What I turned down

Day 44
Tues Aug 30
Start: Bobo-Dioulasso
End: Ouagadougou

Despite how the previous day ended I was still up in the air about going further back-tracking to Banfora and seeing the waterfalls. I tried to find the cars, but with only a half-hearted attempt before getting back on the bus to Ouga.

The hospitality of the staff at Peace Corps was only exemplified when I returned and the Safety and Security person for Peace Corps told me exactly how to get a visa at the border to Niger (thanks to another staff member who knew my predicament and left for Niger a few days earlier, but called back on the procedure after asking). I give them my passport at the border, am allowed through with a piece of paper. The next day I go to the police station in Niamey with the piece of paper, pick up my passport, pay $40 and get my visa. Simple.

He then took me directly to the bus station, helped me buy a ticket for the next morning; confirmed a taxi would be picking me up; helped me back to the office and later on tonight will be showing me around the part of town I didn't get to see a few days back. On the way back to the office we passed the Airport. A brief thought occured, then left. I don't know when the best time to quit is, but it's not when your down. I put the bus ticket to Niger in my wallet.

I e-mailed the Country Director directly thanking her for the hospitality of her staff and the volunteers for going above and beyond what I expected.

After what happened yesterday I need a vacation. True, I've been traveling for a six weeks and some might call this a vacation - but I need to just sit in one place for a few weeks. A village maybe, someplace relaxed, where I can re-energize. Just this evening I received an e-mail from my contact in Niger. A new group will be swearing in on the 16th and there's a festival on the 14th which most volunteers go to. I might stay in Niger for two to three weeks just to slow down a bit and relax.

It wasn't until I got back at the office and was able to look up pictures of Banfora and the waterfalls did I truly regret missing that opportunity. It would have been fun and refreshing to sit under waterfalls and just cool off - but I missed it. Turned it down because I had a bad day the day before, when this would have made everything better. Now I know it's time for a vacation! This time, if there's waterfalls in Niger - I'm going!


WATERFALLS NEAR BANFORA
(That I did NOT go to ... )



[picture not mine]

A bad day

Day 43
Monday Aug 29
Bobo-Dioulasso

Didn't expect that to happen! As I was getting ready for the day I check the guide book on what to do in Bobo. "Bobo-Dioulasso only really comes to life at the weekend; on weekdays, you're likely to be the only clients." I checked my watch: 7:45 am Monday morning. Doh!

Also, before I forget to to do it later I did my accounting. Maybe I should have put off on that for another week since it ruined my mood a little. I spent $124 this past week since cashing that check. While only $17/day, I could have sworn I was saving money while being in the city. Throughout the whole day I had the unjustifiable fear that I was spending money way too fast and that I would run out again. The truth is, I'm actually below my budget and other then a few tourist things (e.g., Dogon Country, Timbuktu, etc.) you can't get much cheaper! I eat street food where I can, travel local transportation, and lodge at the some of the cheapest places I can find (and in some cases in the street!). Yet, it still had me bogged down that money was going fast. To make up for this nonsense I decided to really splurge. I'd find a restaurant tonight and treat myself. I never actually had splurged in this trip yet, always in the under $10 range for a good meal.

In the morning the wind picked up, knocking over signs, blowing dirt in the air, and people running for cover before the rains came. I didn't make it. Toured the market, and down-town in the rain while getting back to the hotel soaking wet. How many times do I have to be caught in the rain, I asked myself?

I wanted to leave. Jake had suggested I tour Banfora, further south, where you can rent a moped for $10/day and explore the green countryside with waterfalls a few kilometers away. There's a "McDonald's" restaurant in town (no relation) which the volunteers rate as not to be missed.

Another thing that bugged me today, as well as being cold, wet, still sick, and worried about money; was that I wasn't going as far as I planned. I have been travelling 43 days and when I looked at the map (especially since backtracking) it didn't seem that far! Doubts of completing the trip, running out of money, making any progress, raced through my mind as I'm laying in bed. I wanted to leave the town, leave the country, leave the continent. I had enough of Africa. The children bothering you in the streets, the sellers who won't take no for an answer, people ripping you off. I've seen the deserts, the markets, the mosques. What does this town have to offer that's different from the hundreds of other towns? I've been here over two years and all the inconveniences of being in Africa I want over with. I've lived in mud huts, not showered for days, been hot, sweaty, hungry, singled out as a tourist or as a white person or rich person (ha!). I want to be anonymous again, another face in the crowd.

I didn't want to go to Banfora, either. It was more of a detour, more money, and it would probably rain - and knowing me I would be caught in it.



I saw the market and it was just like any other market. The bumsters were around the Grand Mosque and wouldn't leave me alone. I just wanted to scream at them or throw whatever they were trying to sell me at them. Why couldn't they just let us tour their city alone, why do they feel obligated to interrupt your casual walk with "Excuse me, excuse me,..." (The first time you hear that, you turn - then you learn). I wanted to scream to the children begging for money, the bumsters trying to sell wood carvings or be my guide, the shop owners signaling me into their shops to "just look". I wanted to scream at them all "Shut up! Let me be!"

I stopped in my tracks and sat down. The guy was still on me like a magnet to a refrigerator. I'd push him away and he come back stronger. Couldn't he see I didn't want anything? If when the pot boils temper explodes he was sure adding heat to the oven. When I thought the first bubble would burst two French tourists turned the corner; more oblivious then I was; and the magnet found a better refrigerator to attract onto. As I watched him take another target I could feel the ice being put in the water, cooling it just enough as that little air bubble creeping up to the surface stops and heads back down. I sighed in relief.

Today wasn't a good day.

By late afternoon I had my thoughts in semi-good order. I am making progress; yes, this is a detour, but look at how far you HAVE gotten. This is your fifth country in six weeks. Despite Burkina Faso being, as a whole, a detour, it is not as much as the possibility of having to make one to Ghana to get to Niger. Look at all you've seen and done: camel rides, train rides, Sahara, Timbuktu, Dogon country. You've been traveling for six weeks, four of which by yourself, in a language you don't know.



One other thing made me think about the money more: I can splurge on any day in Africa and it would be less than spending frugalily any day in Europe.

That helped some. By dinner time I was good to go and ready to splurge!

I stopped by "L'eau Vive" which is a Catholic Missionary who also run a restaurant. The open air gave a sense of eating under the stars (despite being cloudy), and the breeze was cool. Only six other patrons were there, despite having room for close to a hundred. The nun who showed me to my table spoke some English and I struck up a conversation with her. She was from Kenya and is doing her Missionary work here. At any time they can call on her to go live and work any where in the world. Asked if she chose Burkina Faso, she simply said: "God chose for me. I obeyed."

This is one of the finest restaurants in town, and the nuns know how to serve wine properly and make you feel like your at a five-star restaurant. Casual music was played in the background, more upbeat then you would think for a missionary but still calm enough to be enjoyable for the atmosphere.

I ordered steak, medium-rare. With a bottle of water and a glass of orange-juice.

It came with bread! I ate everything they gave me, forgetting it is the African custom not to eat everythign on your plate. If you do, they think you are not full and will give you more. I ate all the bread, they gave me a second helping with butter. I ate all the butter with all the second helpings of bread - they gave me a third helping of bread. I need dessert! Ordered some ice cream (really splurging!); after that an after-dinner tea.

After an hour and half or so I went to pay the $20 bill.

"You are not leaving now are you?"
"Yes. My hotel is far, I have to walk."
"We are about to sing."
"Oh, ok. I will hear you sing."

I sat back down, had more tea and listened to the nuns of the L'eau Vive Missionary serenade me and the rest of the diners in a song of about the Virgin Mary - in french. Beautiful end to a horrible day.

Ouga to Bobo

Day 42
Sunday Aug 28
Start: Ougadougou, Burkina Faso
End: Bobo-Dioulasso, Burkina Faso

My only true detour on the trip started out with a bang. Literally. Of cymbals - from a marching band. I needed to cross the highway but was interrupted by two things: the bike race happening on both sides, and the military policemen stopping people from crossing. The military band, along with the officers, were sitting directly across from where I was and right in front of where I needed to go (the bus station). One of the guards realized my predicament and signalled me to cross when it was clear.

The 300-km ride took about five hours in an air conditioned bus. I was 'warned' about this the day earlier from Jake:

"Just take the bus. It's air-conditioned."
"Air conditioned? I don't want a tourist bus, I want the local bus."
"That IS the local bus!"

By 2 o'clock in the afternoon I arrived at "Casa Africa" a small hotel in the outskirts of town where I had room with bed, mosquito net, and fan for $8/night. Toilets and showers were outside. The owner asked if I wanted any food. "Let me take a nap first." I woke up 18 hours later and had my meal I promised; breakfast instead of lunch.

Ouga-Ouga-Ouga!

Days 37 - 41
Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso

According to the UN, Burkina Faso is the 3rd poorest country in the world; and according to volunteers it should fall a rank to number two due to the locust destruction this past year. Despite being #3 you would never have guess it by travelling to the capital. [However, it's usually the people and living conditions outside the capital which makes the influence in the rankings] The streets were paved, the buses left on time, there was no rush, and it was very efficient. This was by far the most efficient running country so far in my travels.

Before Burkina Faso was called Burkina Faso it was called "Upper Volta" . After WWII France really ignored their little colony and instead focused on Cote d'Ivoire. This led to some of the downfall of Burkina Faso. It became independent of France in 1960 and went through military coup after another before the most notable one of 1982 happened. Captain Thomas Sankara seized power in a bloody coup and two years later renamed the country 'Burkina Faso' meaning 'land of the incorruptible', or better translated 'Country of the Honest Men'.

Despite coming into power with blood on his hands, he lifted his country up from decay and economic growth started to take. He even led a two-week marathon that vaccinated 60% of all Burkinabe children against measles, meningitis, and yellow fever - to the great praise of Unicef.

Five years later he was brought outside the capital by another captain and shot. His captor, Captain Blaise Compaore, buried his former leader in a simple grave next to the city dump and took over the country. The grave has become a place of pilgrimages to those who want to pay their respect for their lost leader who did so much for their country.

Compaore was elected president a few years later, as the sole candidate; and afterwards had his major opponent assassinated. He has since won every 'election' to date.

The guidebook had this to say about taking pictures in Burkina Faso:

"The official off-limits list is formidable, and includes airports, bridges, reservoirs, banks, any military installations, police stations or government buildings and post offices, train stations and bus and bush-taxi stations, TV/radio stations, petrol stations, grain warehouses, water twoers, idustrial installations and poor people."

So I can take a picture of the sky, right?

Despite all the hoop-la about taking photos it is quite suprising to find out that Burkina Faso is home to THE film festival of West Africa. Every odd year in February or March Ougadadougou hosts thousands of visitors and tourists to catch a glimpse of whats new in African film. If you want to hear music in Africa head to St. Louis, Senegal during their Jazz Festival; but if you want to see true African cinema head to Ouga where all-day long you sit back and enjoy the show - either the characters on the screen or the characters on the street. If you happen to be in Burkina Faso during an even year - no problem! The town of Bobo-Dioulasso in the South West hosts the festival in the even years.

In Ouagadougou I ran into a few volunteers who took me in as one of their own without any reservation or akwardness (who are you? why are you here?): Mike, Katy, Airy, and Jake. The first night in town they treated me by showing me the recreation room at the American Embassy, where we watched a few movies. The next night we went to a Chinese Restaurant. Katy, especially, was very helpful, as in the midst of a downpour of rain she went with me to the French Embassy to get information on how to get a visa for Niger. When the Embassy wasn't open yet, she showed me around town, still in the rain though not raining as hard. The next day during lunch she tried teaching a few french phrases to get by on. Airy cooked a few meals for the gang, which I was invited too, and I even brought desert one time (watermelons and pineapples). When one was leaving for the airport I went along, despite only meeting the person leaving two days before. It was a genuine welcome!

The first full day in town I tried walking around - took two wrong turns and ended up off the map. Ended up out of town. The taxi on the way back demanded more money, although I was already paying him a good deal (confirmed with volunteers). Two blocks away from the Hostel he refused to move unless I paid him more. "OK". Got out the door and walked away to him screaming. It led to nothing as he turned around and left.

When I did finally get to the explore the city I got lost within, and due to the humidity, the twenty minute walk back took me more than an hour to complete. One unique characteristic of this city is they have seperate lanes for the motorcycles and mopeds, which the bicycles use also. You have the main meridian seperating the two lanes of opposite traffic and then at the end of each a small meridian seperating the lanes for the automobiles for the lanes for the mopeds. The downside? When cars have to make a right-hand turn they must wait for all the motorcycles to finish crossing the street first before they can turn right.

As non-volunteers are not allowed to stay at the hostel I found a way around it. Before it got too late I left the hostel to go the office to 'work'. I made sure to stop 'working' before the office opened and head the two blocks to the hostel to log on as each day's first visitor at 6:30am. I never stayed a night at the hostel, but took an occasional nap or two in the morning. When I told this to the volunteers they asked: "Who taught you that?" thinking it was one of their own. Every country that has an office and transit house has volunteers who 'work' late to save a few bucks. It was nothing new.

My second-to-last night in the city ended up being violently sick. Volunteers love to go into details, but I'll be semi-nice here: explosive D with projectile V, simulatenously. I had a choice, stay on the toilet or not. Split second decision. I stayed. Took two hours to clean up the walls. I finished at sunrise.

I crashed the next day, barely going outside, with that night we headed to the airport and Jake convinced me I should go down to Bobo-Dioulasso, Burkina Faso's second largest town.

Response to Questions

==
Anonymous said...
Mike, you're a crazy guy. Maybe instead of carrying cash, you could carry something else like gold so you don't have to worry about exchanging your money at every new country.

8/17/2005 07:32:10 PM
==

I know it's somewhat of a joke, but there is some merit to the question. Other than Mauritania every country I've been in has been on the same currency, the CFA Franc. There are actually two franc used in Africa - the West African CFA and Central African CFA.

Benin, Burkina, Côte d'Ivoire, Guinea Bissau, Mali, Niger, Senegal and Togo which form the West African Economic and Monetary Union (WAEMU), whose common central bank is the Central Bank of West African States (BCEAO)

Cameroon, Central African Republic, Congo, Gabon, Equatorial Guinea and Chad which form the Central Africa Economic and Monetary Community (CEMAC), whose common central bank is the Bank of Central African States (BEAC).

And so, other than a small side step in Mauritania changing to Ouguiyas I've been using the same currency throughout the past month - just had to convert from the hard currency to the CFA's.

When I cross Niger to Chad I will have to change over all my West African CFA to Central African CFA, with a theoretical one-to-one exchange.

Today as I took the taxi to the bank I watched the meter (first metered taxi I've been in since being in Africa). The reason for watching it? At some point it was going to exceed the total amount of money I had and I had to tell him to stop and would have to walk the rest of the way to the bank. I had 2425 CFA (~$4.50) left to my name - with a US Treasury check in my bag worth more than twice I had spent on the trip to date. Just needed to get to the bank and cash it.

I watched the meter creep up. At 2400 I would had to tell him to stop. It reached 2000, 2100, 2200, 2300,... and then at 2340 he stopped at the bank. I had made there with 85 CFA or 15 cents to spare. Walked in practically broke - couldn't even buy a piece of bread.

An hour later I was having a half-chicken and chips lunch in the Rec. Room at the American Embassy while watching last night's football game with some of the staff members.

Close call.

Welcome to Burkina Faso!

Day 36
Mon Aug 22
Start: Sevare, Mali
Mid: Koro, Mali
End: Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso

I ran into Rachel at the car park to get to Koro. She was volunteer actually stationed in Koro and would help me out to get to Burkina Faso. Koro is the main transportation hub between Burkina Faso and Mali, and the bus usually leaves around two.

We arrived in Koro ten minutes to two, and bought a ticket to Ougadougou for the three o'clock bus (the actual time the bus left). Although it's spelled Ougadougou, it's pronounced "waga-doo-goo". Even more confusing, was that before getting to Ougadougou you have to pass through Ouahigouya, pronounced "waee-gee-ya".

At Koro, I bought her lunch in thank-you and she showed me around town for an hour or so. The main post office has only twenty-five post office boxes, each one handwritten on a wooden box with a portable key lock attached to it. One package laid on the floor, but not for her. As we were about to exit the Post Office employee asked my name
"Mike"
"Ah! Michael!"
"Yes."
"Like Michael Jackson."
"Yes." and I moonwalked the last few steps out of the office to his delight.

After the bus was loaded and we started to drive towards the border. When we got close the bus stopped and someone got out and started running away. I didn't say anything. We cross the exit border, when another mile and picked up the same guy again. We cross the Mali-Burkina Faso border and headed towards the entrance station when the bus again stopped and he got out and started running.

It was here at this border that we were told to go to police station. By this time it was around 5:30 in the evening. When walking towards the staton there was a sharp blow on a whistle signaling us to stop. We looked to see who commanded such and found two plain-cloth officers standing at attention looking towards our right. We all turned to our right and saw the Burkina Faso's flag being lowered, and realized it was just a symbolic whistle blow to start the ceremony. We started laughing when it came to mind it wasn't anything we had done, but quickly quieted when stares from the plain-clothe officers commanded us to.

A mile down the road we picked up the same guy again. Sneaking across the border using public transportation and a bus full of Malians and Burkinabe. It's Africa!

At Ouahigouya I called the Peace Corps office in Ougadougou to get directions. The office was already closed, being eight at night, but the security guard helped very much.

"Where are you now?"
I looked at the map and saw the word "Ouahigouya" but what came out was that of an imitation of a two-year old: "Waga-waga-waga-waga-waga-wagago-..." He interrupted me: "waee-gee-ya?"
"Yes! That's the one"
"What's the name of the bus company" I look and its "Sogebaf"
"So-so-so-so-so-so-soga-soga-..." He must think I'm a complete moron!
"soe-ge-baf?"
"Yes!"

He then told me how to get to the office. BY 11:30 at night I had arrived in Ouagadougou, found a taxi, and with less than $5 in my pocket had arrived at the Peace Corps Office.

The same guard, who was very friendly and is actually going to university for English, said I could go in and use the computer. It's a big building! I tried almost every door trying to find the computer lab. Nope, that's the toilet; nope, janitor's closet. Found a room with a big desk, which happened to be the Country Director's. Oops, wrong room. I eventually found the computer lab and began talking to two volunteers that were still there that late in the night.

They had just received a new Country Director and her first day had just finished. Her first day on the job and I had accidently broken into her office!

I spent the night typing e-mails and these stories so I could crash for another day and not worry about them. More about Burkina Faso and Ougadougou later on. Top priority now: 1. Cash that check! 2. Get a good meal.

You learn from your mistakes.

Day 35
Sun Aug 21
Start: Outside Tombouctu, Mali
End: Sevare, Mali

It's a good thing that Sunday is my weekly Malaria pill day for I definitely needed a booster after sleeping without a net next to the Niger River. Even the locals had nets strung up in poles and sticks. I was the only one without one, and when I tried to get into one (after asking and thinking they said yes) it ended up I was taking the childrens bed so I was asked the leave.

You have to take the pill with food, which I learned the hard way a few months back. There was a Canadian volunteer who lived a few blocks away from me named Sara McKeon. She had first visited The Gambia the same time I did, but we never crossed paths. She went back to Canada, finished her last year of school, took a few months off and then headed back to The Gambia again - I was still there. She was impressed I knew where her Province of Alberta was, and knew the capital of Canada was not Toronto. (Ottawa, easily remembered from my High School's name). She just finished a trip to Timbouctu and we agreed to meet at "Palais de Chocolat" for breakfast at eight on Sunday for me to get the details of the trip.

I had met the owner of Palais just a few days earlier when I accidently had dinner with him at one of the most expensive restaurants in town. The two French people who lived in my compound were treating me to dinner and were having it with a few friends - the owner of Palais included. His name is Jihad, the same word the news protrays as the Islamic 'Holy War'. What a name? And he's half-French, so whenever he goes back to France he has a whole security concerns because people at the airport see the word Jihad and freak out.

Sunday morning I got up and took my malaria pill thinking I can time this right and have breakfast to cover it in time. By 7:45 I'm feeling queazy so I order something light just to hold me over until breakfast. By 8:00 I'm throwing up over the balcony of the restaurant as Sara's rounding the corner and Jihad's yelling at his staff to get me water and to cover the vomit up with sand.

I never did use any of her information I collected that day.

Back near the River I found some fried pieces of dough to eat as breakfast to take the pill with. I found a car that was willing to take me for $30 - so I lost my $10 deposit a few days back. Even though we crossed on the second ferry of the morning, each crossing taking about an hour total, we had passed every car that came before us within two hours of getting to the other side. We were going fast! We even stopped to help a truck out of a ditch for ten minutes and still caught up to everyone.

I reached Sevare and the Peace Corps house and just relaxed on the couch, watching Law and Order episodes on tape for a few hours.

Week 5 Budget:
Spent $150 this week, for an average of $21/day for the week and $19/day average for the trip. I had $24 on me to last until I can get to a bank in the Capital of Burkina Faso.

Escape from Tombouctou!

Day 34
Sat Aug 20
Tombouctu, Mali

When I woke up everyone was gone and no vehicle was there. I knew they hadn't left town since one was 'supposedly' going with me. His stuff was still there though. One other problem: I was locked in again.

The only furniture in the house was a small dresser and a TV with a VCD player and five movies.
Ethiopian Music Videos
Kung-Fu movie in Chinese with French subtitles
Kung-Fu movie dubbed in French with Chinese subtitles
'The Gods Must be Crazy' movie dubbed in French
'James Bond 007: Die Another Day' dubbed in French with ENGLISH subtitles!

I watched James Bond, with the amusement of listening to the dubbing of "Bond. James Bond" pronounced more like "Bond. Shames Bond." No hard 'J' sound, but the the French 'J' like in Jacque.

After that I watched Ethiopian Music Videos for two hours, then I started on the Kung-Fu movies, then I taught the ten-year kid (how did he get in?) the card game Memory.

The Ethiopian Music Videos were unique. All the videos were from the same artist, and everyone danced like a chicken. Now I know you can't judge the dancing style of a country by one artist (how would you think if an Ethiopian only saw Michael Jackson videos?), but I now have Ethiopian chicken-dancing on my mind whenever I heard that music in the car. The cocking of the heads, the pushing forward of the shoulders, the jagged movements - you name it.

At noon the guide came back and told me five o'clock it will be here. Also, the four French tourists now turned into three Italian tourists. At six-thirty there was no sign of anyone, no car, no way out of the house, and I felt they were stalling me to get more money for each night. I felt like I was under House Arrest and I had been waiting to leave for 36 hours now.

I jumped the roof again, with my bag, and 'escaped'! Went first to the car garage and did a half-hearted attempt to get my $10 deposit back. I had $50 on me now to get me to Burkina Faso, and the nearest place where I could cash the Treasury Check for the rest of my trip. The $10 wasn't there, so I considered it a lost and walked out of town at seven at night.

One person stopped me:

"Where are you going?"
"To the river."
"That's 20 kilometers!"
"Yes." I guess he saw something in my expression knowing I was serious because he then started giving me directions of what roads to take. After two more blocks walking he pulled up in his moped along with a car, they would drive me but I'd have to be in back.

I hopped in back and watched the town leave coming from behind me. I felt like I was a escaped kidnapee running to safety.

I realized when I reached the River they were lying to me. Cars were leaving everyday, transport out of the city was easy to accomplish, the prices were set, and the suppose 6:00 car that was leaving couldn't even because by the time I had reached the ferry it had stopped running for the night.

I slept in the streets next to the river.

Well, this is Africa...

Day 33
Fri Aug 19
Tombouctu, Mali

At six AM I was up and waiting. By ten the car hadn't showed up and the driver said there was a problem. By ten thirty he pulled up witha different car and I hopped in. What I thought would be a drive out of town turned into a drive around town. For two hours. What were we doing? We'd drive down one street, put the car in reverse, drive in reverse back up it. We'd go into the desert, do a few circles, then head back into town. We'd head to the edge of town, towards the River, and then head back into the main center. We were looking for tourists to fill the car. Four in fact, French. They had already reserved the seats and we were looking for them. They hadn't come back from their camel ride yet.

We eventually tracked them down and I sat down to talk to them. I was called to the car and we got in and left - without the tourists. We headed back to our place for lunch. It was now 12:30.

"We leave at one o'clock, no problem." Mustapha said, "We have lunch first"

Lunch was served at 1:30

2:00 we can't leave because it's two o'clock prayer-call on Friday (the biggest prayer call of the week - similar to Sunday mornings for Christians)

3:30 We can't find the tourists

4:00 Yeah, we're not going today; but we find another car to take - no problem. But how about taking the boat?

He started at $100 and worked his way down to $40, each time I denied it saying I wanted the car. Money was tight and I couldn't afford the boat even if it was $40 (despite the car ride being $30). Besides, if I make it to Egypt taking a boat ride along the Nile is better then a boat ride along the Niger in my opinion.

Other then being in the car for those two hours driving around town I hadn't been out of the house since I didn't want to miss my ride out of the town. A day wasted. I had already paid the $12 for the two nights when they told me I had to pay more since I was staying another day. I argued that I didn't plan on it, and it was in fact, you who promised I would leave today. I got to stay the night for free.

A rainbow over the desert

Day 32
Thurs Aug 18
Tombouctu, Mali

A brief history of Tombouctou: The name originates from 'Tom' and 'Bouctu'. 'Tom' means "[water] well" while Bouctu was the name of the woman who owned the well. Near 1000AD Bouctu was a slave owned by a trader. The town started off small, with a few traders coming from the West heading towards Mecca. Eventually the town competited with Gao in the east and Walata in Mauritania for Gold, slaves, and ivory. Bouctu was given her freedom and was also given a water well. She started exchanging buckets of water for little items, and eventually those little items to bigger items, and her name grew as a business woman. "Go to Bouctu's Well", I suspect, was mentioned more often than once. When the popularity of this small trading post grew it's initial camp it was made into a village with the name Tombouctu. By the 14th century it was the place to go to trade your materials. Right on the edge of the northern point of the Niger River and on the southern edge of the Sahara it had a strategic position. It was ruined in 1593 by invaders from Morocco and never truly recovered. The trading posts died, and the town which had hosted universities and scholars dwindled to a village of 35,000 present day.

This is not to say it's dead. There are schools here up to grade 12, a police station, post office, weekly markets, the daily salt trade (during season), and two banks.



My first priority of the morning was to try those banks and cash my Treasurer Check that Peace Corps gave me. Money was dwindling and I needed more. A local kid helped me out, but neither bank would cash my check. I had $100 to last me to get to Burkina Faso in a week. while trying to find the banks, and walking all over town, it rained and poured. I came back to the house around 10 soaking wet to find the room in which my stuff was in was locked. That's nice security, but I want dry clothes. I took a nap on the mattress covered in a blanket to warm up. Two hours later when I woke up I was locked inside! The doors wouldn't open.

I went to the roof, where I pulled a Houdini stunt and vanished. Actually, I just jumped to the next building (they were connected, but different elevation), and walked down to the amusement of the women in the compound. I tried to explain to them that the doors were locked. Eventually they understood and I now had my entrance to get back in set if the doors were still locked.



I was sick. Being caught in the rain didn't help either, but I wanted to tour the city. For the next four hours I explored the market, took the typical "Tombouctu" pictures, had my passport stamped by the police proving I had been there, and even check out the museum where the original well was suppose to be at where the namesake is.



On the way back I stopped at the hotels to find transport out of Tombouctu for the next morning. I found a driver and agreed he would pick me up at 5 am at the arts and craft market. When I got back to the house I told my hosts, who were four people in number, that I was leaving tomorrow. "I am leaving tomorrow" he said, "with the same car you came in with. Come with us, we leave at six." He convinced me to switch to the same car (which, actually, is the custom unless otherwise told. The same drivers drives you in and out). He then contacted the other driver and told him I was going at six with him. I paid the $10 advance to reserve my seat.

Before I had left Sevare I ran into three volunteers who had just gotten back from Tombouctu. Their advice? Don't pay the women to dance for you. They had taken an overnight trip into the desert on camels and the guide asked if they would like the women to dance for them, for $12. They agreed and three teenage girls show up. They sat cross-legged on the sand, bored looked in the eyes and start signing as non-musically as you can with each beat accented by their weak clap as they moved their head side to side an inch. Then they did it in double-time, two pathetic claps per beat.

If you want to see real African dancing, don't pay for it! It's everywhere, for free. It's in the villages, it's in the city, you just have to find them. There you can find men and women dancing wildly, smiles of excitment and friendly challenges made to out-perform them. Their arms flaring off in every direction while the children beat on tin cans and plastic containers and the women who aren't dancing are singing or humming.

In fact, in The Gambia there's a dance competiton every Sunday night where the locals competite for cash prizes. In this type of dancing it just gets crazier and crazier every minute. By 3 o'clock in the morning, the women are dancing with chairs or griding on the floor to the shock and embarassment of the men in the audience. "Did you see that!" can be heard with as much disbelief from men in the crowd as if you had seen an alien land and give you the keys to Mars.

We ate dinner and brewed tea on the roof while watching the clouds go past. The rain had ended a few hours before and a huge rainbow could be seeing opposite the sunset and into the desert to the East. My pot-of-gold laid before me - my destination - if I could reach it.

All the way to Tombouctou!

Day 31
Wed Aug 17
Start: Sevare, Mali
Mid: Douentza, Mali
End: Tombouctou, Mali

At 9:30 the next morning the car pulled up. I shared the back seat with an Italian couple named Fabio and Valentinia. They had paid 125,000 CFA each for the ride to Timbuktu, plus the hotel, plus a camel ride, plus a boat ride back. That's $250 each! I was paying $30 just for the seat. I could tell that in some sense they were getting ripped off, since it can be a lot lower - but if you go a little bit lower you disproportionally lower your comfort. The price they were paying was to be in their comfort zone, but still low enough to challenge them (overnight in the desert, for example).

The ride up took ten hours and was not what I expected. For being the legendary middle of no-where I thought sand dune and desert would surround the area. For the last hundred miles of the trip, before reaching the Niger River it was a prairie! I expected little Laura Ingles Wilder to be running through the hills, carrying her school books while Charles fixes the wagon wheel. It was only after we took the ferry across the river did sand start to creep in to the landscape. If you want deserts and dunes, and camel rides - don't go to Tombouctu. Go to Mauritania! We had dunes creeping into the roads, and seeing nothing but desert for hours and hundreds of miles! In Tombouctou you see just the beginning of the Sahara - in Chinguetti you're in it!



Across the river town of Koriume lies the road to Tombouctou, lined on both sides with trees. I felt I was entering Beverly Hills! Twenty kilometers later, and after a month of travelling I entered the middle of no-where.



We took Fabio and Valentinia to their hotel, Hotel Bouctou, which was too expensive for me. (About $12/night just for a mattress on the roof). The driver said no problem and took me to his friend's place within town.

While the tourists were mingling with each other and getting guides to the desert, I was talking to the owner of the house on his roof while brewing tea discussing the salt trade of Taoudenni. This town is about 700 kilometers further north than Tombouctou, near the northern edge of Mali, and has a salt mine. From October to around March every year caravans of salt traders come from Taoudenni (a 16-day journey) to sell their slabs of salt they have on their camels. Each camel has about six slabs weighing about 60kg. The caravans can be as big as 300 camels in one day or as little as just 60. From Tombouctou the salt is sold to Mopti, where it's sold to Bamako and spreads from there.



What I didn't learn from Mustapha, but read in the guide book, was how appalling the work in the salt mines are. You earn $60 for "six months work and are allowed to keep one out of every four bars mined. But they don't bring many back to Tombouctu where they can be sold: The nearest oasis to the mines is a three-day camel journey away and the masters provide water to their workers in exchange for salt. One 30L jug of water costs two slabs."

I slept on the roof watching the stars appear over the Sahara.

The Gambia vs. Russia

Day 30
Tues Aug 16
Mopti, Mali

Back at Mopti again. This time to try and find transportation to Timbuktu. I wanted originally to take a boat up and a car back. When talking to the ferry people I was getting hassled too much I didn't think it was worth the hassle so I left. After consulting the guide book they mentioned that if you try and get a boat going up you'll get hassled. Should have read that first. They suggested take a car up and a boat down. Now I needed to find the car park.

Within one hour of finding the car park I confirmed it was the place to get transportation to Timbuktu, asked the price for a seat, proved it was non-negotiable, proved it was the correct price and not a tourist price, reserved my seat and was told to go back to Sevare to the Peace Corps House where they will pick me up on the way out of town. All this in French, which I don't know.

Not knowing whether I had an hour to wait or day I stayed inside for most of the time, telling the guard each time I left that I'll be around the corner getting my meals (street vendors). Since I had a lot of time to spare I started reading the magazines laying around. I was the only person at the house at the time so I MacGyver'd the CD Player to work and read the magazines while listening to Dave Mathews - one of the few CD I could find that I could stand to listen to repeatedly. (Lack of options means same CD again and again)

One magazine I read was "Foreign Policy" July/Aug 2005 edition. A few articles caught my eye. One was an article of instable countries, labelled "The Failed States Index" in which they ranked all the countries based on twelve criteria.

Social Indicators

1. Mounting Demographic Pressures
2. Massive Movement of Refugees or Internally Displaced Persons creating Complex Humanitarian Emergencies
3. Legacy of Vengeance-Seeking Group Grievance or Group Paranoia
4. Chronic and Sustained Human Flight


Economic Indicators

5. Uneven Economic Development along Group Lines
6. Sharp and/or Severe Economic Decline


Political Indicators

7. Criminalization and/or Delegitimization of the State
8. Progressive Deterioration of Public Services
9. Suspension or Arbitrary Application of the Rule of Law and Widespread Violation of Human Rights
10. Security Apparatus Operates as a "State Within a State"
11. Rise of Factionalized Elites
12. Intervention of Other States or External Political Actors


The top five countries?

1. Ivory Coast
2. Congo
3. Sudan
4. Iraq
5. Somalia

On the flight to The Gambia from D.C. we flew to Abidjan as a connection from Brussels to The Gambia. We weren't allowed off the plane. Now I can see why. It's the top failing state in the world.

Another thing that concerned me was Sudan ranking three. If I want to get to Egypt by land through Chad I have to go either through Libya or Sudan. Seeing Sudan ranking less stable than Iraq really sealed the deal. If I can't get through to Libya safely I'll fly.

Here's other's that ranked in:

#7: Chad (The last Peace Corps country on my trip, and in fact the least stable country PC is still in)
#16: Guinea (where I vacationed last year.)
#38: Egypt (my destination)

For Guinea it actually ranked the highest in the world for Human Flight, meaning:


4. Chronic and Sustained Human Flight
"Brain drain" of professionals, intellectuals and political dissidents fearing persecution or repression
Voluntary emigration of "the middle class," particularly economically productive segments of the population, such as entrepreneurs, business people, artisans and traders, due to economic deterioration
Growth of exile communities


And the real kicker? The last three ranked states:

#58: Cuba
#59: Russia
#60: The Gambia

The Gambia is more stable than Russia?! That's a surprise!

The over-all affect of this article: I lived in the 60th least stable country in the world for two years, vacationed in the 16th and 38th least stable countries, travelled to the 7th least stable and flew into the airport of the number one least stable. That's a lot of instability in one's life! The odd part? Mauritania didn't make the cut (stopped at #60, The Gambia) even though they just had a coup two weeks ago.

Another article asked nine countries whether China, France, Russia, Britain, or the US has negatively or positively affected the world. Five of the nine countries surveyed where the five the survey was about. I concentrated on those, and based on just those five countries and what they said about the other four:

1. Every country (of the five) considered themselves to be the best influence in the world -

except the U.S. who voted the UK the best.
2. U.S. was voted the worst
3. France voted the best
4. U.S. was the most opinionated (the sums of + and - for the countries closely added to 100%)
5. Russia was the least opinionated
6. China was the most optimistic of the bunch
7. Britain was the most pessimestic
8. More countries had a viewpoint on the US then any other country
9. More countries didn't have a viewpoint on China than any other country.

That's a lot of mud!

Day 29
Mon Aug 15
Start: Sevare, Mali
Mid: Djenne, Mali
End: Sevare, Mali

Luckily Monday was Market Day for Djenne. This helped in two regards for me: transportation there and back in one day was now very easy to accomplish - and the market would add more flavor and colour to visiting this ancient city.

The city itself is south-west of Mopti, and is an island between the Niger and Bani rivers. Like Timbuktu, it was a popular transportation hub in the 14th and 15th centuries. However, unlike Timbuktu, it didn't decline and actually stayed wealthy throughout the next half-dozen centuries.

The most popular thing in Djenne to see? The mosque. Why is it so special? Because it is the largest mud-brick building in the world. The original Mosque was built in 1280 when the king of Djenne converted to Islam (therefore his kingdom did). It fell apart in the 1800s and was completely torn down and rebuilt in 1907. Wooden poles stick out from all sides for an interesting view. This is for two reasons: The wood itself helps the structure withhold its own weight, and second, it helps support the ladders each year when 3000 volunteers help re-mud the mosque.



On top of the mosque, at each corner, is an Ostrich egg perched high above. The original builders asked the spiritual leader at the time how to keep the mosque safe. He said to place an Ostrich egg on top - so they did. It's still there.

I toured Djenne with Alessandra, an Italian woman I met while waiting for the car to fill up. It helped as she spoke French better than I could. However, when we bought a guide it became clear that she understood his English better than his French so he gave the tour in English - good for me.

On the southern side of town in Tapama Dienepo, the tomb of a young girl sacrificed in the 9th century after a local religious leader decided the town was corrup. Her indirect descendants still take care of the tomb 1,000 years later.



Our guide for the afternoon was named Toca, and for $5 each we got him for two hours touring the island. He lived in Wisconsin for a few years for physical therapy. He couldn't walk a few years ago and a tourist couple from the US paid for his entire passage to the US and medical bills for therapy for a year. The couple has never met Toca's family, and he only met them for the same time he met us - a two hour guide of the island. He was in a weelchair before. Now he walks with a limp. He knew Michigan, been to Chicago and Detroit and actually recognized the name Grand Rapids. "Grand - something" he said.

Foosball over an open sewage

Day 28
Sun Aug 14
Mopti, Mali

The day after Hassimi dropped me off at Sevare, I chose to explore Mopti a bit; just a fifteen minute taxi ride.

Mopti is the main transport up for upcountry travel. This by bus or by boat, as it lies in the junction of the Niger and Bani Rivers. Tourist boat trips to Timbuktu are common, while bus trips for to other sites usually begin here.

The highway into town divides the town actually into three parts. Ahead of the highway is the vibrant port where fisherman come in everyday, and boats loaded with cargo are shipped to Timbuktu or Bamako. Passenger boats take off frequently when full and can take up to three days to reach Timbuktu.

To left of the highway is the Old Town where very few tourists actually explore. This is where I got lost for a few hours. At the entrance of Old Town is one of the largest mud mosques in the world, although just a day's journey away in Djenne is one bigger. It was built in 1933 and every year they must repatch the lower parts with more mud. The older part of town still has open sewers going parallel to the streets and occasionally you would see women pouring their dirty-water into the sewer, directly in front of their steps. Kids playing foosball are also common, with the game running parallel, and on top of, the open sewers. Kids are on both sides playing their respective teams. I later noticed that the highway the Peace Corps house was on, also had a foosball table - this time on the medium between the two sides. Kids played with no regard for the passing cars (granted, not alot) and the parents didn't mind.

To the right of the highway is the newer part of town with the countries slowest [maybe] and most expensive internet connection [fact]. I didn't know that until afterwards.

When waiting for the car to fill up to head back to Sevare I noticed another car pull up with goats on top. They all looked like they were dead, heads hanging low and swinging to the motion of the car. It wasn't until the driver was pulling them off that I realized they were alive - they had just given up. Pulled by their feet they only 'baaah' when their foot was stuck or when it was an akward position and was in pain.

It was also during this wait I noticed some of the little things between Mali and The Gambia. For one thing: Peanuts. In The Gambia the woman sell the peanuts on the street already shelled. In Mali you have to shell them yourself. When telling the car to stop in The Gambia they take a coin or some metalic object and tap the window. Here they pound once or twice on the roof or side.

When I got back to the Peace Corps House a new addition occured: a VCR! We could now watch a movie. Electricity is very rare in The Gambia for upcountry and so I'm still amazed that in other more 'upcountry' regions of Africa there is reliable power. Goes to show it's the country and not the continent.

Weekly budget report:
Week four ended in spending $238 this week, averaging $34/day (out of budget) within the week, but $18/day (within budget) for the trip. What caused the huge expense for this week? The Visa for Burkina Faso ($50), paying for the hostel staying at Bamako ($24), transport ($20), plus the guide to Dogon Country ($100).

Dogon Country

Days 25 - 27
Thurs Aug 11 - Sat Aug 13
Dogon Country, Mali

All doubts to the friendliness of the guide were lifted when he picked us up at the house. The volunteers greeted him happily, told jokes, laughed, asked how his family was (with specific names), and they started talking business of what other things can be down around the house in which Hassimi (his name) might help. He was true friend of the volunteers and not just some random guy. I would pay extra for that added comfort.

He spoke semi-fluent english and told me no problem to being added, I just would have to pay the same as the girls. No discount on all three of us which we all hoped the night before. His younger brother came along and we hopped into his car, nicknamed "Grandma". His brother had quit school, so Hassimi told him he should help him out as a guide. I think after our experience he had enough of toubobs and would go back to school. Unintentionally we made Hassimi yell at him for the most mundane things, which to us was no problem. For instance, he had us wait five minutes one time. He got yelled at for making his (Hassimi's) customers wait. We didn't mind.

Dogon Country is in the South-East region of Mali. He drove us to the first village Bandiagara and started telling us the history of his people. The original settlers of Dogon Country were the Tellem people who lived in the rocks and cliffs. The Dogons believed they could fly since no one could get up there for some time. Before Islam hit the region the Tellem people would 'bury' their dead in the caves - which still to this day you can see the bones and remains of some of their ancestors as we did that first day.



The Dogon people entered the region to actually escape the rise of Islam. They are animist society, and believe in fetishes - similar to modern day Voodoo beliefs of Haiti (although highly distorted by Hollywood to be demonic and evil). Individual houses have a their roof extended with the appearance with a grid of holes, maybe 6 by 4, each one the size of a post-office box. In each hole are some bones, animal blood, or some other fetish that particular family believes would help (or did help) in a particular situation. The holes face outwards and not upwards so from a distance you can see which houses are animist or which are Muslim. Yes, although they tried to run from Islam, it caught up to them. The first person to convert to Islam was in Bandiagara (hence it's importance in the Dogon Country). From within the Dogon community he was able to convert others, as outsiders had failed. Through centuries this has brought a mix of the Dogon people of those who practice Islam and those who practice animist beliefs.



Each day we put our bags in the car and hiked to the next town or village. Sometimes we would hike back through a different route, other times his brother would get the car for him to continue on the trip.



One interesting thing about Dogon religion is their cosmology. As most westerners have a priority towards the northern star, theirs is Sirius, the Dog Star - which is the brightest in the sky. They believe that the divine male named Amma created the earth, moon, and sun. The earth was formed in the shape of a woman, and by her Amma fathered twin snake-like creatures called the Nommo, which Dogon believe are present in streams and pools. Scattered across villages are drawings, made of coal and other material of snakes and crocodiles. For years they believed that Sirius was three stars - two visible and one invisible. The 60-year cycle of the binary star system (now recognized as closer to 50 by modern astronomers - technically speaking (I looked it up) 18295.4 days) is celebrated by the Dogon community with huge masks and ceremonies. The last was held in the 1960s. This is to celebrated their cosmic origin. Interestingly, it wasn't until 1995 that telescopes were able to confirm their three-star system belief. There is indeed an invisible star to the naked eye, but not gravitationally bound to the other two.



On the second day we hiked up a plateau reaching a village on top. This is also a tourist attraction as many other tourists were there as well. The village was broken up into three sections: the Islamic, Christian, and Animist regions. The animists lived behind a small cliff to the side and signs were posted to not cross the area. The tourist camp was set up in the Christian part although the call-to-prayer from the Islam region could be heard.

The hike down covered isolated villages, where animist practices were the norm of life.

One lady we met on the hike was from England. Her job was to work with special education students at the high school. When she isn't helping them she sits in the other classes and acts like a student to the benefit of the other students. She raises her hand, "I don't understand that" and makes the teacher explain it again in a different way. If she feels the students still don't understand she says "I don't understand" again. This irritats the teachers sometimes, but the students really enjoy it. They benefit since sometimes they don't want to be the only person to raise their hand. She causes some trouble in her school, but has fun with it. I told her about "Buzz Word Bingo" she should try on the next faculty meeting. Each faculty member has a Bingo board with different buzz-words in different order (affirminative, brain-storm, consensus, etc.). The first person to get a Bingo wins!

It's hard to due the hike justice, as there are entire books written about the Dogon people, their religion, and their way of life. Hopefully some of these pictures will help.

One Egg - Six Kids

Day 24
Weds Aug 10, 2005
Start: Bamako, Mali
Mid: San, Mali
End: Sevare, Mali (near Mopti)

The 12 hour bus ride from the capital to Sevare, where the Peace Corps house was, started out impressive. It was first come first serve with reservations. They called each person by name to enter the bus and to give them your ticket, and it left on time! If only The Gambia can adopt this strategy.

On the way down we stopped for lunch. I bought a hard-boiled egg from a local girl who was selling them, carrying the bowl on her head as she walked by the bus. As she's peeling the shell off it slipped and fell into the mud. She gave a grunt before getting another egg for me. As she's peeling the second egg two younger boys just passively stand next to her staring at the egg in the mud. She gives them an annoying-but approving- sound and they bend down, grabbed the pieces of egg and run off. I watched the boys carry the dirty pieces over to a wall and share that one egg between six other children.

I didn't know why until a week later what the story was behind it. Some families, when their sons are five years old, send them off to a Marabout (mary-boo) which teaches them the Koran. The five year old must fend for themselves for food and for payment to the teacher. When they are not in school, memorizing line after line, they scour the city asking for donations. You can recognize them immediately with their tin can they hold around their neck. This continues for up to ten years, without them seeing their families again. Granted, when they are older they work for the money as oppose to beg - but seeing six children, all less than ten, share one hard boiled egg that fell in the mud shows how little they have.

When I finally arrived at the Peace Corps house, and taking the second motorcycle ride since leaving the Peace Corps (the first was in Bamako after visiting the National Museum, the guard took me home as he just finished his shift), I ran into two Malawian volunteers: Amanda and Annie. They were going to do Dogon Country the next morning and already had a guide set up. However, it was expensive, at 50,000 CFA (~$100) for three days of hiking per person. This was a little higher than usual but other Malian volunteer vouched for the guide saying he was one of the best. Originally I was going to do Timbuktu first and Dogon last but since I would have company I agreed to the price and set up for tomorrow.

The art of the exchange

I'm not an expert when it comes to black market exchanges, but I do have my fare share of experience. Here are some things to consider:

1. It is a mutual business transaction
2. There is no BBB for the Black Market.

Meaning? You might get ripped off, as you are taking a chance. It's illegal for a reason!

At the border you will get the worst rates. (Capital cities usually have the best) They are counting on you to be either desperate or ignorant on the current exchanges. Either way they can "legally" rip you off. By "legally" I mean they gave you a quote and you agreed on it. Contract. You gave them the exact amount you said you would and they gave you the exact amount they said they would. That, in my mind, is a legal rip off.

Another way they might get you is to surround you in swarms. Any distraction, especially if money is out, will cause you to maybe lose a bill or two. They then might claim you didn't pay what you promised, or you'll go home to find out that you're missing a few bills. That's an illegal rip off in my mind. And that is the most common.

Don't wear lose jeans. Slippy-fingers over there can get those bills you just put in your pocket. He might not take all of them, as you would certainly notice that before you leave - but a nice big amount which you won't notice until you get home.

Watch for slights of hand, both on the calculator and when counting money. You think since they're doing the arithmetic on a calculator that the values are correct. Watch closely what buttons they push. They do it fast when they want to rip you off, but if its an honest (up to that point) transaction they go step by step with you.

When counting money, did they quick count a bill and then hide it in the other hand, or underneath another stack of bills? If you catch them on it, did they deny it and then proceed to count 'correctly' by also doing a slight-of-hand bringing the bills back. Watch for it. You count their money with them watching and they count yours with you watching.

I always bring my own calculator. That way I can double check their math and also maybe do a little bit on my own. Another good reason for bringing a calculator is that you might not understand them, they might not understand you - but both you all understand money. Numbers talk. Everyone knows what 1000 on the calculator means.

Speaking of talking. I try to get one that doesn't speak English well. Why? The pleas of his family, or that's not a good exchange rates, etc. doesn't affect me then since I don't understand them. I simply go back and forth on the calculator. If he's saying his children haven't eaten in two days (lie - they wouldn't be in this business if it was paying!) you don't know it. You only concentrate on the exchange.

Always know the official rate going in, and have a lower limit of what you will accept. If what they're willing to give you is less than that amount - simply walk away. If they are bluffing they will call you back. Just tonight, when I exchanged, I walked away and they called me back - we bartered some more and I walked away again. They didn't call me back and in fact yelled "See you tomorrow!". I walked out of sight, actually around the block. If they come after you, you called their bluff. In this instance no one came after me so I knew it was a reasonable amount. I continued around the block and met up with them again to continue the deal.

Do each different currency seperately. Start with the lowest ones (in some base currency, such as dollars). Don't confuse them, or more practically yourself, with trying to exchange two or three different currencies at once. Do one, finish it - everyone's happy. Start another. I like starting with the lowest amount (in whatever currency) first since I will accept that at somewhat of a loss to grab them later when I want to exchange more afterwards (and bigger amounts). I can make up for the loss with the bigger amounts later on. It's almost impossible to do it the other way around. Tonight I exchanged 50 Euros first before I started on the 150 Dollars. I lost a little on the Euro exchange, but made up for it on the dollar exchange (with the same person) - and in fact got more than my minimum amount I had in mind at the beginning. Both people finished happy.

If they bring you in an alley there's a reason. What you are doing is ILLEGAL. Of course, some times you can do it right out in front in public, but that's rare. Tonight, actually, we did it right in front of the main bank's window. I could wave to the teller if I wanted too. The good thing about that was I could see the official exchange rates through the window, although I already knew them before.

Talk to other people and see what the typical black market exchange is. If you don't, you don't know whether you're getting a good deal or not. Yes, you might still get more then the bank - but why settle for less when you could get more?

Count the bills. Make sure they are all there in number. Did they take a bill or didn't give you one? Make sure the number of bills are there.

Count the money. Does the money add up right? Did they package a smaller note in a bundle of bigger notes hoping you wouldn't detect the difference. One way to check is to go note by note, aligning them all in the same way with the numbers showing.

Have them increase their first bid first. (Thanks, Nate) With that you can tell how much their willing to go up. Did they increase their bid by 20 or by 2? It makes a difference to how you should decrease your bid.

Don't be mad afterwards thinking you got ripped off, even though the whole deal was honest. If you accepted their offer it was your own fault if it ended up being a bad one. It's a mutual business transaction. You BOTH should be happy at the end. If, during the transaction, you're not happy with the way it's going walk away. Deal over with. A simple as that.

Be confident and only talk business. Walk straight. It helped tonight that I recently got a haircut and just looked like I came from boot camp. If they see that you don't know what you're doing they're come after you. When I get out of the car I love pointing to one of them, who are now surrounding the car, in the back of the crowd. He wants the business, yes, but he's not THAT desperate to be up front shoving the calculator in my face before I get out of the car. I point to him and just walk somewhere, usually a bench nearby. Others usually follow but I only deal with the one person I picked. I picked him, he didn't pick me. If the deal falls through I walk away and pick someone else.

Tonight the exchange went just as business transaction that afterwards we both knew we settled on a price, each had the exact amount the other person said, and no one got ripped off (especially me) that he gave me his business card and we ended on a handshake. His card had a 100 dollar bill printed on it with his face instead of Benjamin Franklin and his contact information where the serial numbers should be. Classy.

Every instance I gave in which they might rip you off actually happened to me at some point. You learn a lot at the school of hard knox.

Trying to find change for a dollar.

Days 18 - 23
Thurs Aug 4 - Tues Aug 9
Bamako, Mali

Despite taking a week to get here, I thought I would stay until Friday, get my visa, and head out on Saturday. While talking to other volunteers and the Country Director it became apprarant that it was better to go through Burkina Faso to get to Niger then to go the Eastern route of Mali. By the time I figured that out it was Friday afternoon. Have to wait until Monday morning.

The first few days I just relaxed, by watching TV and sleeping. We watched the entire first season of "The O.C." (27 hours) continuously with only a few breaks. This is usual in PC - if anybody has any new movies or shows from the US it gets played non-stop until it's finished. Very common to watch 5 hour stretches of The Simpsons, The OC, Sopranos - whatever is new to the volunteers.



Bamako is known for people not staying long. Visitors and tourists see the open sewers running parallel to most of the streets, and the occasional smell of it and leave as quickly as they come. If they do that then they truly miss out. Despite Mali being the fourth poorest country in the world (according to the UN), the city is quite nice compared to other capitals. Monuments adorn the city commemorating their independence, world peace, or famous Malian leaders. Surrounding the city are green hills with the Niger River on the fourth side. A few blocks away from the PC Hostel is a French culinary school where Malians learn how to made bread, sweets, and other treats. The building, with it's new look, seems out of place next to older shops and corrugated tin-roof shacks along side it with the local Malian women selling fruits and vegetables.

I met a Guinean volunteer, Amanda, who is here on business. She lives in Guinea, but close to the Malian border. Since they are flying to Niger it was easier for them fly from Mali then Guinea. Each having nothing to do, we invited her Guinean friend to join us to see the top of the hill. The taxi wound it's way up the hill, passing the zoo and botanical gardens on the way up. At the top we were told we couldn't take pictures of the city so we made warning calls (quack-quack!) for each other if a policeman was nearby so we could take a picture or two of the city below.

Looking down you could see the oldest part of the city, with the roofs full of dust and aged - while as you looked further away the newer parts took ahold. Near the bridge, crossing the Niger River, were office buildings a few stories tall and the major highway to the administrative center of town (not located in the old center of town). Just like cutting a tree in half you can see the rings of it's life and it's age, you could see the life of this city by the circles of expansion. No car horns were heard on the hill, just different sounds of African music from distinct regions of the city. Some you could faintly hear as they were echoing from around the hill, but the drumming and pulses reached you.

Down from the hill, as we walked, we entered the zoo. There lions, hyenas, cheetahs, and chimpanzees all slept through the heat of the day with only the ostrich being friendly by trying to bite your hand off.

In the middle of town there's the train station, post office, and craft market. The craft market is where the "fetish" stalls are consisting of dried animal skins, bones, and shrunken monkey heads. I didn't see any monkey heads, but I did see the others with the dozen or so other tourists I saw trying to pick their favorite leather bag or necklace with teeth alongside it.

Sunday afternoon I did my accounting. Week three ended in spending only $74 that week with $13/day over-all. Paying to stay a week at the PC Hostel ($24) and Burkina Faso visa ($50) goes on next week's accounts.

Monday morning was the Burkina Faso Embassy. As I paid for my visa ($50!) they didn't have change. Instead of them owing me, they gave me too much change back and told me I now owed them 200F (a quarter ). They then wrote a note on my visa application to the affect of being void unless I paid the quarter of a dollar. I walked outside to the local stalls to buy a small trinket to get change. They wouldn't accept the 2000F note I had, which was not only the smallest note I had on me but also the same exact note the Embassy had given me. They didn't have change for it. If they didn't have change how was I suppose to get some? After walking around I met a nice Malian who understood what I was going after. As I watched his briefcase of goods he was selling on the street he ran off with my money. He came backa few minutes later with a 1000F note, 500F coin, three 100F coins, and four 50F coins. Brilliant! I gave him a 100F as a thank-you and headed back to the Embassy. They were closed. For lunch. I was told I could wait inside, with the video cameras watching me. I waited for an hour to hand her the quarter worth of money. I pick up my visa today.

Walking back to the main section of town I stopped for lunch at a woman's stall on the sidewalk where you could get a plate of rice for twenty cents. Eating with the local Malians made for an interesting time. They speak Bambara or French, and I speak English with a little Wollof. Hand gestures, exaggerated expressions, and the occasional laughter made an interesting lunch. At one point the man next to me said I should try some of this spice. I asked if it was really hot, by acting it out. He said no and as I put a little bit into my mouth he bursts into laughter as my mouth exploded. Hiccups start to more laughter of the lunch lady and other customers about. To get back at him I took his drink and finished it off handing the empty glass back to him with a smile and a final hiccup.

Tonight I have to reserve my seat on the bus to Mopti. I'm so use to fighting my way to get a seat that having a reservations, when I found out about it, floored me. The ride should be about 10 hours (and about $20) and there's a PC Transit house nearby. Mopti is going to be my base camp for other adventures upcountry. Some include Djenne, where the largest mud mosque exists; Timbuktu of middle-of-nowhere legends, and Dogon country where some of the best hiking in the world exists.

My Burkina Faso visa await for me to pick it up, and the National Museum seems like a relaxing side-trip to end the day. Although I've been eating mostly street food the past week and despite spending $50 on a visa, I think I'll treat myself tonight to a good dinner - in the under $10 range - for my last night in Bamako.

A Marine on Guard has no Friends

Day 17
Wed Aug 3
Start: Diema, Mali
Mid: Didjeni, Mali
End: Bamako, Mali [The Capital]

We rode along again for another six hours before something went wrong with the truck. At first I though they were just stopping to let the engine cool but we got yelled at to get on a bus that was waiting. I climbed down and went from a very bumpy, uncomfortable ride on top of a truck to laying across two seats almost falling asleep in comfort (despite the bumps).

Two hours later we stopped in Didjeni for lunch. Another transportation hub. This one because it’s the borderline from paved roads to the crappy roads we were on. I sighed in relief thanking that the worst roads were over with. While, I have to admit, Gambian roads were worse these felt worse primarily because it was for 170 miles of it and it took two days.

While I was enjoying my lunch, history was being made in Mauritania. Two days since leaving country they had a coup. Actual news story:

--
Mauritania coup: New president named

Thursday 04 August 2005, 1:17 Makka Time, 22:17 GMT

The military council that overthrew Mauritania's president on Wednesday has named the longtime chief of national police force as the country's new leader.

A statement by the coup leaders published by the state news agency said Colonel Ely Ould Mohamed Vall was "president" of the military council which toppled President Maaoya Sid'Ahmed Ould Taya.

The Military Council for Justice and Democracy had earlier announced the coup in a statement run by the state news agency.

"The armed forces and security forces have unanimously decided to put an end to the totalitarian practices of the deposed regime under which our people have suffered much over the last several years," the statement said.

The council said it would exercise power for two years to allow time to put in place democratic institutions.


Pledge for democracy

Vall, 55, had served as the national police chief since 1987. Known for being calm and tight-lipped, he was considered a close confident of Taya for more than two decades.

The military statement also identified 16 other army officers who were members of the council.

It pledged to "establish favourable conditions for an open and transparent democratic system on which civil society and political players will be able to give their opinions freely".


"This council pledges before the Mauritanian people to create favourable circumstances for an open and transparent democracy," it said.


Top establishment involved

An opposition leader and a military source said they believed the head of the presidential guard, Colonel Mohamed Ould Abdel-Aziz, was involved in the coup d'etat.


There were reports that some senior members of the military had been arrested but it was not possible to confirm them.

Hundreds of people took to the streets of capital Nouakchott, shouting and honking car horns in celebration after the coup announcement, witnesses said.

Convoys of cars with people hanging out of them shouting "praise be to God" and making victory signs paraded down one of the main sand-blanketed avenues.

Freedom from dictatorship

"There was no democracy here, there was just slavery. We have been freed from a dictatorship," said one man, Bilal, aged around 45, watching from a side street.


"It's like we've been imprisoned for decades. I'm so happy. Change is good. We've been disappointed by the regime," shouted Mohammed, in his early 20s, as he ran down the street.

Police armed with batons patrolled other parts of the city but appeared to be maintaining a low profile, while some streets around key buildings were still sealed off by soldiers, residents said.

Seizing power

Earlier on Wednesday, troops led by the presidential guard took over key buildings in Nouakchott, including the military headquarters, the state radio and television offices, the presidential palace and ministries.

They acted while Taya was in Saudi Arabia for the funeral of King Fahd.

He was later reported to have landed in Niamey, capital of Niger and was received by Niger's President Tandja Mamadou and government ministers.
--

It goes to show how volatile governments in Africa can be. While the UN discourages coup since they are an undemocratic way to change governments, for most part it is for the better of the country. The former volunteer we met from Mauritania, who was friends with the president’s sister-in-law said Taya would be president for life since he was, in theory, almost a dictator. Within two weeks of that statement he was ousted.

I saw nothing approaching a coup since being in Nouakchott, or even in villages and guard posts going out of the country. It was like this in The Gambia. The citizens woke up one day and they had a new president.

By nine o’clock at night I arrived in Bamako without knowing where the Peace Corps Office or Transit house was. The drivers of the taxi helped me and drove me to the US Embassy where the Marine Corporal on guard duty gave directions to where the Transit house was, but the taxi instead took me to the office. From their the guards were very helpful and actually walked with me to the house a half-mile away.

The Guard actually had this posted by him: “A Marine on Guard has no Friends.”

I had been wearing the same clothes, and hadn’t showered, in three days. I took two showers in a row before calling it good. What surprised me was I didn’t fall asleep but instead stayed up all night with other volunteers watching TV. It was the next day I crashed.

I’m in Bamako, and judging my the time it took to get here I’ll be here for a few good days.

A brief synopsis of Mali. One of the truly respected things the Malian government has done was to step down. Let me explain: In Africa, once you have power you rarely give it up. In fact, most presidents become presidents for life or they rig the elections or intimidate the opposition so they always win. Mali used to be a dictatorship, until 1992 when their first democratic election was held. The man elected: Alpha Konare. He was re-elected in 1997. In keeping with Mali's two-term constitutional limit, he stepped down in 2002 and was succeeded by Amadou Toure. By stepping down, he gained great respect from other African countries and the world. He followed the democratic process, which is so rare here and gave someone else a turn to be President. In sharp contrast to many African leaders, he did not change the constitution the night before; but in keeping with the 2002 constitution he helped write stood down.

The country itself it the largest in West Africa and is about twice the size of Texas. 90% of the population is Muslim with French being the official language. The infrastructure is, so far as I have seen, better here than in The Gambia. I’ve seen villagers with television sets, bicycles. (I saw one kid, in Mauritania, with roller-blades!). While walking down the streets I am not hassled by the kids asking for money or candy. They simply walk right passed me as if I’m nothing special. In The Gambia if they see you three blocks away they run after you yelling “Toubob! Give me money!”

Bamako seems like a nice place to hang out for a little bit. Now I just need to find out how to get a visa for Niger. If that doesn’t work then it’s on to Burkina Faso – or, if I can get a Nigerien visa at the border. I have some leisure time to find out.

A very slow ride. 60 miles in 8 hours.

Day 16
Tues Aug 2
Start: Nioro, Mali
Mid: Some village in northern Mali
End: Diema, Mali [14 29 N 09 08 W]

I didn't want to spend another minute in this town and I was at the garage park at six in the morning, hoping for the first vehicle out.

Despite being one of the first ones at the garage park and buying a ticket for a front-seat ride (I felt I deserved front-seat for last night, so I could sleep. I was willing to pay extra for it as well). While I waited for my guy to come back with the car other cars came and went to Bamako. Private cars left. Land-cruisers. Buses. Trucks. They all passed. Three hours later my guy showed up saying no car and gave me back my money. I missed all those rides! There was a few I bet I could have gotten for free as well. Fed up I was just going to wave down the next vehicle that crossed.

Ended up bring a truck with ten other passengers in the back. This truck was big though. The back was filled with crates of empty coke bottles, with bags of rice on top of them, with dried animal skins on top of the rice, with the people and the luggage on top of the skin. We had room to walk around, and when we stood up (and hung on) we could see over the driver’s cabin. Two women were also in the back with their babies.

I soon realized I shouldn’t have been too eager to get a ride. The road we were on was comparable to the Gambian roads of pot-holes, unpaved, sand-traps, and mud. It took us eight hours to go 60 miles. The guide books I had not only suggested not using this road but if you must, to used a 4WD or land-cruiser. I looked around. I was in a truck – this was going to be a slow day.

We got stuck (of course!).



For the next two hours the workers dug in the mud trying to get the truck free, with each unsuccessful attemp actually overturning it more. After a while they switched sides to get the other two tires on the ground before trying to get it unstuck. In the mean-time I talked to the owner of the vehicle, from Ghana, whose brother bought him the truck. He now rents it out to people who want to us it to ship items across the country. I didn’t ask why he came along, but it was his truck he could do what he wanted. As we’re talking a 4WD drove past slowly with Europeans in it.
Momodou, the owner, looked at afterwards: “You did not get a ride with them?”
“Why should I?”
“They are white.”

I looked down the road. Being white was inconsequential, the point I was thinking was they have private transportation and can go 5 times as fast as this truck. I watch them speed down the road and then looked at our half-flipped over truck. With that I told Momodou that this was my ride. He was impressed that I didn’t leave them the first time there was trouble and headed for the white-people vehicles.

Throughout the trip, whenever we stopped we would always joke with each other. (I was riding in the back, and being the owner, of course, he sat upfront with the driver, along with two other people).

He would joke that I was weak since I was not helping them dig out of the hole. (The rules actually are that the people who rent the truck are responsible for it, so they were the ones who were digging it out – the one or two others that were helping just were giving a friendly hand. No obligation. The rest all were just sitting)
“If I am weak, you are old!”
“Old? I am not old. I am 45”
“Too old! See, you don’t even help them. Pretty soon you will need a walking stick!”
“No no. I’m hard worker” and he showed me his hands, full of calluses. He then grabbed my hands, flipped them over. “See, you no hard worker.”
“Ah! But I am a teacher. I work hard up here” and I pointed to my head.
We then went on to writing in the sand, on the road, for him to explain Arabic. It was him that explained the numeric writing. Also, we talked about the differences between

Ghanaian (ga-nay-an), someone from Ghana
to
Guinean (gan-ay-an), someone from Guinea

or, even worse

Nigerien and Nigerian

Nigerien (knee-shair-ian), someone from Niger
Nigerian (Ni-gere-ian), someone from Nigeria

They get very fussy if you pronounce Niger as just a shortened version of Nigeria. They are pronounced very differently.

Late at night we reached Diema, a major transportation hub, although being out in the middle of nowhere. Trucks and buses were lining the street, men with their street shops of food, women selling goods. I called PC to see if there was a volunteer here. Nope. For the second night in a row I slept in the streets.

Welcome to Mali - I chose to sleep on the street

Day 15
Mon Aug 1
Start: Ayoun el’Atrous, Mauritania
Mid: Kobenni, Mauritania [15 49 N 09 21 W]
End: Nioro, Mali [15 10 N 09 33 W]

Having left Ayoun at three in the afternoon I didn’t think I would make it to Nioro that day. The man at the garage park said he could drive me to Kobenni for 1300UM or to Nioro for 4500UM. I thought those where too much but he wouldn’t budge. Only when the police officer which confirms the tickets was present did I learn those were the legitimate prices. However, I already bought my ticket to Kobenni, since I didn’t have enough UM on me to buy the Nioro ticket. He said he would take 11250 CFA for it; almost 30% mark-up on exchange rates! No thank you.

During the ride I figured out what should be the reasonable payment from Kobenni to Nioro, based on exchange rates; etc. Anywhere from 6000CFA to 8000CFA. Got transport to Nioro for 6000UM so I was happy.

At the Mauritanian-Mali border the guards wanted 1000UM to stamp exit-stamp our passport. I watched as everyone took out their wallets and paid. I took out mine and looked inside. I was down to 700UM. I handed it to him.

“1000UM!”
“700UM” I said pointing to the stack
“1000 UM !”
“700 UM. All gone! No more UM. It’s finished” and I opened up my wallet to reveal nothing. All my Mauritanian currency was gone, none to be saved and my last 700 of it went to pay a bribe. I was let off the hook and he stamped by passport.

I arrived in Nioro after sunset. My first night in Mali ended up being my worst to date. After walking around for a bit trying to find a hotel I managed to get a Malian to help me and we found out that was willing to give it to me for 5000CFA (~$8). I thought that was too much, but with hand gestures and showing me the room it became evident that no single room was available so if I wanted to have a room to myself I would have to pay for both beds.

The room that I had rented consisted of a bedroom and shower room. The beds were just cots with flimsy foam mattresses and a single bullet-holed blanket partially covering them. The floor hadn’t been swept in ages since when I put down my bag there was a puff of dust. In the shower room the manager showed me the shower did in fact have running water; but failed to mention that the toilet didn’t and the bowl itself was infested. The lights to the shower room didn’t work and when I turned on the lights to the bedroom I was electrocuted to the point of almost falling on my knees.

The springs to the beds were broke, so I put the two mattresses on the floor on top of each other and tried to sleep on them. A few things kept me up:
Mosquitos, which has I tried to swat them I unintentionally would get three or four in my hand.
A few cockroaches that scurried across the floor.
Something was biting me in the legs, despite sleeping in jeans.



Tried sleeping outside, but the guards were talking loudly with their motorcycles going back and forth and marijuana smell all over the place.

At three in the morning I left, leaving the money on the table in the room with the key holding it down. From three to seven I walked the streets trying to sleep in a corner, under a truck, and anywhere I could.

Accidental minimization of supplies

Day 14
Sun 31st
All Day: Ayoun el’Atrous, Mauritania



I watched in horror as my only bar of soap fell in the pit latrine when I took a shower. Earlier I had given up my towel, shampoo, deodorant, and shaving cream. You don’t need a towel, since the heat would work well. Shampoo, soap works just as well for a few days. Deodorant, I’m not working anymore and most volunteers upcountry don’t use it anyway. Shaving cream, I can borrow someone elses when I get in a capital area (or just use lather from the soap - which I now don't have). So I just had a bar of soap. Now I have none. They had one bar of laundry soap I used for the next day, which was the last shower I had in four days until I reached Bamako. Dirty!

Maddy, the volunteer, took me to her house for lunch which consisted of eating with the family. Think of a normal U.S. bedroom, that’s the size of their living room with no furniture and 14 people watching TV on the floor. TV! She has satellite TV in her compound, in the middle of Mauritania! In The Gambia we rarely even have electricity, here she lives in a mud hut compound with satellite hook-up! Not only that, but in the same room is a refrigerator with cold drinks and ice. With 14 other family member around us we watched a French-dubbed TV Show, and an Arabic soap-opera.



At the end of the day I did a budget count. Average spending per day (so far), including transportation, lodging, food, bribes, and getting ripped off was $15/day.

My dinner was the same as the cats...

Day 13
Sat 30th
Start: Somewhere in Southern Mauritania, before Kiffa [16 30 N 11 23 W]
Mid: Kiffa, Mauritania [16 30 N 11 23 W]
End: Ayoun el’Atrous, Mauritania [16 34 N 9 35 W]

After a no-reason-behind-it three hour break in Kiffa we arrived in Ayoun where there was a volunteer where I could stay at. After finally finding someone who know what I was talking about, and knew her I got in contact with her. Just the day before the cell phones where working so I was able to call, but starting today and for the next two days they were down. Good thing I called when I did.

She showed me another volunteers house, which I met in Nouakchott and how I was able to get in touch with her. He said I could stay at his house. She stipulated the only obligation was to feed the pet cat they had. For dinner the cat and I had the same dinner: water and a can of sardines. Different plates.

What's pi in Arabic?

Day 12
Fri 29th
Start: Nouakchott, Mauritania
Mid: Nouakchott, Mauritania
End: Somewhere in Southern Mauritania, before Kiffa [16 30 N 11 23 W]

The car ride from Nouakchott to Ayoun el-Atrous on the southern side of Mauritania became my longest car ride to date. 21 hours in the same car. However, we stopped for the night on the side of the rode at some police intersection.

The car I was in had three people up front (including the driver), four plus baby in the middle, and five in the back. Crowded. At the first stop after beginning I bought a bottle of water and noticed that the different elements that were in the mineral water were listed twice: once in english and the other in arabic. I knew I couldn’t figure out the arabic letters, since the words can be translated – but you can’t translate numbers unless you have a different base system (The Wollof tribe in The Gambia uses a mix of base ten and five). For ten minutes I was rolling the water bottle back and forth trying to figure out the arabic numbers. It’s just all pattern recognition. You have a square here, and a square where a seven should be – ah, square is seven – etc.

After a while I asked if anyone had a pen. No one did but someone had a permanent marker in his pocket (!). Even better! Writing directly on the bottle itself I wrote down what I thought was 0-9 in arabic to the amusement of everybody parallel and behind me watching. They started laughing when I got to 3, not so much because I screwed up but because they finally understood what I been doing for the past ten minutes, rolling the bottle back and forth and cross referecing two parts of the bottle. Only made two small mistakes.

ARABIC NUMBERS



Another thing that interested me was the I knew the words were written right to left, but from the water bottle to numbers were written right to left. For instance, 15 would be \ o where I thought it would be o \. This was confirmed a few days later when I on the way into Mali the owner of the truck was Ghanian and therefore spoke English. He demonstrated to me on the road in sand that if they want to write something like

“I am going” in Arabic, it would look like [in English] “gniog ma I” and not “going am I” as I thought. It’s literally read and pronounced right to left. However, if you want to write “I am 25 years old” you would write it as “dlo sraey 25 ma I”. The numbers are written right-to-left, opposite the way you write it! In English it would be like to say “I have 123 paperclips” you would write “I have 321 paperclips” but SAY “I have 123 paperclips.”

In the Wollof tribe in The Gambia, they use base 5 but write it as base 10. ‘68’ is said “five one ten five three”. A few months back Erik and I figured out how they could multiply and divide by five so fast. I highly doubt they do it this way but it “makes sense”

Base 10:
Multiple by 10: add a zero [12 becomes 120]
Divide by 10 (if multiple of 10): subtract a zero [120 becomes 12]

Base 5: same thing
Example: 85 in base five is 320. To divide by 5 (in base five) you subtract a zero so it becomes 32. That number, 32, is the base five representation of 17, which IS 85 divided by 5.

We multiple and divide by ten so easily since it’s what base we are using and we don’t consciously know of the deep mathematics that go into it. I guess the same is true for base 5 in The Gambia.

I practiced learning the Arabic numbers by writing on the water bottle the first 50 digits of pi in Arabic. This is instead of learning the more useful pronunciation of French numbers! For bartering, I use a calculator if they are speaking French. Now if they speak Arabic I can just write the numbers down! In other words, completely useless.

That's a lot of Pita!

Day 11
Thursday 28th
All Day: Nouakchott, Mauritania

Today mostly explored the capital, taking pictures and getting lost. I even befriended the owner of a small bread factory; conveyor belts and all, and he gave me a private tour. It was all purely automated, and they made what looked like pita bread, but thinner. When it came out of the oven it was puffed up and the employees had to whack them to get the hot air out and make it flat. He gave me a few for free and as I sat down and ate them I timed the process. They make over 2,000 pita breads an hour. Not bad for a small one-room factory.

I also saw the grand mosque, which after I returned to the office found out I couldn't take a picture of it. Nonetheless, I took one standing on the edge of the corner, without knowing I wasn't suppose to. I went inside, very respectively, into the compound (but not in the actual mosque itself). Men were praying, or lying down, or just relaxing inside. Inside was a hundred times more beautiful then the outside. Grand carpets and intricate patterns interwoven was what they laid on. Tapestries rolled down the walls, while the carvings in the building inside where as detailed as a Parisian Cathedral. Standing at the doorway I was asked to leave.



Another female volunteer said I could stay with her so I treated her to dinner as well before going back to her place. What was interesting was that in order to get into her house you need four separate keys. (The only downside according to her). Four doors, four locks, four different skeleton keys.
Key to the gate of the compound
Key to the building
Key on top of the stairs to her balcony
Key from her balcony to get inside

Unlike the first Mauritanian volunteer we stayed at a week before, she has never been broken into. I can see why.