Segou

It is a little after 9 pm, and I just finished dinner. I just got back from the Malaria training center, waiting for a ride to Doneguebougou and having to wait according to the Malian Mathematics I have alluded to earlier. I am rather exhausted from the weekend, and for good reason.

I decided a few weeks ago that I wanted to get out of Bamako for a while and see another part of Mali. I consulted my guide books for a small town, on the Niger River, that would do well as a visiting spot. One of the researchers I worked with recommended Segou, Mali’s second largest city. It is nestled about 230 km from Bamako and sits right on the Niger river. From what I had read in the guide books, it sounded like a jewel that is overlooked for her more popular cousins Mopti and Djenne. I decided then that Segou would be my destination.

I was all set on arriving to Segou alone and checking it out on my own when a chance encounter with a Peace Corps volunteer this past Friday night who had worked in Segou mentioned that her friends were all there this weekend, and that they would serve as great hosts. Not one to overlook a chance to meet some new people, I got her friends’ numbers and gave them a call. I agreed to meet up with some of them for lunch on Saturday right after I arrived. Perfect. . . .

Well that chance encounter ended up becoming a late nighter as we met some other Americans and enjoyed the local night club on the Bourbon St. of Bamako. Surviving on 4 hours of sleep and fasting for Ramadan did not make the morning any easier. I ended up rolling out of bed around 8, somehow packed a small bag, and made my way to the main road to get to the bus station. Naturally, I thought the station was somewhat close to the downtown area, but I was wrong; it was on the other side of the river. I arrived, not really sure what the hell I was doing. This was partly due to the lack of organization at the bus station and my hangover which was in full effect at that point. I found the main terminal and paid for my ticket to Segou for the 9:00 am bus: only $6!! At that point, a few strange occurrences bode either a good omen or bad karma about my trip. First, I saw a man wearing a New Orleans Saints sweatshirt. He was standing near what I assumed to be his shop (aka informal shack selling trinkets). I approached him and asked to take his picture, but he refused. Then a few minutes later, I saw a man wearing jeans with the New Orleans Hornets emblazoned on the front thigh. Given the reaction the previous guy made, I did not ask for his photo. I could not believe my eyes: 2 different Malians wearing paraphernalia from my city at the bus station in Bamako, Mali. What are the chances? The third happenstance was perhaps the most weird for me: I was sitting down on a bench in the open air seating area (there was a roof over our heads) and noticed a small frog hopping right towards me. He stopped right between my feet and, I kid you not, pissed and shat right there in front of me and then kept hopping along. I will leave that one alone for you all to ponder.

So, as I alluded to in a earlier post, time in Mali tends to run on its own schedule. I factored in that we would not leave the bus station on the 9:00 bus until about 9:45 or so. Well, surprising enough, we started to board the bus at 9:15. I couldn’t believe it. The bus was interesting: It looked something right out of the 70s: brown upholstery, red, brown and yellow curtains on the windows. There were air conditioning vents along the sides, so I figured there might be a chance for a little A/C. I found an empty seat, hoping the bus was not full; of course, it was. Perhaps one of the only large women in Mali happened to sit right next to me. She carried her bag on her lap and her Carmen Miranda sized bunch of bananas under the seat in front of us. Needless to say, I had a tight fit. By about 9:30 or the bus was pretty full, and I had anticipated that we were ready to go. I was wrong. We sat on that bus until 10:30, with no A/C (apparently those vents are for show only), no windows. It was like a sauna in there. And, in case you don’t know, African’s aren’t known for their use of deoderant, so you can imagine the smells eminating from the bus. I kept telling myself as I tried to ignore all around me: this was the experience I was looking for, and that it would be something interesting to share one day.

So finally at about 10:30, a pudgy Malian with a cigarette in his mouth sauntered on the bus and took his seat at the driver’s chair, making sure to hike his pants up before he did so. He reminded me of a New York cab driver lost in Mali. Finally we leave. Even some of the Malians on the bus were complaining, and the bus driver shouted back in Bambara some kind of invectives to them. We were finally on our way.

The guide books said to expect a 3 hour drive to Segou; given what I have thus learned in Mali, I was expecting something more of a 4 hour drive. The landscape is not much to be desired. It is the start of the dry season, so a lot of dead brush along the road and a lot of browns and tans creeping up alongside the few remaining green patches of shrubs and trees. We were traveling on the only main paved road/highway in Mali, the same road that I am sure I will be taking to head up to Bandiagara and Tombouctou. There were a number of small village alongside the road that I am sure sprung up after the road was developed. It seemed like we stopped off at each road side village, and the villagers there scrambled to the bus, shouting and screaming at us to buy something they had to sell: water in sealed plastic bags, fruit, trinkets, soda, etc. We also seemed to be supplying enough charcoal to supply the Malian army, because at each stop, we seemed to accumulate more and more, to the point where the aisle was stacked with 50 pound bags of charcoal. If an accident had happened, I am sure it would not have been pretty to escape.

After a 4 hour bus ride, we arrived in Segou. I cannot tell you how happy I was to be there. The view from the bus showed it to be a smaller version of Bamako, but a lot less busy and more pleasant. The French influence was evident everywhere: the streets, the houses and buildings, everything had the stamp of a French colonial town. We arrived at the bus station, and I walked the 4 blocks over to the Hotel Djouliba where my Peace Corps acquaintance was waiting for me. I looked and felt like hell, so after I freshened up, I joined her and her friend for lunch. (Side note here: I had fully intended to keep the fast thing going, but there is actually a stipulation in the Koran that allows you to break the fast when you are traveling as long as you add on more days to the end of the month to make up for lost time: Ummmm, I don’t think I will take this whole fast thing THAT far). I had an incredible lunch: Exotic salad (chicken, tuna, mangos, papaya, lettuce, thousand island type sauce) and a Castel. My Peace Corps colleagues were going down the street to the Hotel L’Auberge swimming pool. I had yet to check in to my hotel (Hotel Esplanade), which was on the river and not far from the action. After checking in, I joined them poolside (Following their suggestion, I said I was a Peace Corps volunteer, and got a mad discount on the price of drinks and the pool). What a pimping place. There were already other Peace Corps volunteers there, enjoying a much needed respite from village life. After a few Bili Bili Castel’s (aka 32 oz. beers) my hangover was definitely gone.

We decided to freshen up and move the party to the Hotel Esplanade bar on the river for a sunset beer. This bar was a small place right along the banks of the Niger. It had ample seating for the 6 of us (myself and 5 Peace Corps women) and the beers were very, very cold. We saw some of the sunset, but clouds obstructed a clean view. It was very peaceful and relaxing, and it reminded me of many a sunset evening spent along the Mighty Mississippi, the Big Muddy, in Uptown New Orleans, post-medical school exams, sipping cold Abita Ambers and hanging out with friends.

The party continued back at the Hotel Djouliba, where it was Pizza Night: you make your own Pizza in a brick oven. I dined on a Hawaiian style pizza and a small carafe of cheap South African wine, which was the staple alcoholic beverage for the whole group. We then explored one of the local Malian bars, The Tempest. It was just like the seedy Malian bars I have been in Bamako: dark, a few lights, cold, cold beers, and little seating. After that, we went to the only night club in Segou: The Mobasa. Pretty much the same fare as the last bar, except outside and with more seating. Ramadan kept the local crowd at home, but the place was kicking with the Peace Corps regulars and the random medical student from Tulane.

It is really hard to describe “The Perfect Day.” Different people have different definitions of what it means for a day to be so: chilling at the house, visiting friends, good day at work, etc. For me, The Perfect Day was on Sunday in Segou. The Peace Corps girls had convinced me to stay an extra day as the “newbies” were coming in that day to check out the area for the first time (the new class of volunteers had just arrived on Sept 23) and they had planned a party for them complete with dinner and a local band. I woke up feeling surprisingly spry and good for the number of beverages we had consumed the night before. Plus, it was 8:30 am and I had the whole day to play. I met up with some of the ladies for breakfast at the Djoliba (see a pattern developing here. . . .). Again, incredible: yogurt, mueslix, orange juice and coffee. Fantastic!! I then borrowed one of the Peace Corps bicycles and took a bike tour of Segou.

Truly, a beautiful town. I started out by the river front, rode past my hotel and made it to the pottery section. There were easily 1000s of pottery pieces for sale, and more arriving as I perused their stock. Low on cash and with no easy mode of transport, I opted out of buying something, promising to return later to purchase. The architecture around that area was quite stunning: Neat little Sudanese houses made from the red clay of Mali, classic French style architecture, Arabic-influenced, mud houses. It was rather incredible. I continued along the river and made it to a main road of sorts. Huge, French style mansions rested on both sides of the road, upon which huge trees created a canopy of sorts for the street. I swear it reminded me of somewhere I had once lived. Hmmmmm. . . You decide.

After the street, I made it to the main road and continued to the downtown area of sorts. This is where Segou becomes Mali’s second largest city: traffic, markets full of vendors and buyers, small banks and government offices. I decided that I had seen enough and decided to venture back to the Hotel Djoliba to drop off the bike and somehow make my way onto a pirogue (aka canoe) to cross the Niger River. I ran into the only Peace Corps guy there that weekend and asked him to introduce me to one of his shady friends who had connections. I somehow was able to con my way onto my own private pirogue for only $6!! I made it down to the water front with one of the shady friends and found my equally shady boat. It looked sturdy enough from the outside at least. We set off with myself, the pirogue driver (Fa-Fa) and his little brother (Amadou). The current is strong even as you get out about 20 from shore. Even though our destination, a small fishing village, was directly across from the port, we had to go upriver about ½ mile and then attempt to cross so as the current would help us a little. Overall the trip was about 45 minutes. We got to the other side and walked around a bit. It was oppressively hot then, so we sat in the shade and enjoyed some Malian tea with the pirogue driver and his family. While the family invited me to stay with them for the night, I politely said no, and made the long trip back to the other side. Not one for being passive on a boat, especially on a canoe, I asked the pirogue driver if I could help him paddle. He said yes. The 45 minuted trip over lasted only 17 minutes coming back. As we pulled in, the entire port seemed to stop and watch the Toubab paddle, something I think they have never seen before, as most tourists prefer someone else paddle for them.

I then hiked back to the hotel and jumped in the pool with some of my Peace Corps friends and some of the new volunteers. The Bili Bili ba Castels sure went down well after a long day. We then all met up for dinner back at the Djoliba, and went to hear a local drum band at the sketchy Malian bar we had frequented the night before. The sounds and the feel of the band reminded me so much of New Orleans. We ended up shutting the place down, and I crashed hard back at the hotel. It was tough saying goodbye to my new friends in Segou that night, but something told me that I was to return very, very soon.