Back in Djenné

Sitting in the ruins of my old world in Djenné. There are vestiges of the familiar : Maman is still here and comes and serves me breakfast in the garden. At night fall he brings me my whisky and ice and peanuts on the roof, where I have an even  better view of the Mosque than from the hotel. All this is happening on my land, where my crumbling mud home and studio is still standing, although there was no  crepissage this year…

There is my old friend, the Southern Red Bishop (according to Collin’s book of West African birds). He comes every rainy season and is trundling up and down the land in his somewhat clumsy way, a fire-red disturbance on the retina  settling heavily here and there on a bush or a parapet and singing his song.

Papa has not started his little restaurant yet and is able to cook for me at night and tomorrow he will make some orange and lemon marmalade- our marmalade is very good, I have to say.

I have made inquiries about the attack that happened here in the centre of town a couple of weeks ago on the prison and its guards and  the FAMA of Djenné : (Forces Armés MAliennes). This event was something of a milestone in the recent history of Djenné, because the Marabouts had told me that there were never going to be any attacks here : they had all got together and made magic to protect the town. So it seems that their magic had not quite taken… Therefore  I thought, finally, that I should perhaps go to stay the nights here at the Campement hotel. But as soon as I arrived I changed my mind. The familiarity of my home made me feel safe, although of course that is just sentimentality..

It seems that the recent violence was more of a settling of scores. I have had several reports from
various sources that concur : the chef of the FAMA in Djenné, a Tuareg named M, who I know well and who has sometimes supplied me with soldiers as guards for the hotel when we had guests who wanted more security, had received death threats from a key member of the terrorist organisation which operates around here, loosely going under the name of the Front the Liberation de Macina.  This was the same person that had organized the attack on the Djenné Carrefour in the spring and various other disturbances.  M had been on his trail and there were several of his gang imprisoned in Djenné through the work of M and his soldiers. So far so good.

(Note, later: Since writing the following I have had other information. It appears that M and his soldiers had been in their right to shoot in self defence, because the known terrorist in Mounia they had come to arrest had been the one to shoot the first shot. That version would please me, since I like M, and would like to continue to think of him as a good professional.)

This is where the tale takes a somewhat unorthodox turn : M and his soldiers are supposed to have turned up in the home of this known terrorist in Mounia, about 20km from Djenné, shooting him dead  at point blank in front of his two wives. This is of course unacceptable behaviour  by any standards, and anyway, why shoot him ? He might have been able to offer some useful information  if he were taken captive ? Now, the explanation I was given for this behaviour was bizarre in the extreme: The man they shot had special powers. He could make himself invisible and disappear through walls. That is why it was not possible simply to take him captive, he would walk straight out of the prison through the walls! Now one of the most disturbing parts of this tale is that the person that told me this in perfect seriousness is a highly educated Malian who has just returned from a important conference  in Chicago. African superstition is certainly alive and well …but back to the events in Djenné : the cronies of the dead terrorist came from Mounia in some numbers and made a dawn raid  on the small army head quarters in the centre of Djenné, by the prison, where they liberated several of their gang. M himself was not there it seems. One guard died later from the wounds he sustained in the shooting.
(More, later: Curioser and curioser. Just to show me that I should probably never believe any of the baroque rumours that circulates around a small town like Djenné in the aftermath of an event like this attack at the prison baracks...  My old friend Yelpha, the new Imam of Djenné, just gave me another twist to the story: There WAS no attack at all! The guard that sat at the gate  at 4 am with his loaded gun had taken a little snooze and rested his head on his gun, which promptly went off under his chin and the bullet kindly took the route out by his ear, just missing anything vital. The other guards woke up and ran out, wildly shooting in the air. There was no sign of any terrorists, although all the exits to Djenné were immediately blocked. No prisoners were set free, the guard did not die, and M himself was quietly asleep in his quarters inside. Well, the attack never happened then? Yelpha, being one of the Grand Marabouts of Djenné that took part in the magic that is supposed to save the town, has of course a vested interest in promoting this version of the story, but it does tend to ring true to me...)
And on a more peaceful and ordinary note, I am in a rain sodden and muddy Djenné to wrap up the the very last British Library project here and also to try and sort out the textile studio and salvage what there is : could we somehow continue ? They are working on a few lengths of handwoven cloth for an Australian client. I will take it with me to England and post it from London. I am hesitant- my staff are so desperately wanting it to continue. There is nothing here otherwise…