Pays DOGON!

So… Dogon Country. The big trip. If you’re short on time, suffice it to say, it was awesome. If you have the time, I took detailed notes, so settle down and stay a while.


Dogon Country was absolutely gorgeous and I’m so glad Katie and I had the time and means to see it before we left. Unfortunately, Cari and Julie couldn’t come because of their work schedules, but I don’t feel too bad seeing as they are planning an even longer stay in Pays Dogon once we leave. We were this summer’s guinea pigs, a title I own proudly.


I had read a bit about Pays Dogon in our Lonely Planet guidebook and after having been, I can honestly say that in many ways they sell it short. However, the thing about the trip is that it only starts being fantastic once you get to Pays Dogon. The getting there part is a little bit more of a challenge and definitely less glamorous (certainly smellier).


Katie and I woke up super early to catch the Bani Transport bus to Mopti. Mopty is northeast of Bamako and is one of the biggest tourism hubs known to man. You really have to pass through in order to gain access to Pays Dogon, though, so it’s a necessary evil. The trip to Mopti is around 15 hours by bus, so it’s important to be prepared. Luckily, our guesses were correct and we were. Before we left for the bus station, we stopped by the Sikoroni market and picked up two medium-sized plastic baggies of fresh peanut butter, some small apples, a kilo of bananas, and a half dozen water sacks. It’s lucky that we bought the food before the bus station because once we pulled in, we had four Malian bus tigis latch onto us like hagfish and start screaming the names of certain bus companies at us. The funny thing is that we already knew to go straight to Bani (one of two or three reputable companies in Mali), so it was funny (/scary) to watch them try to claim ownership of our taxi, even as our driver swerved to try to shake them loose.


We did eventually get on the bus and since Katie was sick, they even let us on first. That was actually critical to our success in surviving this trip, since we got to get a window seat. Many Malians think that moving air makes you sick, so if you’re not right next to the window to open it yourself, don’t count on a breeze for the next 15 hours. The trip was uneventful other than the ridiculous amount of stops our driver made to: 1.) smoke, 2.) pray, and/or 3.) piss us off for no apparent reason. At every stop, about ten million village children tried to get on the bus and sell their wares and at any given stop, you could count on at least one girl with a REALLY annoying voice to shout “SHAY FAHN BAY!” (“Get your eggs here!”). If not eggs, then they assaulted us with bargain prices for sweet limes or fruit or water or sweet bread (I know it sounds good, but it often has tons of sand in it, which makes it great for polishing your teeth but not such a great snack).


When we got to Mopti, we stayed with a family friend of Katie’s. Her parents were married in Mali after they did two years in the Peace Corps together. Needless to say, that girl has mad connections. They put us up for the night free of charge and even gave us food at 1AM when we arrived. We slept on the roof on the most comfortable mattress I’ve found so far in Mali and it was amazing.


Pays Dogon started immediately the next morning with our obligatory ride to Bandiagara, one of three main cities surrounding the Dogon villages where tourists start and/or end their trips. One of the big tasks awaiting anyone who wants to visit Dogon country is finding a guide. This is the main reason why Mopti is so unbearably annoying. Everyone and their mom is wearing one of the traditional Dogon hats (actually really cool looking), claiming to be a real Dogon. Finding a good guide is critical because: 1.) they know what everything is, from the big obvious things like graineries to the smaller things like fetish stones for sacrifices and millet grinding, 2.) guides aren’t cheap and you want someone who doesn’t suck, and 3.) if you’re not with someone who speaks Dogon, you’re likely to either offend villagers or else miss out on lots of good stuff to see and do. That last point is pretty important. Every village has its own dialect of Dogon and the only people who can really manage from village to village are actual Dogon guides themselves. We were lucky and got the number of a respected guide from a friend we know in nearby Sevarre named Hassimi. Hassimi and his brother Oumar were our guides for the trip and all I can say is that I was pleased. Their services cost 15,000CFA/day/person and the car was 30,000CFA/day for the group (in total, approximately $75/day/person), but it was well worth it for the experience of being with knowledgeable guides.


When we got to Pays Dogon, we serendipitously got to do the exact tour I had planned based on my analysis of the guidebook, which means starting in the south and working our way back up through the cliffs. What makes the trip better is that we got to do it in an old-school station wagon with shag interior. Yeah, I said it. The Dogon are primarily known for their cliff dwellings, although nowadays, their villages are all off the cliffs at their bases. So our trip consisted of going from one village to the next and basically just seeing the sights, talking with the village people, then moving on to camp for the night. I don’t know enough to talk about Dogon culture extensively, so I’ll let you research it online to get a good taste of it for yourself.


If you want the abridged version, know that they live in a very isolated region with only sparse vegetation in sight for miles and that there is really only one road in the area. The villages still look like something you might find in a National Geographic representation of “African culture,” that is to say mud-brick with thatched grain roofs and lots of wooden carvings on doors, etc. They still largely practice animist religions, though most villages are divided into three sections: Muslim, Christian, and Animist. Tourists have built the most modern buildings in their villages, usually schools, in attempts to “modernize” the Dogon, but the Dogon Country is really the perfect example of manufacturing culture for tourism. If you were to look at a Dogon village, you might wonder if you were in a theme park. Everything looks so old, so rustic, you almost have to wonder if they actually still live there or not. The truth is that they do. And they do still practice animism, including all of the amazingly intricate practices of fetishism (ritual sacrifice), but they also know exactly what tourists like to see, and better, buy. So even in these villages, you can expect to have at least one person come up and try to sell you a traditional Dogon hat or leather neck pouch. The difference is that in Dogon Country, if you say no, they actually leave you alone.


One of the beautiful things of this dynamic is also that money is not so important to the Dogon people as is your appreciation of their willingness to share their lifestyle with you (in whatever representation they have chosen). So instead of paying to take a photo or speak with someone, you give them a kola nut. If you don’t know what a kola nut is, it’s just one of those things that only old people seem to like and always seem to chew on. So if someone does something nice for you, you give them a kola nut.


There were many things I saw in Pays Dogon that I liked and wished we had in America. I liked how the elderly were treated. When men get to 60, you no longer have to work and can retire under the shade of a special hut made just for older men. Furthermore, these men serve as a sort of town jury in that they make all decisions regarding punishment for public crimes and general shenanigans. In some fetish sites, only these men are allowed to enter the sacred space, and even then, sometimes only once every 1/3/15/60 years, depending on the site.


The intricacies of Dogon Culture could go on for ever and ever, including their detailed relationship with the Dog Star Sirius* and how they have timed their most famous festival to coincide with its arrival every 60 years, even since before it was discovered. However, I prefer to talk about what I actually did and leave you to read online if you want to learn more about Dogon culture.


For example, I promised myself that I would NOT leave Pays Dogon without climbing a baobab, something I told Hassimi on day one. And on the last day, you better believe I did it. I have pictures to prove it. ☺ Similarly, you might find it funny to know that amidst all of the “strange” and “different” sites in Dogon Country, Hassimi still found someone to try to sell use weed. Don’t worry, family and friends, it didn’t happen. I also made a habit of collecting things I found on the ground along the path. That includes scraps of old bogolon (mud fabric) and indigo-dyed cloths that usually sell for high prices when intact and new. I figured why pay for what I can find on the ground? I’ll make it look pretty when I get back home and can sew it up. The guides would NOT let me forget that. In fact they thought it was so funny that I wanted to collect things from the ground that they actually threatened to steal them from me in my sleep to teach me a lesson.


Dogon Country also has plenty of places to swim. On the first day, we had this great shadowed lake about the size of half a soccer field, surrounded by rocks with a drizzly waterfall in the middle. Two days later, we got to go cliff diving with local kids into this tiny little turquoise river. It’s nice enough to go swimming. Even better to dive! What a treat. On the last day, I had the best experience. Katie had to leave because she was feeling sick the whole trip (really sucks, but she was a trooper), so it was just me and Oumar hanging out by ourselves. We went to this great little collection of waterfalls all feeding into the same tiny river, all surrounded by boulders that made great bridges and caves to play on/in. True to form, I derobed and had a fun time romping around the river grounds. Oumar didn’t mind, and actually joined me for a bit. That day was also the best view of the trip: atop a giant boulder that probably should have fallen once I climbed on, looking out over the river running through hidden caves and down rock cascades, then trees, then the second waterfall and lake next to the village, then nothing but desert and baobab trees until the horizon at sunset. It was pretty amazing. I have a friend who collects water from around the world. I had been debating where I was going to get the perfect water to bring back to him. Needless to say, this day answered that question.


On the last day, I got my fortune told by an old toothless Dogon man. I was actually really into it and was excited at the prospect of seeing shamanism up close and personal. However, I was ultimately let down by his prediction. Apparently (after talking for a minute to Oumar), he thought I was a college student studying medicine. When I asked about my future with love, he asked for money to shake with the cowry shells and sand and he threw them down to see what was what. He pointed excitedly to three shells that were touching and told me that it meant they were talking about my future. He further interpreted this to mean that I would soon find a woman. In FACT, if I bought his special bracelet, they would actually FLOCK to me - but only if I bought the bracelet. When I asked what role men would play in my life, he just repeated the bracelet pitch. Needless to say, I hesitated to even give that one a kola nut. In any event, it was a great trip, even to the very end.


The next day, I left and met up with Katie in Mopti. Ironically, we had a real movie moment in that I couldn’t get in touch with her, but we both magically appeared at the hotel we had talked about going to if her family arrangement fell through. And it turned out to have a great pool, delicious food, and be really affordable. It was great.


Back at the hotel, we also ran into Chris and Gina, our travel companions in Pays Dogon. I don’t think I mentioned it yet, but we had two friends traveling with us for the majority of our trip. Chris, a nurse from Missouri, and Gina, a magazine writer from Canada. They were dating and had started a trend of working for six months, then blowing all their cash on year-long backpacking trips around the world. They met doing that in Southeast Asia and now they had come together to West Africa. They were great travel companions. Really fun to be with and they made it really fun. It was nice to make new friends and even nice to run into them again in such a happenstance way. They even treated me to pasta and salad at the hotel. I look forward to keeping in touch (for the friendship, not the food).


The trip back was kind of a nightmare, but we survived. The short version is that we thought we had our act together to leave at 8AM and in fact, we did. We got on the bus and were an hour in when I realized I left my passport at the front desk of the hotel. So we got off, found a bus going the other direction (in the middle of nowhere, great timing), and crashed at the hotel until the afternoon. Unfortunately, buses only leave at two times in Mali (8AM and 3PM), so we lost a lot of time because of my idiocy. Then again, better to be able to leave the country and be an idiot then be proud and be stuck in Bamako without an identity. We eventually got back around 4AM (our driver didn’t smoke and apparently is ambivalent towards G-d, luckily). The trip was ridiculously long and Katie and the fortune to be stuck next to a Malian who hated having the window down but refused to move. So he just sat huddled in his windbreaker for 15 hours. It was quite a sight. When we got back, our room was locked despite our attempts to ask them to leave it open for us, meaning that we had to sleep in the courtyard on the ground until the first call to prayer woke the family up. At that point, the day was so frustrating, it was just funny. We laughed it off and passed out.


Now, we are thoroughly exhausted. And rightfully so. TONS of work to do this week now that everything has developed while we were gone. A bit of a time crunch, but we’re going to make it work. 8 days left and counting. In the words of the infamous Tim Gunn, “DESIGNERS, MAKE IT WORK!!!”


I need to pass out.


X Adama X