An Capall Mór: The journey south

Deep in the Sahara desert, salt is mined and carried in slabs by camel caravans to Tombouctou (Timbuktu). From there it is transported by traditional wood and canvas boats called pinasses down the Niger river to Mopti. This route and method have changed little in hundreds of years despite the advances of modern technology.

For one week in March, the 2 pinasses of Aliyou Hamadoun carried 30 tonnes of salt, 10 tonnes of grain, several baskets of dried fish, 2 Malian families, 1 BMW R1100GS and 2 sunburnt Irish adventurers along this famous route.

March is in the dry season in Mali and the resultant low water levels cause problem for the navigation of these boats. Sandbanks lurk just beneath the surface. The drivers (Bozo people) know every inch of their river, having lived in harmony with the river for generations. They weave paths between the sandbanks, which is particularly challenging at nightfall! We were prepared for a journey of 3 days and 2 nights, and had the appropriate rations of drinking water and biscuits that we felt would safely see us throught the trip. 7 nights later, thanks to low water levels, and many large sandbanks, we whooped songs of joy as the lights of Mopti were visible in the distance. We were worried that we might be hallucinating, as we had become accustomed to the slow pace of life - early mornings, early nights, no lights in the river villages and a distinct lack of consumer goods (the ubiquitous Coca Cola signs)! The most challenging aspect was never knowing when we'd get to Mopti. Mike might disagree, and say the most challening aspect was being roused at 6am to jump into the river and start pushing the pinasse as we hit yet another sandbank. Mike shattered any colonial myth that the white man lies relaxing on the boat while allowing the natives to do the hard physical work. I, on the other hand, was happy to abandon my feminist principles, and allow the men to push us out of difficulty on every occasion!

Our pinasse carried a family of 2 brothers, the wife of one of them, and 4 children (age 6,9, 11, 14). We soon discovered this was their home. The children's school and playground was the 80 ft pinasse, complete with cargo. The river was their home, and providesd all they appeared to need. The river served as toilet, shower, washing machine, dishwasher, cooking water, drinking water and rubbish bin. They treated us as part of the family, and provided us with 3 meals a day (rice, rice and rice - with fish and gravy for lunch!) You know you're really considered a big sister when you go to the part of the pinasse where the toilet bucket is kept, and you're no longer afforded any privacy, but instead jokingly poked in the arm and told to hurry up!

The kids were completely fascinated by us. They were quite shy at first, and seemed genuinely afraid when I sang a song and tried to play a clapping game with one of them. They spoke only their own language (Sorhei), whereas almost all Malians speak quite good French. We assume this was because, like their parents before them, they had never been to school. It was surprisingly difficult to communicate with kids that age. We couldn't kick a football with them, and the signs we used and thought were universal didn't see to be understood. Eventually we discovered playing cards, and taught them a variety of games, and how to count to 10 in French. I was also quite touched when they named their doll Linda in my honour!

It was a facinating trip watching the steady stream of fisherman in their pirogues and similar cargo pinasses. We gained some insight into traditional village life along the Niger, were in awe at our first sightings of hippos in the wild, and captivated by the beautiful birdlife passing overhead. So, we were glad it took that little bit longer than planned. And we survived with the daily meals and the water and biscuits we had. You see, being Westerners, one always assumes you need more than you actually do!!

Our boat on the right, the bike's on the left.

Linda relaxing on a bed of salt slabs. (That's a faded Malian flag, not an Irish one!)

An Capall as cargo.

Niger by night.

Hippos out for an evening

Typical river-side life.

Wild Irish fisherman pushing the Pinasse

In Mopti, we negotiated with 5 men for them to lift An Capall from the pinasse back to dry land. From here, with 2 sets of stiff legs, we rode to Bandiagara. This is the gateway to Dogon country, where we undertook a 3 day trek through intriguing villages built along the top and foot of an 80 metre high escarpement. The Dogon region has held fast to traditional ways of life. The religion is Animism (worship of ancestors and nature), and gender roles are clearly delineated. The men hold village meetings in low roofed woden structures: so low you have to crouch when inside, thereby eliminating any possibility of fighting. A woman's primary role is to reproduce, and the Dogon women are strong - grinding millet, carrying branches on their heads, usually while pregnant and with another baby strapped to their backs! Life in post-recession Ireland never looked so appealing! The scenery was absolutely breathtaking, and at times reminded us of the Burren in County Clare and the Kimberleys in Australia. We were treated to traditional dancing (very fast footwork!) and our guide introduced us to some fascinating old village people. The kids had no problem in introducng themslves to us. Mike says I look like a female Jesus with dozens of kids trailing behind me!

We've now crossed into Burkina Faso. More details on this beautiful country soon.........