Kabara To Gao: My Faith In Malians Is Restored

I was in my room--room 26. And in a very bad mood. There are actually 11 beds, but 3 are way too close to the ceiling. The ones with the nice mattresses were taken. My mattress had bread crumbs on it, but it had the most headroom. Some of the mattresses were bar pieces of foam. I got my bed and I started to calm down and write into my journal.

There were a bunch of young men in my room--students at a teacher college in their last year. One was a guy named Ousmane Diouf. He was a really nice guy. He probably doesn't have an opportunity to meet too many French speaking Americans. And my French is better than his English. He showed me his lesson plans for teaching young students and his notes and stuff like that. Then he got out his photo album and showed me his girlfriend and his family and his friends. There were some pictures of him in a sketch where he played a marabout (spiritual leader) and talked about AIDS. We talked about prices of computers and I showed him my La route and The Road. He found my Hôtel du Golfe receipt from Guinea-Conakry and said it was very expensive. If was a little pricy--$34, but not ridiculous. Later, I realized he probably thought the price was in Francs CFA which are worth 10 times more than Francs Guinea, so he probably thought it was about $340. He was very intrigued by my fountain pen. He asked if I had another one like it--he might like one. I said I didn't. I didn't have the heart to tell him how much it costs. A Malian can eat for a very long time off the price of that pen.

The room, it turns out, has a room monitor who works for Comanav--though it too me a little while to figure out that he wasn't just a passenger. My room monitor also doesn't speak English--just French. He was the nicest guy. When I was alone in the room, he would give me the key and tell me to lock the door if I went out. I mostly stayed in my room fanning myself. He brought me food.

Since I had such a fuss about the food I should mention what the food was. There were 4 meals and 2 breakfasts. The meals all followed the same basic pattern--a starch and a 3cm x 3cm x 3cm cube of braised beef--usually a chunk of it being bone. The starches were 1) badly overcooked short spaghetti with a hint of tomato sauce, 2) millet with a hint of tomato sauce, 3) chunks of some sort of tuber with a hint of tomato sauce, and 4) rice with a hint of onion. The first breakfast was a cup of instant Nescafé with 4 inches of a baguette. The second breakfast was a cup of instant Nescafé with 4 deep fried donut holes. And that was the food. Easily the total food bill would be less than CFA 2000 for the whole thing--easily within the ticket price.

The Comanav ferry makes only the scheduled stops. It's not like the cargo pinasse which stops on demand. Each stop was about an hour or two, perhaps except the last one which was short. When the boat gets ready to leave, it toots the horn 3 times, then a few minutes later it does 2 toots. The scenes at the stops are a sight to behold. People loading and unloading cargo. Naked children--they take off their clothes and hide their parts for a while, then they give up on that just run around buck naked. There are women doing laundry, cleaning fish, sorting vegetables, and whatever else.

As we passed villages on the Niger, the children came out to shout and wave at the ferry. I guess the Comanav ferry going by is the highlight of their week. These people live in pretty remote places. There are a lot of individual and collective settlements along the river. A lot of the sand dunes have a grid--about 10 feet x 10 feet of grass. I suppose it stabilizes the sand dune.

We had 2 storms. The first was the first night right after the students want to sleep. They mostly slept outside, but when the storm came they had to come in to sleep. There was no rain, but very very strong winds bearing sand and dust. The second was the next afternoon. We actually beached for a little while since the visibility was so low. The wind was very strong, again no rain. But there was thunder and lightning.

I mostly sat there fanning myself. I'd write a few lines in my journal and in that time enough sweat accumulated that I'd need to fan myself again.

It was the most educated crowd I'd seen in Mali. People in my room were reading dictionaries and books. Something I haven't seen much of in Mali, or Africa.

There were a few other white people on board, but I didn't see them except when they got off to wander around the stops to take pictures. I suspect they were in the more expensive cabins. Too bad for them. The 3rd class cabin is the way to go. You meet the locals that way. It was so refreshing to meet people who don't speak good English. I'm so sick of English speakers in Mali.

So after leaving at about 6pm on Saturday, we arrived at about 5pm on Monday. I tipped my room monitor CFA 2000 for all he did for me. Then I got off. There were neat little 4 inch long salamanders with yellow and brown stripes down their backs and irridescent aquamarine tails. Unfortunately, I was immediately met by an English speaking man who wanted to take me to the Hôtel Atlantide where I was going anyway. It was a short walk and when I got there, he said something first and they charged me CFA 12500 (US$25). The Lonely Planet price is CFA 10000. I want to know if this guy gets a part of the difference or if it is genuine inflation. They don't have post prices. I'll ask again tomorrow without giving away what information I'm after and I'll see if I can find out at the tourist information center. If it should be CFA10000, I'll raise a stink--I'm good at that now. The guide sat there and watched me fill out my fiche with my information. "Where are you from?" "Seattle, Washington." "Oh, I have a good friend in Washington--a university professor." "Oh, which university?" I asked, though I wasn't interested. He was a bit flustered and finally came up with "a university in San Fransisco." I needed my passport for the date I entered Mali (Spet. 11-how could I forget?). He told me that after this we would go get a stamp. "What?" I asked. He made a stamping motion and said "la cachet." "Huh?" I asked. "For your passport." I didn't know what he was talking about and I was annoyed. "I didn't cross any borders from Timbuktu," I said with some contempt.

I needed a beer and the English speaking guy showed me the place I already knew from the Lonely Planet. But they only had "Guiness" and I don't want that. So he took me to another place. I sat down at a table at the closest chair--specifically not creating a space for him. Then he went around and sat next to me. I got out my journal and starting writing. He kept disturbing me. I had a few beers and came back. I was drunk so I tipped the guy CFA 1000. Tomorrow he gets nothing--he will not be coming with me. I want to organize my life my way. Besides I don't want him there when I ask about prices at the tourist information center.

September 30, 2008 3:00 Mali local time