rarely experienced stateside
Maite Uranga
I just returned from Mali the relative tourist Mecca of West Africa, Mali. Mali is most famous for Timbuktu, the mysterious city of gold that Europeans searched for and imagined about for decades and the murderous Niger River that prevented European penetration with mysterious tropical diseases and earned West Africa the fabled title of "The White Man's Graveyard." Anti-malarial drugs and the discovery of Timbuktu have since made travel in Mali less of a physical threat.
As a result of these developments, I convinced my brother to venture to Africa. Bush taxi problems and time did not allow us to go to Timbuktu, but we decided we got close enough to tell people we went there. Similar problems and inability to understand the river system eliminated a boat trip on the Niger. Instead we hiked for five days along cliffs and mud huts and took a boat trip on the Bani River.
All of these problems, accidents and lack of plans led to an adventure. We were in Mopti, a city on the confluence of the Niger and Bani Rivers, about to get a taxi home when some man came up to us. After brushing him off for a minute or so I asked him randomly if we could take a boat from there to Djenne. It started off as a game to see if it was even possible and, if it was, to hear the sales pitch he would give us. Our destination city was in the complete opposite direction from where most tourists go and also, as I later learned, the wrong river.
Luckily this is one of the few instances that Africa is easier to get around in than other places. Tourist operators, being any local hustler on the street, make everything possible for a few dollars. So around 8 p.m. at night we met some random man, argued about which way the river flowed, wrote a "contract," gave him some money and said we would meet the next morning at 7. We went home that night uncertain whether it was some elaborate scheme to get some money.
Early the next morning we made our way back to the place we met the guy last night and realized neither of us can remember what the "guide" looks like; we hoped that he would remember us. Five minutes later he found us and we walked to our boat and met the two men responsible for our safety and security for the next two days.
The boat was about the size and space of three or four canoes put together. It was solid wood, with two long poles to propel us forward, a sail made out of old sewn together plastic rice bags and a mast that was already leaning slightly to the right.
We checked for water in the bottom of the boat, water to drink and enough food for the two days. With no real idea how far we were going, how we would get there or what was in between, we got into the boat and set off. Immediately one of the boat operators attempted to raise our rice bag sail. One if the strings that held the sail in place broke. The sail fell into the river in a hopeless mass. Through McGyver-like ingenuity he repaired the sail with an old fishing net, and we were on our way again.
Moments like this continued for the next two days. All of our meals were cooked on the boat. Never before had I thought that an open fire on a wooden boat would be a good idea.
The entire boat was an example of an amazing recycling program of old rope, plastic and wood scraps. The endless hours on the boat allowed my brother and I to return to childhood imaginations, or perhaps African reality. In the pitch black we got stuck on a sand bar and became completely turned around. I was Tom Sawyer and he was Huck Finn. We passed villages where children cried or stared in amazement when they saw us.
Thirty-six hours later we arrived at our destination both relaxed and satisfied with the way the chaos and uncertainty went.
These are the types of days and adventures that I appreciate the chaos here that my life in the United States rarely allowed. Some days it is nice to not know how, where, what or even why. And also not to worry when the mast leans a little to the right.
Maite Uranga graduated from Notre Dame in 2000 as an anthropology and government major. She is currently a Peace Corps volunteer in the Islamic Republic of Mauritania.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
All Viewpoint Stories for Monday, February 10, 2003
