My most surreal / memorable travel experiences: #6 See full map
I was in Mali for five weeks in the summer of 2001 to participate in a training program run by my university's engineering school. We spent several weeks providing instruction in computer hardware repair in French to a small group of locals. I was fluent in neither the subject matter nor the language before starting the project, but of necessity learned quickly. During the final week of our stay, a subset of us opted to join a former Peace Corps volunteer on our team in her former village in a very rural part of the country, near the Burkina Faso border.
Transport to the area was by a minibus that only ran on certain days of the week. This village was named Benin (not to be confused with the nearby country). We stayed in the compound of the chief, a man with four wives and children and grandchildren seemingly everywhere. In a place thoroughly cut off from modern technology - no electricity, plumbing, telecommunications - it was easy to settle into the rhythms of village life. Nights were startling bright, as our stay fortunately coincided with a full moon strong enough to cast shadows, which had the added benefit of enabling us to actually see when we walked. Despite the remoteness, a store in the village had a refrigerator run by generator that held (what else) Coca-Cola, available only slightly cooler than the hot summer day.
On the once-weekly market day I went and sat by the meat stall, where a small herd of living goats were tied to a post, their numbers slowly dwindling throughout the day as they were unceremoniously dispatched and served up roasted. One of the more macabre sights was the line of heads from the butchered goats, which someone had lined up neatly next to the oblivious remaining ones.
During one of our group's meanderings through the village we had seen an older man walking alone, with the tattered clothes and unkempt hair that often mark the homeless in America. My host had known him from her prior work and explained to me that he was a known eccentric. He had a strange fixation on wood, which he collected and tracked meticulously. He would apparently lay claim to particular branches and reacted badly if anyone took a piece that he believed to be his. It was unclear what he needed all of this wood for.
Without constant electronic stimuli and schedules we rose and slept with the sun. At night I remember sitting at the edge of the compound, listening to the deafening sound of frogs croaking. When one of us shifted they would all instantly cease. The silence would hold for a time until a brave frog ventured a croak, whereupon the full chorus would almost instantly resume. I still wonder how they could track our movements in such coordinated fashion.
Next: on a motorcycle delivering medicines to Burkina Faso in a thunderstorm, and a nighttime visit
I was in Mali for five weeks in the summer of 2001 to participate in a training program run by my university's engineering school. We spent several weeks providing instruction in computer hardware repair in French to a small group of locals. I was fluent in neither the subject matter nor the language before starting the project, but of necessity learned quickly. During the final week of our stay, a subset of us opted to join a former Peace Corps volunteer on our team in her former village in a very rural part of the country, near the Burkina Faso border.
Transport to the area was by a minibus that only ran on certain days of the week. This village was named Benin (not to be confused with the nearby country). We stayed in the compound of the chief, a man with four wives and children and grandchildren seemingly everywhere. In a place thoroughly cut off from modern technology - no electricity, plumbing, telecommunications - it was easy to settle into the rhythms of village life. Nights were startling bright, as our stay fortunately coincided with a full moon strong enough to cast shadows, which had the added benefit of enabling us to actually see when we walked. Despite the remoteness, a store in the village had a refrigerator run by generator that held (what else) Coca-Cola, available only slightly cooler than the hot summer day.
On the once-weekly market day I went and sat by the meat stall, where a small herd of living goats were tied to a post, their numbers slowly dwindling throughout the day as they were unceremoniously dispatched and served up roasted. One of the more macabre sights was the line of heads from the butchered goats, which someone had lined up neatly next to the oblivious remaining ones.
During one of our group's meanderings through the village we had seen an older man walking alone, with the tattered clothes and unkempt hair that often mark the homeless in America. My host had known him from her prior work and explained to me that he was a known eccentric. He had a strange fixation on wood, which he collected and tracked meticulously. He would apparently lay claim to particular branches and reacted badly if anyone took a piece that he believed to be his. It was unclear what he needed all of this wood for.
Without constant electronic stimuli and schedules we rose and slept with the sun. At night I remember sitting at the edge of the compound, listening to the deafening sound of frogs croaking. When one of us shifted they would all instantly cease. The silence would hold for a time until a brave frog ventured a croak, whereupon the full chorus would almost instantly resume. I still wonder how they could track our movements in such coordinated fashion.
Next: on a motorcycle delivering medicines to Burkina Faso in a thunderstorm, and a nighttime visit
