This is an authorized translation in English of a post in French by @terresco: Rencontres avec l'Afrique - En route vers le pays Dogon

^{As my primary language is not English, there are probably some mistakes in my translation.}

Remember that the person who speaks here is NOT me, Vincent Celier (@vcelier), but @terresco, a French guy.

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Mali

For my first vacation in West Africa I was planning to go to Dogon country, a place full of charm and culture in Mali. As a holder of a service passport, I had to go through the French Embassy to obtain a courtesy visa. This visa had the advantage of being easy and free. This time I was denied, as northern Mali was considered dangerous. The embassy taking no risk extended the danger and included the Dogon country. I had followed the events and I was still hesitating when this administrative refusal convinced me immediately of the interest of undertaking the trip.

Abandoning the private travel work passport, armed with my normal passport I took the road at the wheel of my superb newly acquired Renault 4 albeit much less recently built. At the Malian border it would be easy to negotiate a visa, welcome to Mali.

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Compared to Ivory Coast, Mali was very poor. You could see this in the prices of goods, in the existing structures. It was, however, the Christmas period, a period when consumption in our country often turns to absurdity. Nothing like this, life was survival at Christmas ime as well as all year long.

Once in Mali we follow the Niger river. Born in the mountains of Guinea it makes an illogical loop to the north in the Sahel. As it finds neither the sea nor the strength to reach it, he returns to the south to finally meet the ocean in the delta of Nigeria. This stubbornness makes it one of the longest rivers in Africa behind the Nile and the Congo river. With its strange course it is a gift of nature for the countries of the Sahel, only source of water, waterway in certain parts during part of the year.

Nightlife

My first Malian step was an opportunity to have few meetings and to learn about the country. Arrived late, negotiations require, I'm told about a movie projection. It took me a long time to find the place. In a labyrinth of dark and dusty streets where I thought I was definitely lost, finally came the pale light of a bluish neon. It was a detached house, the only one in the neighborhood and a worn poster announcing a Bruce Lee movie.

The price, insignificant for a European gave me access to a room in which were lined up old chairs facing a television equipped with a VCR. I was waiting for the start of the session watching the show in the room, unaware that the show, before Bruce Lee takes over the show, it was me. I was the only one to have an entire chair, just for me, advantage of alien status, a lesson of hospitality. The room was packed, in the African sense of the term, not that of the standards of the European administration. It was hot, we were sweating, we were choking. But what an ambiance!

After long adjustments, the movie started. Loud sound, totally inaudible, images with more parasites than are typical of tapes viewed many times. The hall lived the exploits of Bruce Lee. Punctuated by cheers of all kinds, some stood up hitting the hot air as if they could help the hero valiantly fighting the bad guys. What to say about the moment of the kiss, in the room tranquilized by the momentary inaction, a small suggestive "hum" triggered a burst of collective laughter.

The end ... enthusiastic applause. One of the best and worst film shows of my life, which I've done many times since, almost always Bruce Lee, Rambo or Rocky.

The road Bamako - Gao

In the south, ready-to-go cotton balls punctuate the road with their white stains. Improbable trucks, bending under the weight of cotton, bring them to the capital. Small village shops only offer a few packages of often outdated cakes and tin cans. Markets are colored by the outfits of the vendors and all the plastic material that sells there, buckets and basins made in China.

As it goes north, the road is surrounded by a drier and drier landscape. The poor country to the south becomes even more so by going up to the north. All activity is centered along the river, road, crops, towns and villages.

Djenné, UNESCO World Heritage

You have to leave the main road to see Djenné. Famous for its mosque, the city is on an island, between two arms of the Bani river, a tributary of Niger. At this point the river is lost in an inner delta. It is in this period of indecision that the great river will change its mind and gradually move towards the south, accepting the Sahara as too big for it. Unlike the Okavango in Botwana it saved its life by changing course.

You had to be in Djenné on Sunday night to attend the Monday market. We rented a roof where we spent pleasantly the night and the morning from our watchtower, with view on the mosque, one observed the arrival of the various ethnic groups which came, sometimes from very far, to sell their meager production.

It was the Sonrhai, the Peul, the Tuareg, the Bambara, the Bozo, the Mossi who arrived at the rhythm of the desert, loaded or accompanied by their goods, on foot or by pirogue. They would settle in the streets surrounding the mosque, protected from the sun by simple plastic sheeting. The bargaining was gaining momentum with the advance of the morning, the best deals being done in the morning. It contained everything of value in the Sahel, salt, sugar, tea, millet, calabashes cut in half to serve as containers, goats and sheep, meat, hardware, fish with a delicate aroma.

Back to the road

Saturated with smells and colors, it was necessary to leave Djenné, to go back to the ferry and to find the main road, towards the north we finally arrived at a crossroads. On the left, the town of Mopti was lounging by the river. Straight we would have reached the mythical and mysterious Timbuktu, but at this time it would have been really dangerous, I will have to wait another two years to go there. This time it will be to the right, towards the goal of the trip, the Dogon country. The road was effectively barred by the military but there are many tracks around the main road, we know that in Africa there is no problem, everything is resolved at the end.

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I do not know how it is today but at that time the 100 last kilometers leading to Bandiagara, the capital of the Dogon country were not easy for an Renault 4. A bit of sand and some terrain accidents that, if they would have been easy for a 4x4, was not trivial for my R4 and for me who was having my first experience of African tracks.

I was finally going to reach Dogon country, with its people living in and around a long cliff. A very strong culture people living in beautiful villages. Bandiagara, the largest and the administrative center is built on the plateau at the edge of the cliff. It is this region and this people that we will discover in the next article.

-- @terresco

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01: Encounters with Africa: Ivory Coast, by @terresco
02: Encounters with Africa: Abidjan, a daily pleasure, by @terresco
03: Encounters with Africa: The Tuaregs of Agadez, by @terresco
04: Encounters with Africa: The Tuaregs of Agadez, part 2, by @terresco

From Cape Town to Mombasa series:

01: Africa, the long crossing
02: From Cape Town to Mombasa: South Africa
03: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Namibia
04: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Botswana
05: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Zimbabwe
06: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Zimbabwe, part 2, by @terresco
07: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Zimbabwe, part 3, by @terresco
08: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Zambia, by @terresco
09: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Malawi, by @terresco
10: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Tanzania #1, by @terresco
11: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Tanzania #2, by @terresco
12: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Tanzania #3, by @terresco
13: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Tanzania #4, by @terresco
14: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Kenya, by @terresco

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All pictures are property of @terresco