Dogon Country, Mali
My memory of Dogon Country, Mali has faded so much, it’s like an old picture, you only remember it because you’ve seen the picture. Looking back now, it was absolutely sensory overload at the time, but it was just the thing to do to have a “vacation” overland as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Benin. The pictures will have to suffice on this one. Funny, how at the time, the trip felt so insignificant, and now 15 years later, it blows my mind that I did this. And makes me wonder what I’m doing with my life today.
We rode overland by bus for several days, stopping along the way in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso before crossing the border into Mali. I remember getting into Mali late evening, nervous that we were traveling at night, and getting into town exhausted. I believe we had chicken and rice upon arrival before going to bed and starting the trek the next day. I remember Reilly – it was the middle of the night before we left to head to Bandiagara Escarpment via horse pulling a flat wagon – that the poor guy had diarrhea all over the latrine / bathroom area, missing the hole entirely as he got violently ill in the middle of the night. Seemed like another common issue – to be sick. He had to clean-up the area with a few buckets of water, shower, and get back into bed – all while I slept soundly and didn’t wake once.
Omar was our guide’s name and we met him the in the morning. Somehow I managed to book the most popular “tour guide” among the volunteers in Benin. He was cool, savvy, knew his way around, and how to communicate with the villagers. He coordinated the trek; I don’t remember planning one bit of it.
I remember several different villages, and of course the cliff dwellings – a UNESCO world heritage site I believe – carved right into the side of a sheer wall. I remember being in an oddly quiet and remote area – there were other tourists, but they were not the standard lot. I met my dream husband who was sailing around the world without any sort of care of concern. We met locals and gypsies alike. This was just 2 years before Mali became a hotbed for terrorism.
We slept outside on the roof above one of the villages, stargazing and drinking warm beers and Coca-Cola from a bottle. We showered outdoors, in stalls made of rock with buckets of luke-warm water. We climbed that sheer cliff and crossed at the top, traversing an old ladder carved out of thick tree stumps and branches, something straight out of an Indiana Jones’ movie.
I remember sherpas or porters carrying our backpacks – and it was damn hot. I remember a long boat sunset ride in Mopti. I wish I could remember the names of the towns. I wish I could find the tour guide. I’m sure I could with a little more digging. It was probably the most alive I ever felt and now I can hardly remember it. Sitting in the depths of New Hampshire, drowning in debt, and desperate for some serious adventure.
My pictures from the Peace Corps were on an external hard drive – and before I had awareness around “back-up copies” – I shipped my external hard drive in a box from California to New Hampshire with a variety of other items. At some point in transit, the box was broken into and several items were stolen including the external hard drive (so not only pictures from the Peace Corps, but all pictures from my undergraduate studies, all my documents from undergraduate and all music that had been downloaded at that time). It’s still a huge loss to this day when I think about the pictures that some loser stole and likely trashed. These few photos of Dogon Country are from Reilly’s camera – it’s enough to make me want to go back just to get my pictures back. Africa was a trip.
