Bob and Mel’s gourmet banana and date porridge, conceived in the dark of the Mali night and delivered to the hungry hordes in the early morning, went down a treat, with two serves each, fuel for 2.5 hours at the river ferry port watching early morning life: a kaleidoscope of peoples, animals and colours.
There were only two small, old ferries. One had to be scrubbed of a thick layer of camel dung - scraped and piled into large baskets and then carried away on someone’s head. It seemed to take forever for the ferries to be readied for sailing. Only when a very large rather grand gentleman wearing a huge gold watch arrived and took command did we start loading.
The 7:30 AM ferry set sail at about 815 loaded with goods and locals. While most of the women wore traditional, brightly coloured cottons, the men mixed foreign aid clothing, including bell-bottomed trousers, with traditional garb. One sported sky-blue pants and an Emma Peal (from The Avengers, for those who don't recognise the name) dusty pink woman’s coat with wide buckle and hood up, a perfectly coordinated outfit worthy of the highest awards. Another man wore a khaki-green trench coat over his traditional headgear and robes and mirror sunglasses. And everywhere were western jumpers, checked shirts and old-fashioned jeans and trousers.
A longboat pulled up to the shore, loaded up with people, pulled out, rounded two other boats and came back to shore, where a very reluctant donkey was urged, pushed, pulled and then hauled by the front legs and heaved into the boat. Once aboard it settled for the journey.
Having been forced out of the back of the truck by two trucks leaving their engines running and smoking me out, the ferry area provided great entertainment. Herds of camels spat and cursed, the leader with front legs tied but still determined to move, even on knees, forcing the string of animals, tied head to tail, to follow, going up and down like a set of dominoes. One frothed at the mouth, covering the others with trails of spittle.
Ben, writing his diary by the water’s edge, watched several men cut a goat’s throat right beside him, the blood draining into the river. Two men peed into the water beside him, and then someone washed a teapot out in the same spot. Moments later, men appeared from behind a shed with two huge chunks of meat which they butchered amongst a cloud of flies and prepped to cook on a coal fire. Several tiny longboats full of children, water lapping the sides, pulled into the village just next to the port during our stay.
Finally, we drove onto the ferry to cross the Niger River, motoring past palm trees and small villages, before rolling off onto paved road. Warmth, and gentle motion on smooth road put everyone to sleep.
We passed a huge waterhole thronged by donkeys before stopping for a roadside lunch. After a sleepy afternoon drive we camped early in the lee of a huge butte that that looked like it had been squeezed, toothpaste-like, out of the ground.
Washed behind the truck with local audience, including an impressive bloke on a camel with two swords at his side.
Last to dinner! Then sat around the fire for hours talking with Vicki until all was quiet and the moon set.
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