Hi all,
This is part two of my letter, detailing my experiences while in the fabled
city of Timbuktu. I hope you will enjoy reading and experiencing the trip
right along with me!
Timbuktu
At 5:05 pm, our cabin fever was relieved as we arrived in Koroumé, the river
village nearest to Timbuktu. Several pinasses were docked, including some
that had passed us along the way. After loading our belongings into a 4WD,
we began the final 10km to Timbuktu on a paved road! I was surprised to
see rice fields along the tree-lined road, an area that at one time was part
of the Niger. People were living in makeshift tents right off the fields and
busy road. Some were riding donkeys. Other donkeys were piled high with
grasses. Women were seen wearing cloth veils around their head to provide
shelter from the sun and dust. Some trees even grew in water. Suddenly the
trees gave way to shrubs and sand. We were in the fringes of the Sahara. The
road as we entered the fabled city changed to sand, in some places rather
deep. Almost immediately upon arrival, I went out to photograph the sunset.
At first I could see the white sands right up to the pink sky. Then the
Tuareg temporary shelters became silhouetted as the sun went down. I was
pleasantly surprised that the temperature was comfortable. Our hotel was
right on the edge of the Sahara. Outside, children were playing soccer. I
could spot a school and some other more ³modern² buildings.
The next morning, we toured the rather sleepy Timbuktu. As the wind kicked
up the sand, it was rather difficult to imagine that even 30 years ago the
Niger River ran through Timbuktu. At present Timbuktu only receives about
100 mm of rain a year, coming down in short but torrential rainfall. The
sandy streets were wider than those in Djenné. In fact, some were quite
wide. All were covered with rather loose sand, some with animal droppings.
The soft, fine, white sand made walking a little more difficult and required
drivers to go faster in order to not get stuck. Unfortunately sections of
the city and even the bushes in the desert were littered with plastic bags
and other rubbish of modern society. Women were baking loaves of bread in
outdoor ovens, sliding their pan through sand before slapping a lump of
dough on them and then into the oven. Indeed, the rather flat bread did have
a slightly sandy texture. Other women were pounding millet. In addition, I
saw a man making mud bricks by hand, much like his ancestors probably made.
The occasional man with a turban covering his face and some tourists going
to specific destinations were also observed. Given the fame and mystique of
the city, I was surprised that there wasn¹t a more organized tourist
souvenir presence, such as postcards, T-shirts with Timbuktu on them and
even the Tuaregs selling their work.
Many of the homes had old doors adorned with silver decorations and small
red pieces of red cloth behind the silver shapes. Some buildings had fancier
wooden Moroccan-style windows, especially on the second floor.
First we toured Djingareiber (meaning ³big mosque² in Songhay), the oldest
mosque in Timbuktu. Architects from southern Spain built the mud façade
structure in 1325. Taking off my sandals, I entered a mosque for the first
time. The hallway was rather dark, with the only light coming from the
entry. Many of the 390 pillars (stone covered with mud) had oscillating fans
attached to them. Although the temperature was currently quite pleasant, the
fans were likely essential during the oppressive heat (sometimes over 47°C)
occurring much of the year. In one of the rather dark passageways, three
wooden pieces protruded from the wall, now worn smooth by the multitude of
hands touching them for purification. In the 16th century the mosque,
preferred for Friday worship, was expanded. A separate worship area was
designated for the women. There also was a covered courtyard that was a
popular place for prayer during the week. Every morning a man still goes up
the minaret to perform the call to prayer, without the use of loudspeakers
or other artificial means. From the rooftop we had a good view of the city
including the encroaching Sahara Desert.
Although Timbuktu currently is a fraction of its religious dominance held
during its golden age, there are reminders of Islam all around, including
over 300 holy men buried all over the city. In fact, Timbuktu might be
considered as an alternative place to come instead of making the journey to
Mecca. In addition, the city still is part of the salt route. The very heavy
and hard slabs take 18 days to arrive by camel in Timbuktu from the salt
mines deep in the Malian Sahara.
After touring the mosque, we proceeded down the sandy streets. We passed the
preserved home where René Caille lived. In front of the mosque Sidi Yehia, a
group of girls played a game, singing and dancing in a circle. Although not
impressive in terms of size or overall architectural beauty (it had no
minarets), the mosque did have wooden doors adorned with silver symbolic
ornaments including the moon and stars. We then went to Boctou¹s well, the
place where Timbuktu was founded. The city is named after Bouctou (whose
name means ³lady with a big navel) and Tim means ³well (or water).² On the
same property as the small well was a modest museum. On the door were two
circles, with the larger top silver circle representing men and the smaller
bottom circle representing women. A narrow ring connected the two,
representing the mysterious link between men and women. Near the top of the
door was a dove-like design, signifying peace. Next to the dove were small
raised circles representing the number of children the family had. Other
symbols are unique to the family, protecting the family. Inside the museum
there was a nice collection of Tuareg musical instruments. According to the
guide, women make the instruments and play the string instruments, while the
men often play the drums. I was particularly interested in the N¹djerbâ, an
instrument that looked like the forerunner of the violin, complete with a
bow shaped more like a hunting bow. In addition to instruments, the small
museum¹s collection also consisted of clothing. The gofa was a dress worn
during the initiation ceremony, typically after being married. Quite similar
to the Tuareg women I saw perform at the Ambassador¹s residence in Bamako,
the women would interweave gold items into their hair. They also would wear
ankle bracelets. Such a costume often was an heirloom, passed down the
generations.
Our next main stop involved visiting the manuscripts in the Ahmed Baba
library. In the small room lit by a single fluorescent light were precious
religious manuscripts. Many of the aged handwritten manuscripts were stored
in glass bookcases or a metal cabinet. The most rare or old manuscripts were
enclosed in a glass display table. Others were simply piled on the table.
Efforts are being made to gather religious manuscripts all over the country
to be preserved and stored at the Ahmed Baba center. Ahmed Baba, for whom
the library is named, was a highly intelligent scholar deported to Morocco
to use his scholarly skills. Refusing to offer his assistance, Ahmed was
exiled in Morocco for 14 years. After being freed by the prince of Morocco
he went back to Timbuktu where he preserved manuscripts and wrote many more.
After the typical noon siesta, we began preparing for a late afternoon camel
ride. I proceeded to put on my hiking shoes when I realized that something
was in my right shoe. Thinking that it was merely some debris accumulated
during our boat trip, I stuck my right hand in the shoe toe area to scrape
out the debris. Unfortunately the ³debris² stung me, providing an instant
combination of burning, throbbing, and pain. Instead of touring the market,
I spent the time at the clinic in Timbuktu, receiving treatment for an
unknown (it disappeared as someone shook out the shoe) insect. With my right
ring finger bandaged and still quite painful, I was determined to still to
on the camel ride. Starting a short distance past the hotel, we mounted our
camels and began the slow and bumpy 40-minute ride into the Sahara. The
surroundings included scrub bushes, thorn bushes, the occasional desert
beetle, and lots of white sand. As we got closer to the Tuareg encampment,
we could see small herds of goats, some Tuareg men in their traditional
turban, and some children playing. Unfortunately we also saw behind a sand
dune a pile of alcohol cans, obviously left by some tourists. Not only did
the cans litter and mar the landscape, they also served as a terrible
example of tourist invasion and alteration of the environment.
Shortly after we arrived, we were led by our Tuareg guide to a group of
women, all of whom were dressed in indigo cloth. With their bronze-colored
skin, fine features and smooth black hair, their appearance contrasted
sharply with members of other Malian ethnic groups. They began singing a
response echo began by one of the women. Two women played simple drums
balanced on two flip-flops, whose tension and pitch was altered with the
addition of small amounts of water or sand. The old woman who expertly
drummed the rather repetitive rhythm especially intrigued me. Next to her
was a toddler wearing a shirt but nothing on the bottom. Flies covered the
child¹s light-skinned face that was struggling to smile. As the women began
clapping a rhythm, I could see the blue dye of the indigo on their hands,
giving credence to their nickname ³blue men of the North.² A few men in
traditional Tuareg flowing clothing (also blue) and turbans revealing only
their eyes began a mock sword demonstration.
Following the customary sweet tea in tiny glasses the size of shot glasses,
we were obliged to look at the goods created by the Tuareg salesmen. Some
laid out leather boxes, others silver jewelry, others had embellished swords
and knifes with leather sheathes. I bought a small camel leather spice purse
whose symbolic etched designs were colored by dyes from local plants. We
then made the camel ride back to the city. Walking by moonlight, our Tuareg
guide led us to a nice restaurant. Here we had a meal of lamb, and a wheat
grain in a shape of a bun, similar to a large dumpling. A flavorful sauce
enhanced the dish. After eating we greeted the staff members of the travel
guide series Lonely Planet that had been traveling throughout Mali gathering
data and photos to make a guidebook. Across from the restaurant we could
see a monument being constructed. Called ³Place de la Famne de la Paix²
(place of the flame of peace), it is the place where 10,000 people watched
as 3,000 weapons of Tuareg rebels and the Malian army were burned in 1996.
