I originally thought they were going to try to break through with the coffin), only to turn around and head back in the opposite direction with an equal amount of force and determination. They did this several times across the circle, so much so that twice we had to get out of the way of a casket running at us with the determination of death (sorry). They finally placed the casket on the circle and took some much needed rest as passerbys threw more money on the casket (as onlookers, we did indeed throw on some coins of our own). The experience was mesmerizing.
The same night we were taken to a small Voodoo ceremony with two guides. It was held in the courtyard of a small settlement (the equivalent of a 'court' by our street-standards), and attracted what seemed to be all the local families. The Voodoo priest (who is dressed in ornate style with threads and beads coming off him at every angle) began the ceremony with some dancing that was followed by some talking in African tongue. The rhetoric seemed light and in good humour, as laughs were regularly drown from those in attendance. Following that, several other ornately dressed people came out and danced for over an hour. Often the dances turned into 'face-offs', or were otherwise mirror interpretations between two people. As we were unable to ask questions (our guides only spoke French, and it wasn't appropriate for us to be asking questions during the ceremony), we are not sure of the significance of much. One interesting thing that happened to us was when we nearly had our sandals taken by one of the priests. Apparently it is impolite to wear sandals during the ceremony, but our guides were either dumb or ignorant of this rule, as they had their sandals taken, and bribed the priest so as not to take ours. After that, we took our sandals off for the remainder of the ceremony. Although this sounds really bad, there were many people wearing sandals, and the priest made a point of getting as many sandals as he could until everyone was in bare feet. It was a little scary at the time, but immediately following it provided a few shaky laughs (from us) and friendly smiles (from those around us). While dancing was obviously an integral part of the ceremony, so too was the music. The 'band' consisted of about 8 to 10 young men playing African drums and bells. The music was so constant and so intense at times that it was intoxicating and dizzy-ing. Music is without a doubt one of the most sacred and constant things in West Africa.
After the ceremony we returned to our hotel to get some much needed rest. Despite the best inetentions of the Godfather, his hotel is a dump: no running water; a hard and lumpy mattress, and; a tempermental power supply. Add to all this the biggest cockroach I have ever seen serving as a guard to the bathing quarters (he definitely kept people out), and Abomey goes down as an all-out African experience in less than 20 hours.
During our tour of Abomey - which consisted of visiting the ruins of several palaces of former kings, as well as sacred Voodoo temples - we saw a funeral procession along the main road. The casket was a typical casket, complete with a crucifix affixed to it, but the procession that consumed it was all Voodoo. There was music and chanting, singing and praising. Passerbys and onlookers threw change onto the coffin, or else placed it on the wife's forehead, where it would then fall to the ground and to be picked up by other family members. The most startling part of the procession was when the two young men carrying the coffin - who we assumed to be sons - got to the centre of the roundabout and began running as fast as they could with the coffin, coming within inches of a sealed door (that I originally thought they were going to try to break through with the coffin), only to turn around and head back in the opposite direction with an equal amount of force and determination. They did this several times across the circle, so much so that twice we had to get out of the way of a casket running at us with the determination of death (sorry). They finally placed the casket on the circle and took some much needed rest as passerbys threw more money on the casket (as onlookers, we did indeed throw on some coins of our own). The experience was mesmerizing.
The same night we were taken to a small Voodoo ceremony with two guides. It was held in the courtyard of a small settlement (the equivalent of a 'court' by our street-standards), and attracted what seemed to be all the local families. The Voodoo priest (who is dressed in ornate style with threads and beads coming off him at every angle) began the ceremony with some dancing that was followed by some talking in African tongue. The rhetoric seemed light and in good humour, as laughs were regularly drown from those in attendance. Following that, several other ornately dressed people came out and danced for over an hour. Often the dances turned into 'face-offs', or were otherwise mirror interpretations between two people. As we were unable to ask questions (our guides only spoke French, and it wasn't appropriate for us to be asking questions during the ceremony), we are not sure of the significance of much. One interesting thing that happened to us was when we nearly had our sandals taken by one of the priests. Apparently it is impolite to wear sandals during the ceremony, but our guides were either dumb or ignorant of this rule, as they had their sandals taken, and bribed the priest so as not to take ours. After that, we took our sandals off for the remainder of the ceremony. Although this sounds really bad, there were many people wearing sandals, and the priest made a point of getting as many sandals as he could until everyone was in bare feet. It was a little scary at the time, but immediately following it provided a few shaky laughs (from us) and friendly smiles (from those around us). While dancing was obviously an integral part of the ceremony, so too was the music. The 'band' consisted of about 8 to 10 young men playing African drums and bells. The music was so constant and so intense at times that it was intoxicating and dizzy-ing. Music is without a doubt one of the most sacred and constant things in West Africa.
After the ceremony we returned to our hotel to get some much needed rest. Despite the best inetentions of the Godfather, his hotel is a dump: no running water; a hard and lumpy mattress, and; a tempermental power supply. Add to all this the biggest cockroach I have ever seen serving as a guard to the bathing quarters (he definitely kept people out), and Abomey goes down as an all-out African experience in less than 20 hours.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
La Parc National Pendjari
When we planned our trip, Benin was never part of the intinerary. After our first day here I was ready to get on a bus and head for Ghana before our 48-hour Visa expired. After Ouidah and our 2 day African Safari to Pendjari National Park, I am glad we changed our itinerary - and that Heather's cool head kept us in Benin...
The jump off town for Pendjari Park is Natitingou, where we found our two guides (by far the best and most honest guides we have had so far), and from where we left at 530am to head to the park. Immediately aftering entering the park we spotted several antelope species, then a family of baboons. Definitely a good omen, and one that proved to be fruitful. During the course of the two days we saw: uncountable numbers of antelope and African deer; numerous families of baboons (which turned out to be my favourite animal on the Safari); jackals (that one's for you Graham); crocodiles (with their mouths open, waiting for birds to clean their teeth); warthogs (which are quite regal-looking animals: they trot in a princely manner, with their tails straight up in the air and their noses slightly turned up); hippos (and this time they were out of the water and moving around); beautiful birds of enormous dimensions and vibrant colours, and; elephants. Heather was most excited by the prospect of seeing elephants before we left for our adventure, and she was not disappointed as we were able to see 4 adults and 3 young drinking together from one of the watering holes. Our guides proved adept at spotting animals that were invisible to our untrained eyes, picking out baboons that looked like rocks from nearly 500m away. Thanks to the binoculars I received from Santa for Christmas (thanks mom), we were spoiled with up-close and personal viewings of the animals.
We spent the night camped in our tents within the park, protected by fire and big clubs (we're not stupid - we knew the clubs wouldn't stop an attacking lion - I just figured I could beat Matt unconscious and feed him to whatever wanted to eat us). Luckily, it didn't come to that. The next morning we visited another watering hole where we witnessed the harmony of nature. Around the small watering hole there were several crocodiles, hippos, numerous birds, and antelope and deer. All the animals realized the need for each other to drink, and none of the animals disturbed one another during their morning ritual.
Around noon we left the park and headed to some beautiful waterfalls nearby. Tha falls were spectacular, with blue/green water falling from a height of about 35 meters into a calm pool below, where we were able to swim and wash off the dust and dirt from our Safari. Afterwards, we were scammed by the guide who walked us up (the town with the waterfalls has their own guides, of course). When our guides found out they were not impressed. Yelling and arguing with the man who oversees the guides ensued, and although we do not particulalry like alienating entire villages, it was nice to finally have a guide stand up for us, rather than scam us. Shortly thereafter we headed back to Natitingou (for the better), where we treated our guides to dinner at a Tata Somba house/restaurant. The Somba are a group of people who live in norther Benin and Northern Togo, but this was unfortunately our only experience with their culture. It was a great end to the trip, and a nice way to thank our guides.
All in all, Pendjari Park and Natitingou was one of the best all-around experiences I have had in Africa.
The jump off town for Pendjari Park is Natitingou, where we found our two guides (by far the best and most honest guides we have had so far), and from where we left at 530am to head to the park. Immediately aftering entering the park we spotted several antelope species, then a family of baboons. Definitely a good omen, and one that proved to be fruitful. During the course of the two days we saw: uncountable numbers of antelope and African deer; numerous families of baboons (which turned out to be my favourite animal on the Safari); jackals (that one's for you Graham); crocodiles (with their mouths open, waiting for birds to clean their teeth); warthogs (which are quite regal-looking animals: they trot in a princely manner, with their tails straight up in the air and their noses slightly turned up); hippos (and this time they were out of the water and moving around); beautiful birds of enormous dimensions and vibrant colours, and; elephants. Heather was most excited by the prospect of seeing elephants before we left for our adventure, and she was not disappointed as we were able to see 4 adults and 3 young drinking together from one of the watering holes. Our guides proved adept at spotting animals that were invisible to our untrained eyes, picking out baboons that looked like rocks from nearly 500m away. Thanks to the binoculars I received from Santa for Christmas (thanks mom), we were spoiled with up-close and personal viewings of the animals.
We spent the night camped in our tents within the park, protected by fire and big clubs (we're not stupid - we knew the clubs wouldn't stop an attacking lion - I just figured I could beat Matt unconscious and feed him to whatever wanted to eat us). Luckily, it didn't come to that. The next morning we visited another watering hole where we witnessed the harmony of nature. Around the small watering hole there were several crocodiles, hippos, numerous birds, and antelope and deer. All the animals realized the need for each other to drink, and none of the animals disturbed one another during their morning ritual.
Around noon we left the park and headed to some beautiful waterfalls nearby. Tha falls were spectacular, with blue/green water falling from a height of about 35 meters into a calm pool below, where we were able to swim and wash off the dust and dirt from our Safari. Afterwards, we were scammed by the guide who walked us up (the town with the waterfalls has their own guides, of course). When our guides found out they were not impressed. Yelling and arguing with the man who oversees the guides ensued, and although we do not particulalry like alienating entire villages, it was nice to finally have a guide stand up for us, rather than scam us. Shortly thereafter we headed back to Natitingou (for the better), where we treated our guides to dinner at a Tata Somba house/restaurant. The Somba are a group of people who live in norther Benin and Northern Togo, but this was unfortunately our only experience with their culture. It was a great end to the trip, and a nice way to thank our guides.
All in all, Pendjari Park and Natitingou was one of the best all-around experiences I have had in Africa.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Benin and Slavery
Our bus from Niamey to Benin was eventful. After receiving a Visa that was only good for 48 hours - instead of the 1 month Visa we were expecting - we were forced to head all the way to Cotonou, on the coast, in order to get a proper Visa. The bus wound up being 16.5 hours (instead of the 9 had our Visa allowed us to stop where we had planned). The buses in Africa sit 5 people across, do not have air-con, stop for prayer, and everbody seems to have three or four carry-ons (kind of like you, Mom, when you get on a plane). Obviously, this creates a disgusting amount of heat that cannot be escaped. All in all, it was probably the longest day of the trip. Even the pinasse trip offered bright spots during the course of each day. As a result, our plans changed and we took the few days we needed for our Visas to be ready to head for Ouidah, a town that was an important slave-trading port.
On the first day we visited the musuem in Ouidah (in what was once the Portuguese fort), where we were shown how the slave-trade was conducted from this now peaceful town. The next day we walked from the old Portuguese fort down "La Route des Esclaves" ('The route of the slaves') - a 4km walk that ends at the Atlantic Ocean. As we came through the bush to the shore, I was taken aback by the angry sound of the water. The waves crashed down on the shore with such a vengence that I believe it is aware of the past atrocities commited on it's shoreline. I then realised how daunting the scene would have been for the slaves - many of whom would have never before seen the Ocean - as they were led in chains onto a ship bigger than any they had seen before, as it rested on what must have appeared as the ends of the Earth. Add to this the inhumane treatment of the slaves and the seperation of their families, and you might be able to have a glimpse into the sense of despair upon these people as they were lead away from the only land they knew (but probably not). How any human-being could have rationalized this treatment of another is incomprehensible to me. May the souls of those involved - the slaves and those who exploited them - find peace in death.
I do not know what else to say about Ouidah and this experience, so I will take what a wise man (aka my Father) pointed out to me and elaborate with thoughts of my own: 20 years ago white people in South Africa hardly blinked before killing blacks and they were rarely, if ever, prosecuted for it. 45 years ago in the USA blacks were targeted with water hoses and dogs while fighting for their civil rights (the same 'God-given' rights outlined in the Declaration of Independence). Thankfully, South Africa is making strides towards improvement, and the United States has a man of African descent running for the Presidency... While the dream of Martin Luther King, Jr, is far from being realized (if it ever truly can be), change is possible, and we must hold onto - and fight for - our dreams.
On the first day we visited the musuem in Ouidah (in what was once the Portuguese fort), where we were shown how the slave-trade was conducted from this now peaceful town. The next day we walked from the old Portuguese fort down "La Route des Esclaves" ('The route of the slaves') - a 4km walk that ends at the Atlantic Ocean. As we came through the bush to the shore, I was taken aback by the angry sound of the water. The waves crashed down on the shore with such a vengence that I believe it is aware of the past atrocities commited on it's shoreline. I then realised how daunting the scene would have been for the slaves - many of whom would have never before seen the Ocean - as they were led in chains onto a ship bigger than any they had seen before, as it rested on what must have appeared as the ends of the Earth. Add to this the inhumane treatment of the slaves and the seperation of their families, and you might be able to have a glimpse into the sense of despair upon these people as they were lead away from the only land they knew (but probably not). How any human-being could have rationalized this treatment of another is incomprehensible to me. May the souls of those involved - the slaves and those who exploited them - find peace in death.
I do not know what else to say about Ouidah and this experience, so I will take what a wise man (aka my Father) pointed out to me and elaborate with thoughts of my own: 20 years ago white people in South Africa hardly blinked before killing blacks and they were rarely, if ever, prosecuted for it. 45 years ago in the USA blacks were targeted with water hoses and dogs while fighting for their civil rights (the same 'God-given' rights outlined in the Declaration of Independence). Thankfully, South Africa is making strides towards improvement, and the United States has a man of African descent running for the Presidency... While the dream of Martin Luther King, Jr, is far from being realized (if it ever truly can be), change is possible, and we must hold onto - and fight for - our dreams.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Hippos, Bats, and Giraffes
On our eighth day in Banfora our health had returned to us and we made an early morning trek to Tengrela Lake on our mopeds. We were quite the scene, Matt on the back and me drving (or should I say swerving) off into the sunrise. It was fun, but I don't think we were given the top quality mopeds by the locals (and by think I mean know). Tengrela Lake is a quiet lake that is home to about 60 hippos (or so we are told). Our mission there was to see hippos, and see hippos we did. Our guide rowed us in a hallowed out canoe to within about 20 or 30 feet from the hippos. Although we were unsure as to the safety of this, the guide promised us it was safe. The hippos watched us approach, but paid little attention to us after that. They are odd creatures, especially when you think of their size, and picture their bodies floating around under the water. They make a noise similar to that of a whale when they surface, exhaling air with such force we were startled the first few times. Unforunately, hippos only eat at sunset, so we did not see them out of the water... After Banfora we headed back to Ouagadougou for a night before heading to Niamey, Niger, where I am writing this.
A quick note: My down-time in Banfora forced me to change my frame on mind on this trip. When we were in Mali, everyday had a purpose, and no two days were the same. We were constantly moving, rarely relaxing for more than an hour or two. In Banfora, I was forced (and I say forced because there was no where to go, nothing to do) to accept that nothing was going to happen for today..., tomorrow..., etc. This allowed me to walk around Banfora, meet locals, and do nothing for a week. The end result is that I am less concerned with where I am going tomorrow, and more content with where I am. Banfora - although scary due to the illness that befell us - was a blessing in disguise.
Niamey has been wonderful. Each night at sunset we have ventured over to the terrace of the Grand Hotel, overlooking the Niger River. As the sun goes to rest behind the mountains west of Niamey, painting the sky in pastel blues, pinks, and oranges, bats begin to fill the sky. Thousands of bats in Niamey come out to play at dusk. They fly directly above the river, from north to south, appearing out of thin air (literally - the dust particles in the air do not allow you to see them until the are close). The bats, who dissappear into the abyss in the same manner in which they appear, continuously 'bat' their wings, creating a frantic image against the evening sky; an image compounded by the impending darkness.
Niger is also home to the only giraffes in West Africa, and this morning we headed out before sunrise to see these animals in nautre. Our guide did not disappoint, finding a herd of about 15 -20 giraffes shortly after entering the park. I was amazed how close we were able to get to these sentient creatures, coming within 10 or 15 feet at times. The younger giraffes (2 or 3 months old according to our guide), would peek at us from behind the safety of mother's legs, curiosity abounded upon their faces. An observation the three of us could not help but make was the complete lack of noice these elegant creatures produced. The tranquility surrounding them was deep, and the time we spent walking among them was therapy.
Today is our last day in Niger, as we head to Benin tomorrow morning. There is a lot of slave-trading history in Benin, and I am interested to see how they present this to travellers.
I hear the Pats lost the Super Bowl... I guess it's true - Cheaters never win.
A quick note: My down-time in Banfora forced me to change my frame on mind on this trip. When we were in Mali, everyday had a purpose, and no two days were the same. We were constantly moving, rarely relaxing for more than an hour or two. In Banfora, I was forced (and I say forced because there was no where to go, nothing to do) to accept that nothing was going to happen for today..., tomorrow..., etc. This allowed me to walk around Banfora, meet locals, and do nothing for a week. The end result is that I am less concerned with where I am going tomorrow, and more content with where I am. Banfora - although scary due to the illness that befell us - was a blessing in disguise.
Niamey has been wonderful. Each night at sunset we have ventured over to the terrace of the Grand Hotel, overlooking the Niger River. As the sun goes to rest behind the mountains west of Niamey, painting the sky in pastel blues, pinks, and oranges, bats begin to fill the sky. Thousands of bats in Niamey come out to play at dusk. They fly directly above the river, from north to south, appearing out of thin air (literally - the dust particles in the air do not allow you to see them until the are close). The bats, who dissappear into the abyss in the same manner in which they appear, continuously 'bat' their wings, creating a frantic image against the evening sky; an image compounded by the impending darkness.
Niger is also home to the only giraffes in West Africa, and this morning we headed out before sunrise to see these animals in nautre. Our guide did not disappoint, finding a herd of about 15 -20 giraffes shortly after entering the park. I was amazed how close we were able to get to these sentient creatures, coming within 10 or 15 feet at times. The younger giraffes (2 or 3 months old according to our guide), would peek at us from behind the safety of mother's legs, curiosity abounded upon their faces. An observation the three of us could not help but make was the complete lack of noice these elegant creatures produced. The tranquility surrounding them was deep, and the time we spent walking among them was therapy.
Today is our last day in Niger, as we head to Benin tomorrow morning. There is a lot of slave-trading history in Benin, and I am interested to see how they present this to travellers.
I hear the Pats lost the Super Bowl... I guess it's true - Cheaters never win.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Distrust in Mali; Hope In Burkina
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.
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 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.
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