Mali (2)

	From Bamako we started our long journey north with our guide Omar towards Ségou, Djenne, Mopti and eventually Timbuktu. At Ségou we stopped for the night with some of Omar’s family and their tortoises. The Dogon have a special relationship with the tortoise that has been passed down throughout the generations. They believe that if you have tortoises in your homestead, then you will always have grain (in a sense, a totem species to protect the family and bring it good luck).


	We discussed in the morning at length how the family wished to set up a refuge for the tortoises on some land they had available, and Julie offered them advice on how to go about applying for international funding (also advising them not to mention in their proposals that they might sell their surplus baby tortoises to Gambia for eating!).

We stopped for some food in San the next day. When we returned to the truck there was a woman lying on a blanket with a baby next to her and both were extremely sick. Omar spoke to the husband and related to us that they had visited the doctor and received some serum and now needed to return home. Around us there were other cars coming and going but nobody paid any interest at all to the family’s plight. It made me angry that the Malian people around would do nothing to help their own and once again just left it to western hands.

We put the bed down in the back and covered it with a blanket. The husband helped the mother into the truck, she could hardly stand and was delirious with fever. I stooped to pick the half-naked baby up and it started crying, as I held it, I started to wonder about our baby and an overwhelming feelings of sadness flooded through me, as this little soul looked seriously ill. I climbed into the cab and laid the child next to the mother.

It was about 120km along the tarmac road before we arrived at the turn off to their home and the husband explained that they could now walk the dirt track to their village. When we found out it was a further 30 minutes drive into the bush we further insisted on driving them the whole way as the woman could barely stand. At the homestead we were met by some of the family and as the husband helped his wife into the hut I handed the baby over to the grandmother and felt totally helpless as I watched her eyes fill with tears. We tried to understand what the doctor had diagnosed and if we could offer further treatment, but all we were presented with was a plastic packet with two anomalous red pills. As we left we could not imagine that either mother or child would live through the night, we could only console ourselves that if they died at least it would be at home with family and not at the side of some dusty road.

We slept that night at Chez Baba in Djenne, I rose early to photograph the largest mud brick mosque in the world, and fix the leaky tap in the water filter.

In Chez Baba we also bumped into Manuel and Ivan, two Spanish architects who were back-packing around West Africa, In fact, Jools had met them before in Dahkla (Western Sahara) whilst I was sourcing vehicle parts in town. They remembered the truck very well and very soon we had agreed to take them both to Timbuktu, bringing our merry band to five.

	We stopped in at Mopti en-route for supplies and to see the sights, the best of which was certainly the fish and salt markets, and the boat-builders. It was also in Mopti that the Spaniards introduced us to Bissap: sweet, red, cold, nectar. The drink is made from dried flowers boiled with sugar, and then frozen in small bags. Lush.