In Mali

 I arrived in Bamako over a week ago, and have been busy working on final  accounts for the Timbuktu project and other necessary things. Nevertheless have seen dear Karen, (above) Hank, Phil, Matt, Paul and all other friends, since I stayed at the Sleeping Camel once more- for the last time before they move to a new location. Also had the time to go for a 'Hash', which is the weekly walking or running outing mainly for ex-pats in countryside surrounding Bamako.

But I sped northwards in Ga’s old Mercedes with its fake leopard skin fur draped over the dashboard yesterday, under heavy, rainladen clouds , through the familiar emerald of Mali’s July landscape. The village populations were out in force preparing their fields, the majority armed only with hoes, but some with donkeys or horses pulling small hand held ploughs which sliced through the black earth, moist and unctuous with yesterday’s rain.This road is so familiar to me. Once more I tried to figure out how many times I must have been up or down this major artery which links Bamako to the centre and the north. It must be over a hundred times. I know every turning. If I fall asleep and wake up, I can have a good guess at how long I have slept because of the small details the passing landscape reveals. There is what used to be the lovely painted facade of a building which advertises the local milk sold inside, only that now the painted cow has been sliced in half by an awkwardly placed corrugated iron roof on which a collection of discarded car tyres and old bicycles are forming; there is the sign advertising a ‘Foret Classifie’ which is supposed to be a protected natural forest, only there are virtually no trees there...; The crossing of the Bani happens about twenty minutes after Segou on the northward journey. The recent rains have brought torrents of mud down the Bani which now flows white/ochre like vanilla  ice cream , swelling with every new rain, towards its destiny at Mopti where it surrenders itself up to the Niger.

The proximity to San is announcd by the first horses- central Mali  is horse country.

 The ‘Entrance Gate’informing travellers of the arrival in the Mopti region has a turning immediately to the left where it is possible to take a short cut to Djenne along the village dirt road to Madiama, but in the rainy season that is an uncertain proposition and we decided to go via the Djenne Carrefour where the Gendarmes’ guard post is now heavily fortified with cement-filled oil drums all around. Any hapless traveller who arrive here after sunset is forced to stay the night, because of the kerfew which has been enforced for about a year here. That has made a new local enterprise spring up: it is possible to hire a ‘natte’ a plastic mat on which to sleep for those who find themself in this unfortunate predicament.

We reached Sanouna by Djenne to cross once more the Bani towards the end of the day when the shadows had lengthened. I took off my shoes. The water felt warm but refreshing as I waded across the soft sand to the platform which had been lowered for the vehicles to board the ‘Bac’, or the small car ferry which carries all vehicles and other traffic to and from Djenne. Ga drove the Merc on to the Bac with a great roar, splashing the water either side.  I remembered when I arrived in Djenne to start my new adventure in April 2006. It was the Great Heat and the water stood lower that ever: it just reached our calves and we were able to cross the river on foot. That never happened again.

Now there is no ‘home’ for me in Djenne I am obliged to stay at the Campement, which I found deserted apart from dear Brin, the faithful Man Friday of this old hotel, whose son is called Oumar – or Barou like all Oumars- in honour of my Oumar Keita, his great friend. Brin greeted me with a chivalrous flourish like he always does, by kissing my hand and saying ‘La Princesse!’.

There was just enough time to sit happily in the courtyard with some peanuts and whisky and water before Brin announced the rather devastating news that there was no electricity in Djenne. That meant that what is a just about bearable experience: to sleep on a bad mattress with bad sheets and and the hard pillows found in most African hotels would turn into a memorably awful night- all of the above, but without a fan or AC or even a light in the hot and humid African night, the air buzzing and alive with the enormous insects that hover around when the sun sets in the rainy season... and coupled with that, the fact that my telephone and computer were completely without ‘juice’, and were not going to be recharged! Happily we are made in such a way that the memories of the hardships of a dreadful night normally melt away in the sunshine of the following morning.  

This time Djenne seems to smile on me. I recognize just about every adult I cross on my way through the rain sodden, muddy streets and I greet everyone just to be on the safe side, even if I can’t quite place them, because they all seem to know me. ‘Sophie! I ni Fama! Somogow?’ (‘Sophie, Its been a long time! How is the family?’)And I stop and chat a little and pretend I know who they are. I suppose it is easier for them to remember me, the only toubab around amongst 13000 Malian for the 12 years I lived here... at least that is what I use as an excuse. 

                                                                              

I went to see Imam Yelpha as always (arriving at his Koran school above). I have to put on a scarf these days to visit him and I am not allowed to shake his hand in public- these measures to show respect for his position. But once we are sitting on the sand floor inside his Koran school he is as friendly as ever. ‘My heart jumps a little when I see you’ said lovely Yelpha, and I reflected how nice it would be if  people said things like that to each other in Europe...

Tomorrow I will go to the library to have a meeting regarding the new foundation we are setting up, the ‘Friends of the Djenne Manuscripts’, and then onwards and northwards!

 Let’s hope the electricity  which finally came on will continue during this  night...

 

IL PALIO!

It has become necessary to join another great spectacle to my others, carefully collected during my life when I have been fortunate  to see many fabulous things which I call my wonders of the world. It is not easy to be included in this list, which consisted of only 3 before: the Goroka Show in the highlands of Papua New Guinea; ‘J'Ouvais' at the opening of the carnival in Port of Spain, Trinidad ; the ‘crepissage’ of the Great Mosque of Djenne ( of course!) But these three have now had to admit one more in their glorious midst: The PALIO in Siena: the great bare back horse race around the Piazza del Campo.

And, come to think of it, even the city of Siena must   join my own private pantheon of the most wonderful cities of the world, which now include Stockholm, New Orleans, Djenne, Lyon and Siena. There are many similarities between Sienna and Djenne, surprisingly. For a start, Siena is the oldest city in Tuscany, settled by the Etruscans many centuries B.C., and Djenne is the oldest city not only in Mali but in West Africa , first settled over 250 BC.
In the first part of the 14th century Siena built their magnificent Duomo, while at the same time the Djennenke built the first version of their great Mosque. Both cities saw the pinnacle of their importance around the 14-16th centuries after which their power waned.
 Another striking similarity is the importance and friendly competition between the neighbourhoods in the great yearly event of the two cities: in Djenne the eleven ‘kin's compete to win the prize at the crepissage, and in Siena the 17 ‘Contrade’ put up a fierce battle to win the Palio.

There is more:  the beautiful slender horses used and bred specifically for the Palio are called ‘Barberi' from ‘Berber’ because the race originates in Africa, in this case North Africa, but these are undoubtedly from the same race as the  fine limbed Malian horses, which are of the ancient race  that made up Sundiatta' cavallery when he unified the tribes and founded the Malian empire in the 13th century.

When I see these horses I think of my lovely Maobi, Napoleon and Petit Bandit that I was fortunate enough to have owned and ridden across the dusty plains of the Macina by Djenne...

 It is an unforgettable experience to witness the Contrade parading through the streets of Siena in their colourful costumes to the sound of the drums, performing intricate manoeuvres with the flags which are carrying the insignia of their Contrada.

Before they arrive in the Piazza del Campo they all file past the Duomo and wave to what I believe must be the cardinal, who waves back and makes the sign of the cross over them all.

Blessings are very much the order of the day and on the morning of the Palio the jockeys all receive a blessing in the Piazza del Campo before the horses are also blessed, by the altar inside the churches of each Contrada!

A great procession around the Piazza precedes the actual race, and finally, after four days of intense build-up the race finally explodes in a wild burst of just over a minute: this time the GIRAFFA Contrada beat the favourite Chiocciola Contrada(the centipede) by a few centimetres in a hair raising finale before the roaring crowd of many thousands.

. Then followed the traditional celebrations which have not yet come to an end...
first to the church of Santa Maria in Provenzano,

to thank the Virgin, carrying the coveted standard of the Palio, while the victorious horse Tale e Quale got a well deserved shower and feed, then the party continued all night and the next day...