From my Journal October 20, 2004 (continued)
Mali, West Africa
It wasn't easy. The edge of the boat was about 4 feet off the ground. Along the side there was a big chain that was covered in black grease much like butter which I immediately managed to get all over myself. Good thing I wasn't wearing a skirt because my grand entrance into the boat wasn't very graceful.
I managed to hoist myself up to the front area following Pushkar's lead. From there it was a bit of a gymnastics act getting to the nearby platform Pushkar found. I stepped beyond the coiled chain and over the captain's chair, a thick board across the front, then down four feet and under a pole where I frightened a two-inch cockroach who scurried away. The floor is a pile of bamboo sticks, keeping one's feet above the murky black water sloshing in the bottom of the boat.
Then another hoist up four feet to the platform. This will be our home for the next three days. It's just a flat board as big as a single bed with a plastic mat, offering exactly one millimeter of cushion. Pushkar has wisely claimed this space. It appears to be the only reasonable option on the entire vessel.
No part of this boat has been turned on a lathe nor are there any metal pieces, besides that greasy chain which must be holding the anchor, no bolts or screws that I can see. It is made of twigs and grass, logs and bamboo and bark and covered on the bottom with tar. Maybe one-hundred feet long, the boat is about the size of a whale and actually resembles the belly of a whale with its rounded rib-like sides and thatched roof. The side walls are open spaces with no glass, just wide open air and wide open river beyond.
There are many boats lined up here along the bank of the Niger River at Korioume where we wait. Most are big cargo "pinasses" like this one. (Pinasse is French for boat.) Our boat has a motor at the back, and there is a lot of deep cargo space between here and there. According to the guide book, the cargo is usually large bags of rice going up the river to Timbuktu. Right now, we are the only cargo on this boat, just Jimmy and Kait, the two Americans we met last night, and Puskhar and I. We, the tourists, have been in position and ready to move since 8AM. It's now 9:30.
Kait and Jimmy have their own mats and are lying on the boat floor on the uneven bamboo near the murky water. They seem content there, reading books, waiting patiently about four feet below our luxurious platform. They didn't fight us for our space, a good thing because we weren't about to give it up.
While waiting, I am watching the villagers washing in the river. Some women are topless, with young children in tow and smaller children strapped with colorful cloth to their backs. They wash pots and clothes, washing, washing, scrubbing, scrubbing until spotless in the river water. My back hurts looking at the stack of pots and pans yet to be cleaned. The young girls help as if they've been doing such chores forever. The men on the other side of the boat are washing themselves. I'm trying not to look as some of them, though discrete, are naked.
A moment ago, there was some activity at the front of the boat. A goat was hoisted on board and struggled to get away but was forcefully held in another man's arms. He carried the goat past our platform, heading over the uneven bamboo and under several poles to the back of the boat.
Was this goat going to be our dinner?! Tears flooded to my eyes uncontrollably, and I almost let out an ear-piercing, bloody-murder scream. I buried my face in the backpack I was using for a pillow and plugged my ears to avoid hearing the crying goat. A startled Pushkar wasn't sure what to do. "Are they going to kill him?" I asked.
"No, no, no, they won't kill him on the boat," Pushkar said. "It's too messy. There will be blood everywhere, don't worry. They won't kill him." After a moment, I tried to relax and regain composure. It is, however, obvious the goat will be dinner at some point, hopefully, not during this trip. The poor goat. I looked up to see the boat crew staring at me, wondering what had come over me.
The boat people of the Niger River are the "Bozo" people. There are several ethnic groups in Africa and Bozo is one. This explains the Bar Bozo in Mopti, a restaurant that lies along the river where the tourists watch the boats coming and going.
I have just learned, we have overpaid big time for this one. After
consulting with the guide book, a spot on a cargo pinasse should be $13. We probably could have bought the entire boat for what the four of us paid at $40 each! Oops!
October 21, 2004
Just after 10AM yesterday the boat finally started to move. Once we got into the deep waters, far from shore, Kait and Jimmy asked one of the crew members about a platform like the one Pushkar and I were on. Since they speak French, they have an easier time communicating.
The next thing we knew, the man was motioning that Pushkar and I had to get down from where we sat. He pointed to the floor, like we had to move there. There was no way I was going to spend three days on that bamboo with black gooey water sloshing around underneath. No way.
Kait and Jimmy translated, saying that the man wanted us to pay for the bed. Clearly, we HAD paid for the bed. We overpaid! By a lot! There was no way I was moving. And there was no way I was going to pay more either. It was a crime. We were trapped on the boat, and now I wanted off. They were robbing us. I had an instant feeling we were in trouble. We were at their mercy -- totally stuck. Maybe they were going to dump us somewhere in the middle of nowhere and leave us on our own or do something worse! Maybe if we got out our money, they would just take it, demand more, get violent!? One man was awfully big and strong, and he was staring at me the whole time with an evil look on his face. Yikes!
I had visions of trying to swim to shore with all my stuff. Surely my big heavy backpack would sink, and I'd be sopping wet on the shore in the middle of nowhere with nothing. I said I wanted off at the next stop! I wanted my money back too!
Kait and Jimmy did most of the negotiating, and finally they agreed that we would pay 4000 CFA ($8) to have the platform bed -- which is hardly a bed. We agreed we would pay 2000 now and another 2000 once we arrived in Mopti three days later.
The man finally agreed, and he and Jimmy brought a second bed-platform thing from the back of the boat closer to where Pushkar and I were. We could keep ours, and now Kait and Jimmy had a better place to sit than on the floor. This was a very bad way to start our journey.
The negotiations over the beds took more than an hour so by then we were well on our way. Once we paid, things were just fine and almost pleasant! Until I had to use the bathroom, which I had avoided as long as possible.
To get to the bathroom one must perform a complete ten-minute gymnastics routine. If every step is not carefully calculated and perfectly balanced it means risking a fall overboard.
First down from the platform bed to the uneven bamboo floor. It's a bit more than a hop so you have to hang on to the poles and rafters and whatever else. Once on the bottom you walk along the uneven bamboo floor ducking under a pole or two, then up over the next pole since below is where the kitchen is where two large burning pots boil, and there is no room to get around. You have to hoist up to the left edge of the boat, and shimmy along the outside without falling. You can hang on to the grass roof but beware, some of the twigs pull right out of the thatching. Always check that things are secure before putting weight on anything.
Then in the next section you have to cross several large oil drums that all seem to be empty. Not only are they piled up on top of one another, they are rolling around too. Try climbing over something like this -- on a moving boat -- and you'll see what I mean. And next is the motor which is the really tricky part. The motor is not sitting passively; it is horrendously LOUD. If anyone is trying to give you instructions, I guarantee you won't hear them.
First stop when you get to the narrow board at the edge near the wall that holds the motor. From here hoist up to the right boat edge, and extend one foot over the next board to a platform which is actually a seat. The seat hangs by ropes, moveable this way I guess, so brace yourself when you step on it because it will swing. If you're not careful, you'll start doing the splits as the seat swings out. If this happens, you'll end up smack on the motor -- something you want to avoid at all costs. Meanwhile make sure you ALSO avoid the exhaust pipe behind you. It is extremely HOT, spitting exhaust and seriously large sparks out into the river.
Once you've made it to the other side of the motor, you won't want to go back, and you won't want to stay there either. The poor goat is positioned in the narrow space beyond the motor. Three days he stands, maybe sleeps on a piece of cardboard which is also where he uses the bathroom. I feel so badly for him.
Every now and then when the motor is turned off at one of the stops, we can hear him calling from where we sit. I'm not sure what goats say, but it sounds like he's bahing like a sheep. I think he's crying. I'm so sad.
Beyond the goat is the toilet in the triangular pointy end of the boat. It's a square hole in the floor that hangs four feet above the rushing river water. The hole is almost two-feet by two-feet wide -- sort of large. It is big enough to jump through or even dive through, not to mention the possibility of falling, and how frightening would it be to slip with one foot in and one foot out. How many times has that happened?
Upon my return from the bathroom the first time, my hands were covered in black grease. Good thing there is a plastic teapot tied to a rope that can be thrown over the side to collect water. With this, one can wash their hands, dumping the washing water into the black murky water that sloshes around the bottom of the boat under the bamboo. We discovered this handy tool by watching the locals who wash their hands before praying five times a day. Everyone has their praying mats on the boat. They get them out at certain times and they pray, bowing toward Mecca like the metal point of a compass.
October 22, 2004
We have been stopping at lots of little villages on the way. All the locals come out and wade into the water to offer oranges and baked breads and all sorts of things at the sides of our boat.
Yesterday Pushkar bought a big fish from a village vender that looked like it had been dead a long time and was smoked and grilled and dried out. Pushkar said it was quite good, and it only cost 40 cents! At another stop Pushkar got off and was back a minute later with a giant watermelon. Ahh. Good find!
The dinner we had supposedly paid for with the HEFTY price of our ticket was, well, much like dishwashing water. Dinner for four came in one cooking pot, a white-looking soup, milky and a little chunky. The man said it was, "rice". It came with a single spoon. The four of us were supposed to share? No, none for me, thank you. For those who eat meat, they brought over three small bites of something meat-like which they tossed into the soupy rice.
Good thing we had the watermelon. Jimmy and Kait joined Pushkar and I on our platform-bed-thing as the evening turned to night. We lit candles and mosquito coils and chatted and feasted on a gorgeous and endless watermelon, spitting the seeds into the rushing river water at our sides. This was indeed the best dinner I have had yet!
Next we were startled from our peaceful dinner by the blast of a full-volume television?! There in the bottom of the boat on the uneven bamboo above that murky water was a giant television set and a DVD player and a stack of DVD's. Where on earth did that come from?!
There were several passengers we had picked up on the way who were sitting on the bamboo floor. I am sure they were thrilled to learn it was movie time. The first movie was, of all things, a Bollywood Hindi film from India with lots of singing and dancing. I thought I was in Nepal. It was in Hindi language too with no subtitles. I guess people of any culture enjoy singing and dancing in any language. The second movie was another Hindi film, and Pushkar was down on the bamboo watching both. He speaks Hindi, and these movies are popular in Nepal.
The last film was a Bruce Lee movie, and Jimmy was now down on the boat floor watching with Pushkar. Kait and I chatted, straining to hear each other over the sounds of kicking and punching. Several passengers sat around the TV, but I noticed most of them were asleep. Still the TV BLARED at top volume. It was disturbing the peace for a total of SIX hours!
This morning when the boat was quiet I heard the goat calling. I told Pushkar the goat must be saying, "I want off!" Pushkar said, "He's saying, "Good morning!""
It was kind of a good morning. The sun was rising over the river making everything peaceful and beautiful. The motor was turned off since we were stopped along the river bank waiting for more passengers. As I turned, I realized there was a large wooden board that was piercing into our mosquito net. Another large cargo pinasse like ours, was poking its way into the open sides of our boat. No one seemed to be bothered except me as I tried to push it away. My arm muscles were not strong enough to push the two cargo boats apart.
After a quiet three hours and sunrise, they loaded the center area of our boat with wood. Imagine the journey to the toilet now! There were several new passengers to get around now too. They were spread out on the uneven bamboo floor in every open space.
Eventually the wood was piled high, logs, branches, twisted wood that was bent and sharp on the ends. We set out, motor running loudly, into the Niger River again, and I had to use the bathroom again. To get to the toilet now we had to climb up and over Kait and Jimmy's platform-bed-thing to where the wood formed two tall barriers on either side of the boiling pots in the kitchen area. Up and over was the only way around. The wood was precariously stacked, meaning a misplaced step could cause an avalanche of twisted logs to spill onto the boiling pots, or worse, onto the older men who sat on the uneven bamboo on the other side. There were new oil drums in the oil drum pile too, which made this part more difficult as well.
I pet the goat on the way as I had before. This time, I tried to hold his ears to muffle the sound of the motor, but the goat was skittish and was afraid of me.
I survived my second sojourn to the bathroom and when I returned, not only were my hands covered with the unavoidable black grease, my knee was actually bleeding. I still had scrapes on my legs from when our camels disappeared in the desert, and now I looked like a real warrior. I was proud as a few injuries means you're really traveling.
Pushkar and I are spending most of our time playing tic-tac-toe, and I have taught him rocks-scissors-paper. Should I lean back too far where I'm sitting on this platform, I will be overboard. I am having anxiety wondering what that would be like. How often do tourists fall out of these things? We wondered if anyone has ever rolled out of the boat while sleeping. It seems a possibility.
My goodness, there's someone on the roof. I just saw his shadow in the water and heard his footsteps above.
The rest of our meals were soupy rice-water and after complaining, we got an extra bonus of splitting ONE small dried out dangling fish that came pinched at the tail by two fingers. There was no lunch. Our three-meal-a-day contract was not happening. In three days, I had ZERO exercise other than a few trips to the bathroom.
We finally made it to Mopti thank goodness. We packed up our mosquito net and all our things on the little platform and began heading out. All four of us managed to get off the boat without anyone mentioning the remaining 2,000 CFA ($4) we owed. But they didn't forget to ask. As we started to walk away, the conversation began. Again, we might have been better off not speaking French, but Kait and Jimmy negotiated.
Of course we refused to pay, mentioning we did not have three meals a day, and we were hardly comfortable, and we had already overpaid, and we didn't even have one edible meal at all! We turned to leave, and one of the Bozo men grabbed the end of the rolled up mats that Jimmy carried. He wouldn't let go. The mats belonged to Kait and Jimmy so Jimmy didn't want to let go either. We stood for a moment wondering what to do. Then Jimmy said in English so the Bozo man couldn't understand, "I'm going to let go of the mats, and then let's RUN."
He let go, and we ran. We ran down the bank of the Niger River where cargo boats were docked as far as the eye could see. We were, of course, carrying our big backpacks and other bags. We ducked into an alley and ran across a parking lot and toward some other buildings until finally it seemed the coast was clear.
Since Pushkar and I had been to this town before on the way to Timbuktu, we figured out where we were and managed to get ourselves to Bar Bozo. Ahh, away from the panic and havoc of independent travel. Whew. We ordered Coke, Sprite and omelets and contemplated our next move.
Heather O'Neal
Of Global Interest LLC Adventure Travel
Ann Arbor, Michigan
(734) 369-3107
www.ofglobalinterest.com
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