Mali photos

	I'm giving myself about 15 minutes to write my latest installment, while I wait for my water to boil so I can have a hot bucket shower. I wanted to write a little overview of what our actual trek was like. We started in Mopti, as I already told you, with our 18-year old Moussa Guindo as our guide. We hopped in a Peugeot 504 and headed towards Sangha, one of the starting points for the trek. Moussa negotiated the driver and the car, and together with my British friend Marianne, Peace Corps volunteer Debbie and her dad from California, the seven of us were off. We went through the "capital" of Dogon Country, a busy town called Bandiagara. Here Debbie's dad bought some bottled water and we headed on to Sangha. Arriving in mid-afternoon, we went into the main part of the village where the market was taking place. Dogon Country functions on a five-day week, so the markets take place every five days, or once a week. Moussa directed us through the crowds selling kola nuts, used clothes from America, fresh vegetables, including the famous Dogon onions. Entering the back door of someone's compound, we ordered lunch. Our choice was rice with peanut sauce. They hustled us into a lonely room where they brought us two long benches to sit on, so the neighborhood kids wouldn't bother us and stare at us while we ate. The rice tasted fresh and the peanut sauce was a thin brown sauce, with just a hint of peanut. It tasted a little but more like vegetable broth. In any case, it filled us up. We wandered through the market a little bit after we each had a cold bottled soda. As the sun got lower in the sky, Moussa suggested we set out for Bongo and Banani, the start of our trek. Each of us carried our own belongings. Austin and I each had backpacks weighing in around 24 pounds. All wore shorts, t-shirts, hats, and sunglasses. The start of the hike was up and down the rocky escarpment. When we reached the edge, we had a great view of the plains ahead and our future walks. Marianne hoisted some village children on her shoulders and played with the kids. The loads on our backs didn't feel too bad yet, although the up and down walking reminded me of Stairmasters in college, and I knew my legs would be hurting later. We saw the villages working in their onion fields, a crop introduced by a famous French anthropologist, Marcel Griaule. Apparently, it's the only real export the Dogon people have. And we all agree that the onions were some of the most delicious we ever tasted. They look beautiful while they grow as well, vivid emerald green in a dry brown land. The beginning of the walk took us through scenic areas of Dogon. We ventured through a cave and then past little homes with the famous Dogon doors, intricately carved wooden symbols of their culture. After that, we went down and down, about 300 meters into the valley. Natural steps led us from Bongo, the village on the top, to Banani, a village nestled in the escarpment and at the foot of the escarpment. We met some of those beautifully dresses Peul women, the ones with the gold earrings and the dyed mouths. It seems they came out hoping we would pay them for a picture. They finally agreed to have their picture taken, without getting paid, but after I snapped the shot, our guide went over and paid them out of his pocket. It's easy to tell that the life here is becoming more and more commercial. Some in our group felt it was a tragedy that life is changing like that. I agree, to an extent. I think it's horrible if strangers come in to take advantage or destroy the culture. But after living in Dakar, and seeing how many people flee their villages in hope of earning money, I wonder if the tourism in Dogon Country keeps the villagers from leaving, as they can receive some money and benefits from the foreigners. I think it may help them maintain their customs, by encouraging the youth to stay in the villages. But of course, it's hard to believe that all tourists would be as respectful as we tried to be. We stayed in a "case de passage", a specially designated compound for foreigners. The five of us settled in on the roof of a small, one-room mud home. Moussa got us water for bucket showers as the sun set. The shower was in a mud, outhouse-type building, with a chest-high wall and no ceiling. Most of us showered by the light of the stars and moon with the coldest water any of us had ever known for showering.

Looking down on the plains	Begnimato	Curing gourds?	Begnimato
Climbing away from Terelli	Village along the escarpment	Just outside Bongo	Dogon Village
Weekly market in Dourou	Dogon door lock	Looking out across the Dogon plains	Ghana Peace Corps volunteers in Sevare
Irelli?	Mosque in Djenne	Looking over the roofs in Djenne	Mayor's house in Djenne
Mark Morris, a passing overlander