Green Turtle Lodge

Okay, if Volta Region is my second home here in Ghana, I think I've found my third one: Green Turtle Lodge in Busua.

Getting to the lodge requires a minimum of three changes of transportation (eg. to get there it was taxi, bus, tro-tro, tro-tro) and a full day of travel, since it's West of Takoradi and near the border of Cote d'Ivoire - but it's all worth it. A relaxing resort with great food and people, ping-pong, foosball, a pool table, swinging hammocks - oh, and the most quiet and pristine beaches in the country. Wow.

To be there was to be a world away from the hustle and bustle of dirty, dusty Accra. The place is quiet, clean and eco-friendly (hello compost toilets and solar panels) and cheap, so it's perfect for hippie-backpackers. I spent the whole time reading (I finished Michael Crichton's Timeline, which was a historical blast and have started Africa Must Unite) and playing on the beach. The tide was pretty strong, as is the nature of the Gulf of Guinea, but we got to ride the waves with boogieboards and hey - the beach wasn't full of trash! Amazing!

If I can get a few days off between exams, I'll be there, undoubtedly. It makes Kokrobite look like - well, I won't say anything bad, since I'll probably be there again sometime as well. But damn, I can't wait to be there again...

Pan-Africanist Field Trip (warning, political thought ahead)

Since arriving in Ghana, I've idealistically been waiting for a eureka moment - a point when I would realize a greater truth that could not have been found if I had not embarked on my safari. I'm still working on it - and to be honest, it may never come in the way that I intend it to, but if there is one thing that I have been "converted" to*, it's pan-Africanism.

*(Sorry evangelicals, looks like this one's been taken)

The basic idea of pan-Africanism is that since Africans have a shared geography, culture and experience of colonialism and since the borders of African countries were imposed on European powers anyways, the answer for security and prosperity is for the nations to unite under a common banner.

Kwame Nkrumah, the leader of Ghana's independence drive and later president (and later quasi-dictator and later deposed quasi-dictator) was one of the loudest voices and one of the greatest instigators of not only African decolonization but pan-Africanism. Not only did he lead the first African country to proclaim independence from a European nation and make huge inroads for its development, but he led the effort to create a United States of Africa.

So it's only fitting that they have an enormous monument to him in downtown Accra, where he is buried. Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park is probably the most beautiful public space in the country, with lawns, trees and a giant pool with fountains in human likenesses leading up to a giant monument under which Nkrumah himself is buried. The structure is shaped like the bottom half of a tree: either celebrating the growth of Ghana/Africa that he initiated, or mourning the progress that was "cut down" when he was lost (whichever explanation you believe). In front of the tree is a bronze statue of Nkrumah walking and pointing, recalling his famous Cold War-era statement: "We face neither West nor East; we face forward."

When Joe (also a converted pan-Africanist) and I arrived in the morning, the park was empty and suprisingly quiet. The only noise we could hear was the faraway sound of drums and singing (I'm not making this up), which made the memorial that much more solemn. We were humbled by the presence of such a man who, for better or for worse, had an immense impact on the nation and continent.

The park also has a museum that has many fascinating photos of the man, but is rather sparse when it comes to artefacts. Nonetheless, they had his famous walking stick (rumored to have magical juju powers) and the shovel that commenced construction of the Akosombo Dam that created Lake Volta and was supposed to provide cheap power for the country, which didn't quite happen. That shovel could be the finest piece of historical irony in the country.

Also of note: the park has various young trees with plaques indicating which African leader planted which tree. There is a 15 year-old mango planted by Nelson Mandela, which will surely become more majestic with age (and whose fruit will be sweet for many).

After that, Joe and I took his moto to a pan-Africanist bookshop at the Trade Fair and I bought Nkrumah's seminal book, Africa Must Unite - and I'm relishing every page of it. There seems to be no end to the great ideas and quotes contained within. It's a geeky end to a geeky field trip, but we loved it. I hope the memorial will inspire young leaders for many years to come.

"I can see no security for African states unless African leaders, like ourselves, have realized beyond all doubt that salvation for Africa lies in unity... for in unity lies strength, and as I see it, African states must unite or sell themselves out to imperialist and colonialist exploiters for a mess of pottage, or disintegrate individually."
-Kwame Nkrumah

The Random Expat Personality Game

After spending part of last night at Champs, talking to a charming man who claimed to be writing an article for National Geographic on the Ghanaian economy - and who probably was doing nothing of the sort in real life - I realized that so many people here are probably talking out of their behinds when they tell me their life story.

Thus, some girls and I decided at Assase Pa to create random fake personalities for each other. The next time we go to a bar, we'll become these people and see how well we can convince them that we are the real deal. Here's a list of new personalities...

Mel (St. Catharines): is an Australian trust-fund baby who has been travelling around the world and has now decided to open a Western-themed bar in Osu called the Giddy Up. She's even importing a mechanical bull from America.
Anna (North Carolina): is working on a pilot project to make sure all tro-tros are equipped with state-of-the-art GPS systems.
Laura (Norway): is using a grant from the Tony Hawk foundation to build a skater park in Accra and teach Ghanaian youth to skateboard.
Lisa (Carleton): is fostering women's empowerment by teaching alternative sexual positions other than the patriarchal "missionary" style. Her NGO's name? "Women on Top".
Hannah (Carleton): has been commissioned by the Canadian government and Royal Dutch Shell Oil to create a new engine fuel made of apateshie (distilled palm wine). Trust me, if you've had apateshie, you'll laugh your ass off at that one.

And myself? I'm a German PhD candidate from Jena writing a report on the "most peculiar" sexual habits of Kwame Nkrumah. And boy do I have some good ones lined up!

Let the games begin...

Tick-tock pt. 2 - The Semester of Mr. Obruni!

While being in school and taking classes is all fine and dandy, I crave extra-curricular activities. I've had many grandiose plans for this semester, making it a George Costanza-esque "Semester of Mr. Obruni". Here's the game plan:

1. Take drumming lessons.
After seeing how much fun the kids last semester had in drumming classes (and seeing how I couldn't get credit for it), I decided that this semester I would take some private lessons with some American friends. Being that I have no natural rhythm, this seems to be an opportune time to work on it. Besides, if I came back from Africa and had no rhythm, then did I ever really go there in the first place?

2. Start up a trade justice group on campus.
This has been a pet project of Joe's and mine for a long while. After seeing the Road to Hong Kong protest, we thought that it would be a great idea to help facilitate the start of a trade justice advocacy group. Clearly we couldn't run it - that would have to be done by Ghanaian students who are passionate about the issues. But, if we can create the favourable conditions for such an organization and people take advantage of it, then perhaps we will have done a good deed in helping to improve the welfare of Africans. Sounds easy, doesn't it? Of course. It always does on paper...

3. Start exercising to prepare for work.
This summer, I'll be back to the landscaping grind. Considering my muscles have probably turned to mush over the last six months, I'll have to start getting back in shape at the gym. Lisa has agreed to be my personal trainer for the two months that I'll spend at the gym. I've already started running regularly. Soon I will no longer be a little girly man, but an Olympic ideal. (ha!)

4. Read lots and lots of fun books.
So eloquently put, no? I've already gotten to work on this one. I finished "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" and am currently on "A History of Ghana", which is filling in some of the cracks in my historical knowledge. I also started up a book swap in the hostel, which is paying off already. (Basic idea: list your name, room number and books owned on a big list and people trade books. Neat, eh?) This week I will purchase Kwame Nkrumah's classic "Africa Must Unite". Sweet!

5. Travel lots and lots and somehow do it thriftily.
Last summer, I put off seeing a lot of places, thinking "I'll do it next semester". Now that it is upon me, I've got to get out on weekends to see places like the beaches on the Western Coast, Lake Bosumtwi and such. Also on the agenda: a 10-day tour of the North (seeing elephants, hippos and the like), taking the Lake Volta ferry and hopefully an excursion out of the country (Niger and a fairtrade conference in Benin have been discussed). I won't have this opportunity for a long, long time, so why not jump on it?

So that's the game plan for the next few months. Believe it or not, the original list was even longer. So, in the words of the immortal Ramones:

Hey, ho, let's go!

Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock...

Back when I started this wild and crazy adventure last August, I had serious problems trying to see nine months ahead. Frankly, it freaked me out and was a major reason for being with Maleaha for Christmas. I just couldn't see myself spending nine months in a place like Ghana away from loved ones and the life I once knew. I started counting the months, marking each one passed as a sort of medal of honour...

Now I'm over six months into my tour of duty and I've realized that I now have less than three months left before I fly back to Markham. That means less than three months left to see and experience all of the things I have been craving for and to learn about this side of the world. This semester is shaping to be going quite well. Class-wise, I'm taking:

Elementary Arabic (again) - Suddenly, we're cramming so much more in so little time
Development of the Arabic Language - Can't put down history... or developement for that matter.
Colonialism and the African Response: Nationalism and Independence - Or as I like to call it, "The Empire Strikes Out".
Africa and the Global System - It's, uh, politics. At 7:30 in the morning.
Working With Persons With HIV/AIDS - This class is interesting as much for the course content as it is for understanding just how little students know about the disease and treating it... and these are 4th year social work majors!
Cultures and Societies of Africa - It's nice to hear that Ghanaians really are crazy - from a Ghanaian professor.

Weekend in Wli (read: Veekend in Vli)

It's hard to believe that after eight weeks of travelling and not even two weeks of being in Accra, I'm already getting antsy. Luckily, on Friday afternoon in class, Joe and I made plans for the Volta Region - his first time to my "second home".

It probably didn't help that we took the slowest tro-tro to Hohoe possible. And it definitely didn't help that we had spent the previous evening at the bar (I was so on my game for karaoke - "Come on Eileen", "Like A Virgin" - I did it all!) and got a solid 3 hours of sleep, but the waterfall at Wli wasn't going to see itself...

Most of that day was spent tro-troing, which is an exhausting experience in itself. Stopping in Hohoe was like entering Tim Burton's nightmares, with cabs driving around madly in circles, swerving, honking horns, with red ribbons flying and men hanging out windows (Apparently, this is what passes for a funeral procession in Ghana, and not a demolition derby). But we arrived in the late afternoon at the Waterfall Lodge, a lovely wee hotel near the falls run by an older German couple. It was great to sit and relax under a giant cabana, sit on the long grass and play with their dog, Dolphy. I felt myself missing my dog, even when he came by our door in the early morning whimpering just like Dorothy does outside mine at home.

One delicious dinner, one star beer and 12 hours of sleep later (8:15 to 8:15) we set out with our guide and a young German couple to see Wli Falls, the highest and largest in Ghana and also reputed to be the highest in West Africa as well. The lower falls (yes, it's large enough to warrant two drops) were absolutely stunning: it was higher than I could estimate in size, at the centre of a giant cliff face that was home to thousands and thousands of nesting fruit bats. I would go as far to say that there were more bats there than at 37 Military Hospital in Accra! (a place legendary for the swarms of bats that live in the trees along the main road)

The four of us, eager to see the upper falls, yet on a tight enough budget to pay the guide to head back instead of lead us up the mountain to find it, began our ascent up the mountain trail.

Perhaps retaining the guide would have been the more prudent of choices. We ended up taking a sketchy path and climbing all the way to the top of the mountain, looking for the next pool of water and instead finding friendly Togolese poachers (with old rifles) and walking down a path that probably led to the border - only a few kilometres away. Like the intrepid explorer Mungo Park searching for the Niger, we also found the snaking river, but not the "mouth" of the falls (it got a little thick and we had no machetes to get through).

After hours of climbing and descending, our friends decided to make their way back to the base, while we tried another path that we found. Wouldn't you know it was the one leading to the base of the upper falls! We immediately ran straight in and enjoyed a brilliantly cool swim at the base of the magnificent, secluded falls. After so many hours of hiking, it was perfect for our aching limbs.

We still had to get down half of the mountain, which was ridiculously tiring. Thankfully, we found delicious wild bananas and somehow found the strength to make it to the lower falls (and go for another swim).

After that, there isn't much to say. After hearing shots fired we helped direct the park rangers towards the poachers, went back to the lodge, slept, woke up at 5:30AM and caught tro-tros all the way back to Accra by noon. And it's the start of another exciting week!

The Postman Always... Forgets Where Your Package Is

I love getting mail.

There's really no other way to put it. I check my mailbox all the time in hope of getting something from home. Thankfully, Maleaha and Grandma Betty send me letters often and I send them postcards and letters back at them as well.

However, for all of its wonders, the Ghanaian postal system still has a ways to go in improving itself. Case in point: My parents sent me a small package (smaller than a shoebox) in mid-September. I noticed that by the end of the year, it still had not arrived. My mom called Canada Post to track its progress. Instead, they sent her a cheque for the amount it was insured for. Sounds promising, no?

Just this last Monday, I got a flood of mail (oh happy day!). A postcard (of Canada) and greeting card from Maleaha and two slips for packages that were being held at various post offices around the city (quoi?).

For the first, I went to the Legon Post Office. Guess what they had? The package that had been sent five months ago! Thankfully, all edible goods contained within were non-perishable (gummy bears, peanut butter, jello packets and Mr. Noodles) and quite delicious.

For the second, I went all the way to Kwame Nkrumah Circle to a giant building (file that one under "hideous monstrosities") and dealt with a comically surly clerk, who charged me 10,000 cedi ($1.25 CDN) to pick it up. I was amazed to find that Geoffy, bless his heart, had sent me a birthday gift! (I'll get you for this... KRAUTAAAAAIR!)

For receiving my first two packages in six months of being here, I've been quite happy. And the offer is still on the table: send me something and I'll send a flood of postcards back atcha.

Hence, why I love mail.

Slight Change of Address

Note: my new mailing address is now...

Mr. Obruni
Room 81, International Student Hostel
University of Ghana
P.M.B. Legon
Accra - Ghana

However, if you sent it to the old address, the porters will still put it in the right mailbox.

Happy Valentine's... Protest?

Ahh Valentine's Day... love is all around us and so we go out into the streets to march against the government!

Not your average February 14th tradition? Well, Ghana is new to the game. It only took off after private radio was legalized in 1995, when stations started copying Western stations and doing Val Day promotions - and it's caught on quite well.

The reason for the protest is a new bill being introduced to Parliament by the ruling NPP. The bill would extend the vote to Ghanaians living abroad (which is good) but since there is no official list of Ghanaians abroad and no proper ID that they have to register with, the new law could make fraudulent voting much easier in elections (that being a bad thing). It also will cost a great sum of money for a developing country like Ghana. Besides, they are planning to introduce a new ID card in the near future (Ghanaian passports are easy to forge), so why not wait until the system will be able to handle this law? Crazyness...

So, about 5,000 people decked in red marched from Kwame Nkrumah Circle to Parliament, making lots of noise about their dissatisfaction with the government. Joe and I met up with Malik, the head of the student union at Legon and Ken, a former head himself.

The protest was pretty neat to see - it was the largest one I have been to here - but since the issue is so complex, most people there just shouted "We want peace!" and "Down with the NPP! Down with Kufour!" Given that it was organized by the opposition parties, they probably didn't seem to mind, but it definitely put off Joe.

All in all, it was a very neat experience. The last time I had seen any civil action in Accra was the Road to Hong Kong march last semester. While that one was small and highly organized, this one was huge and rather disorganized. Either way, we'll see what the result is in the upcoming days. And we'll see how the media reports the demonstration. (Note: there may or may not have been violent clashes by the end.)

Happy Val's Day, y'all.

To Market, To Market

This weekend I decided to spruce up my room and make all of my large "living" purchases of the semester. So Hannah and I made a day out of going to Medina Market. Three hours and 500,000 cedi (about CAN $60) later, I bought:

-Computer speakers to plug my iPod and CD player into
-Bowl, glasses and cutlery
-Coffee mug with "Nescafe" written in Russian
-Electric kettle
-Running shoes (UPower brand... love those knock-offs!)
-Straw mat for carpet
-Way too much fabric for decorations (and later, clothes)

I'm quite happy with my speakers, since now I can fill my room with sound. I'm also putting up my development and West African maps, Irish goodies and trinkets. As superficial as it sounds, I'm so happy to finally have my own space for this semester.

Next project: pump my rugby ball so I can play some pick-up. Ruck 'em!

Settling in: Redux

Considering our decision to travel during the winter break until the last possible week, it looks like we got on the residence boat pretty late. All of the new students have already settled in and it seems that they have their own groups and cliques... and despite there being greater international diversity from the West this time around (several Brits and Norwegians have been thrown into the mix), everyone seems to look the same to me. And none of us old crows can remember any of their names!

It is somewhat surreal to see all of these people going through the exact same experience that we went through six months ago - although the homesickness probably won't hit most for a little while yet. It's nice to be able to give advice to people when the need it ("Ed, please don't drink the tapwater. You WILL get typhoid.") and be the veterans of the exchange experience, but we're still going to have to connect with these people. Enter Joe's trademark potluck wine-and-cheese party at his house tomorrow. It should be a fun way to get to know people, methinks.

On the school front, I've been scrambling all week to make a schedule for my classes and register by Friday, the add/drop courses deadline. I'm feeling fairly far behind in Arabic after two months without, but methinks I'll be able to persevere.

Good news: I got my marks back and I'm carrying an A- average, with only a single B out of six courses. The agreement between Ghana and Carleton on this exchange is that my transcript will only show "Pass" or "Fail" for each course, but I won't let that rain on my parade...

Happy Birthday, Brother Bob

As noted earlier, Ghana has become somewhat of a hub for the Rastafari Movement. Hell, even Bob Marley's widow Rita lives in Aburi, just North of Accra. So, what better place to celebrate Bob's birthday with a giant concert in Accra?

Thus, despite arriving in Accra at 6AM on Sunday morning, I passed over precious time for sleep and went to the "Africa Unite" festival at the Accra Trade Fair - apparently along with all of the obruni population of ISH.

Hosted by Rita with the message of peace and unity among Africans, it was a great show attended by thousands (an accomplishment in Accra for a ticketed event), with every Rasta in Ghana there, or so it seemed. Even Cha Cha from XOFA in Volta Region was there for the event. Also, there were many merchandise hawkers, vegetarian food vendors and even a pan-Africanist bookseller who is a diehard Nkrumahist and may have worked for Mumar Al-Qaddafi back in the day.

There was great reggae, good times and probably good weed, considering the pervasive aroma of the evening. The acts got everybody moving to the funky beat (even Jon's dad, visiting from Canada) and there were some great acts - most notably an rocking artist from Birmingham, England, a fantastic sax player who played a jazzy cover of "Jammin" as well as Rita Marley and the I-Threes (Bob's old backup singers). They sang spiritual songs (even some Bob Dylan) as well as a great medley of Wailers classics. After midnight, they brought out a big cake and we all sang "Happy Birthday, Brother Bob".

By about midnight, I was positively beat, so a few of us went home. We missed the Marley brothers play together, (Ziggy, Stephen and Damien) but we left just in time to run into a mob of pickpocketers right outside the gates. Imagine about 20 people waiting to greet you like at an airport and instead of hugging you, they start crowding you and reach into your pockets all at once, trying to look casual about it. I kept my hands in there and shook them off as best I could, but others weren't so lucky.

While I shrugged it off, it seemed to be a crappy end to an excellent evening. On the inside it was all about peace, love and unity and most people were having a great time dancing and singing along together and suddenly you cross a line into a world in which you're just another target for crime. Ah well, Happy 61st, Bob.

ISH Sweet ISH

Stumbling up into my room before dawn to pass out, I realized how great it was to be back. I’d been on the road more or less for 8 whole weeks, traversing six countries on two continents (seven if you count Wales) and living out of my backpack the entire time. So the travel period was over and it was back into the daily Accra life for the next three and-a-half months. Now, it was worrying about classes and trying to get back in a groove, a new one in which I had my own space and could finally relax and grow some roots. I also had to start meeting all of the new kids, who over the last three weeks had come and settled in.

I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to travel and explore as I did over the last two months, but I’m looking forward to it. If I can muster up enough spare cash, I would love to travel across other parts of Africa, like the South and East. Or if my Arabic improved enough, perhaps North Africa and the near Middle East, from Morocco, through Egypt, Israel, Lebanon and Turkey? What about Asia? Or more of Europe? Imagine taking the Trans-Siberian Railway across the Russia. I haven't even been to Winnipeg yet!

Who knows? Even if I spend the rest of my life trapped in a cubicle pushing paper (God forbid), I’ll always have the memories of French West Africa, the UK and Ireland. I like to think that I spent that eight weeks productively, considering all of the stories I have, and I know that I’ll remember them for a long time to come.

The Long Ride Home

In the morning, we found a taxi bachée (i.e. a pickup with wooden planks for seats in the box) that would take us to the Burkinabe border. I spent a hectic 20 minutes gathering all of the souvenirs that I had thought I would have time for to buy. It was crazy, but guess who came out of the woodwork? The Wizard! He helped me get a salt block (from the mines of Tadoueni), a teapot and another turban cloth – and he didn’t even ask for money. The only way I could thank him was with a tip, even though he seemed to not want one. Too bad I couldn’t buy him a beer or something…

I got there 10 minutes before the taxi left and Joe wasn’t pleased. In fact, it was the only time he’s ever been angry at me, although I’m pretty sure it was the not sleeping for two days thing. I tried my best to hide my smile the whole time.

The taxi ride through Dogon Country to the border was beautiful and surreal – like being on Mars. And just as dusty. Our turban cloths came in handy.

If I thought Joe was mad in the morning, it was nothing compared to us trying to get a tro-tro to the border and into Ouaghiya. After waiting for one to fill up after three hours, at 6PM the owner, a most arrogant and thoughtless character who laughed at our predicament, told us that it wouldn’t be leaving that night (which, at 3PM it was). This was the final straw. We already had no money (literally, my fare was on credit until we got to an ATM in Burkina) and were putting up with their antics. Joe flipped out and we ended up paying for all of the empty seats, so that we could leave before the border closed.

Once we actually got across the border, it was much smoother sailing. We got to Ouaghiya and then got a bus to Ouagadougou that arrived in the middle of the night. We slept in dorm beds in a crummy place with other backpackers (there was a piece of paper on my bed with crushed marijuana and mosquitoes in my net – charming!) and got out the next morning, finding a bus that would take us all the way back to Accra.

The ride home was generally uneventful, save for us having to switch to a tro-tro in Kumasi at 2:30AM. I was in a zombie-like state and apparently didn’t notice a number of near-death incidents as a result of our reckless driver – we also got in at 6AM, three and a half hours later. Considering the drive takes 5 hours at normal speed, I’m glad I was sleeping through it!

Burned Out in Accra

Hey kids! After about three straight days of travelling from Timbuktu, Mali, (yes, it exists) Joe, Matt and I have arrived back in Accra and are totally burned out from our travels. Joe is physically breaking down, Matt is sleeping in copious amounts and I'm living in a sort of zombie-like state for the time being.

In the meantime, I will try to write about the last ten days or so out of my notes, but it will take some time, so please be patient. I'll keep up with current events so that I don't fall further and further back. I will also get to work on the fabled Togo and Benin trip from early December... I promise!

Return To Civilization

Alcoo served us tea at sunrise (and finally gave Jan Il a reasonable offer for the scarf!) and searched for the camels for our return. He only found three, so he had to walk back. However, I rode in front and he gave me the lone rein attached to the camel’s nose and showed me how to control it, which I enjoyed immensely.

We had a small breakfast upon our return and tipped Alcoo (apparently all of the money we paid went to the middlemen and he did it out of the goodness of his heart) and hurried back for the 4x4 that was to take us all back to Mopti. Because of all the time spent getting to Timbuktu, we only had three days to get all the way back to Accra. It left, eventually, and we took the ferry across the Niger and drove down the road to Douenza, which has to be the sketchiest road I have ever traveled on. We drove the entire time in the sand next to the road itself and got stuck twice going up hills.

In French, Joe quizzed the driver about this and that and we learned a lot from him (thus is the advantage of speaking the local language). We found out that he wasn’t merely a driver, but also a hardened rebel veteran of the Taureg civil war that was fought in the early 1990s between the government and the marginalized people. Thanks to a peace plan, he lives a normal life now and his brother is now a general in the Malian army. We also talked about Mali and Islam, learning a lot about local opinion on the matters.

The moment of Zen for us was when we approached the town of Bambara. He told us how he and his comrades used to conduct raids on the town, which was not Taureg. When we arrived, the people were more interested in seeing him than they were of us – a first for me in Africa. The first man who approached the window shook his hand and looked at us, saying “This man! HE is the killer!”, to which our driver replied, “HE is the assassin!” Suddenly we realized that he was speaking the truth and this other man was a former rebel himself. Incredible.

The rest of the road to Mopti was in good shape, but the driver miscalculated his level of fuel and by dark, the petrol station was closed, so we spent hours waiting for someone to sell us gas. Not pleased. We arrived in Mopti, as per usual, in the middle of the night. Joe and I didn’t bother sleeping the few hours until dawn and ended up walking around the town, planning ahead, meeting interesting characters and sitting at cafés, talking about life.

The Fine Art of Taureg Tea

Using a small teapot, boil some water. Add tea leaves and let it seep while on the fire. After a few minutes, add heaps of sugar at your discretion. Then take a glass (shot-sized) and pour some into the glass gracefully from a high altitude (you’ll get the hang of it). Pour the tea back into the pot and repeat a few times, to stir the tea properly. Taste some to see whether it is to your liking and when it is, serve in glasses for yourself and guests.

At The End Of The World - A Night In The Sahara

Our tour was set to commence at noon. Kevin and I enjoyed breakfast atop the grand marché and prepared for the excursion into the desert. A word to the wise: understandably, changing money is difficult in Timbuktu. If you ever go, bring plenty ahead of time.

We were driven to the meeting point. We were already being offered trinkets by random people. Was this foreboding? Nevertheless, our chariots awaited us: camels for Jan Il, Kevin, myself and our Taureg guide Alcoo. Jan Il was especially excited. We set off for the desert…

Riding camels in traditional wood and leather saddles is a bizarre and rather uncomfortable experience (especially with the horn of the saddle being a large vertical plank of wood between your legs). Having no stirrups or reins was also strange to me, because I’m used to riding horses and being in full control, rather than being tied together. I got used to it, eventually. My camel Aybaydh, who I nicknamed Tim, was very well-mannered and did not smell - contrary to popular belief. Alcoo was a very friendly and likeable guide. Being the only one in the group who could speak French, I tried to make small-talk and translate for the others as best I could.

Going out into the desert was quite surreal. There was a lot of shrubs and small trees dotting the landscape, with some sand dunes standing above the sparse vegetation. We were told that one would have to ride on their camel for six days before seeing pure desert. To put this into perspective, it also takes 15 days of riding to reach the salt mines at Tadoueni, at the northern tip of Mali.

There was also a strange assortment of animals. “Wild” goats, donkeys and cattle walked about freely, munching on what they could. Apparently at night, they instinctively know to go back to the encampments, so they are allowed to roam as they please.

After a while, I noticed that I could no longer see Timbuktu and we appeared to be surrounded by desert – clearly we really were at the end of the world!

Two hours later, we arrived at the “village” (i.e. his tents). My bag was covered in camel hair. To keep a camel from going far, you tie its front legs together, so to move around, it “hops” about. Another strange fact: there is one kind of tree in the desert covered in thorns (I got caught in one) and they love to eat its branches. Wow.

While drinking Taureg tea and biscuits, we met Alcoo’s children and mother as well as the children of his uncle, who was apparently off in a caravan somewhere at the time. They were very adorable and well-behaved. Lunch was rice and goat. (Hey, at least it wasn’t fish)

We spent a few hours roaming around the desert, climbing the dunes and watching the donkeys play. It was so different to be there. I felt almost as if I was walking on the moon. At sunset I went out very far in search of a nearby village, but when darkness set in, I decided to return. Perhaps the end of the world was enough for tonight.

We set up our beds near the clam-shaped tents and drank more tea. Alcoo offered Jan Il one of his hand-dyed indigo turban cloths and we spent the evening slowly haggling in between dinner (more rice and goat), friendly conversation and more tea. We talked about the Taureg people, a historically marginalized nation, their lifestyle, the caravans that go to Mauritania and the impact of tourism on their lives. We sat and drank tea by candlelight under the stars and a crescent moon. So this is the desert life!