Our election all-nighter was followed by a serious political hangover in the morning. Joe and I commiserated over our nation’s future over the traditional omlette, baguette and café au lait (Henceforth referred to as OBC).
Quite the sight was seen at the Bamako bus station. Half a kilometre from the station itself as the cab was driving through, men started running (and I mean running) alongside, yelling “Mopti? Mopti? Timbuktu?” By the time we got in, there were about ten of them and some were sitting on the trunk! Clearly the fake-guide industry must be fairly profitable if they swarm white people like that. It took a while to convince them that we were perfectly capable on our own.
Getting around in Mali seems to be getting more difficult than the map would suggest. Our bus from Bamako to Mopti turned into two buses and a tro-tro, due to the first breaking down in the middle of nowhere, the second that we hopped on only going halfway (when you’re stuck in West Africa, take the first vehicle that will take you anywhere, because it could be a long time until the next one comes!) and the tro-tro completed the journey.
We arrived in Mopti at around 2AM. A strange man wearing sunglasses and a Merlin-like get-up appeared to be trying to hustle us into staying somewhere expensive. We ended up going to a place via taxi. Here’s the weird part: when we arrived, the guy was there! There was no question: he must be a wizard. Anyways, the guesthouse had empty rooms (save for crappy beds), rudimentary toilets and questionable showers. This had to be the worst place I had been to thus far, but we couldn’t argue with the price (4000CFA – about $4).
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