Recollections of Djenne
The opportunity to visit West Africa is something few tourists take. Most tourists want to hang out on the beach in a tropical paradise 
or browse the historical wealth found only in Europe. Mali lacks both of these things, and has a reputation as one of the world's poorer nations, providing for me and Belinda the kind of adventure few tourists can barely imagine. The standard of living in Ghana, our port of entry, is well below that of any Latin American country, and yet it is distinctly above Mali, one of several nations created from French West Africa, an arid region about the size of the United States. The rusty and worn vehicles that transported us in Ghana and Burkina Faso managed to navigate broken pavement and deliver us promptly to our destination, but in Mali, almost every vehicle we took broke down. We crossed the great Niger River twice in leaky piroges, and on the journey from Segou to Djenne we had to abandon a broken bus in favor of an overcrowded and slow moving local bachee. By the time we arrived at the crossroads
leading to Djenne, it was midnight, and we had to bargain in the dark for a ride in an incredibly old Peugeot pick up. The fenders had been repounded into shape many times, the doors didn't close properly, and the interior paneling had long since vanished. We had to help push start to get the overloaded vehicle going. The headlights flickered off and on along the bumpy levee road, and the driver had to pump the brakes occasionally as we proceeded in a heavy fog. In the foggy darkness around us, marshland threatened to sink our dream of reaching Djenne. Eventually, the vehicle braved the mud to climb aboard a lonely ferry, and then we reached Djenne and sought out our encampment. In the morning light, the imposing mud mosque stunned us with its clear and alien beauty. The noisy marketplace before the mosque flooded with bright tribal colors. Buyers and sellers bantered over their village produced goods. We wandered narrow muddy and smelly streets admiring the ornamented mud residences that lined the perimeter of the low rise of the island town. During the rainy season, the town is an isloted island, but we had arrived before the seasonal rains of the inland delta region of the great Niger River. Now, only a barren patina of green grass lay beyond the town. In the afternoon, my guide rented an underpowered Peugeot scooter to convey me over the terrain toward villages in the surrounding countryside. Although mixes of tribes do live in larger towns like Djenne, smaller villages typically are home to one or another tribal group only. Distinguished by language, religion, occupation, clothing, and marks of scarification, each tribe establishes for the individual his or her identity. For example, the Fulani are Muslim and herd or grow crops while the Bozo are typically Animist and fish for a living. These groups have unique domestic arts and otherwise live in harmony when resources are plentiful. The image above shows a Fulani family arriving at the Market in front of the great mud mosque. The image below shows a Bozo family at home in a village.
On market day, tribal groups converge on Djenne from great distances by boat, truck, horse cart, donkey, and by foot to exchange their goods and spread news. The great mud mosque casts its spiritual influence over the market. The largest mud building in the world, it is ceremonially replastered with mud each year. Thus, the wood stakes featured on the face of the mosque serve as a scaffold for workers. Non-Muslims weren't allowed inside this sacred building, but having seen smaller Sudanese style mosques, I know that the massive mud requires an equally massive wood framing for support. As a result, the inside isn't the cathedral like open space suggested by its huge exterior. It's the plastic exterior forms that startle the imagination of those interested in architecture. For real cultural knowledge and adventure, visit Djenne, Mali. More photos and travel advice can be found at http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/611ff/200b0a/
or browse the historical wealth found only in Europe. Mali lacks both of these things, and has a reputation as one of the world's poorer nations, providing for me and Belinda the kind of adventure few tourists can barely imagine. The standard of living in Ghana, our port of entry, is well below that of any Latin American country, and yet it is distinctly above Mali, one of several nations created from French West Africa, an arid region about the size of the United States. The rusty and worn vehicles that transported us in Ghana and Burkina Faso managed to navigate broken pavement and deliver us promptly to our destination, but in Mali, almost every vehicle we took broke down. We crossed the great Niger River twice in leaky piroges, and on the journey from Segou to Djenne we had to abandon a broken bus in favor of an overcrowded and slow moving local bachee. By the time we arrived at the crossroads
leading to Djenne, it was midnight, and we had to bargain in the dark for a ride in an incredibly old Peugeot pick up. The fenders had been repounded into shape many times, the doors didn't close properly, and the interior paneling had long since vanished. We had to help push start to get the overloaded vehicle going. The headlights flickered off and on along the bumpy levee road, and the driver had to pump the brakes occasionally as we proceeded in a heavy fog. In the foggy darkness around us, marshland threatened to sink our dream of reaching Djenne. Eventually, the vehicle braved the mud to climb aboard a lonely ferry, and then we reached Djenne and sought out our encampment. In the morning light, the imposing mud mosque stunned us with its clear and alien beauty. The noisy marketplace before the mosque flooded with bright tribal colors. Buyers and sellers bantered over their village produced goods. We wandered narrow muddy and smelly streets admiring the ornamented mud residences that lined the perimeter of the low rise of the island town. During the rainy season, the town is an isloted island, but we had arrived before the seasonal rains of the inland delta region of the great Niger River. Now, only a barren patina of green grass lay beyond the town. In the afternoon, my guide rented an underpowered Peugeot scooter to convey me over the terrain toward villages in the surrounding countryside. Although mixes of tribes do live in larger towns like Djenne, smaller villages typically are home to one or another tribal group only. Distinguished by language, religion, occupation, clothing, and marks of scarification, each tribe establishes for the individual his or her identity. For example, the Fulani are Muslim and herd or grow crops while the Bozo are typically Animist and fish for a living. These groups have unique domestic arts and otherwise live in harmony when resources are plentiful. The image above shows a Fulani family arriving at the Market in front of the great mud mosque. The image below shows a Bozo family at home in a village.
On market day, tribal groups converge on Djenne from great distances by boat, truck, horse cart, donkey, and by foot to exchange their goods and spread news. The great mud mosque casts its spiritual influence over the market. The largest mud building in the world, it is ceremonially replastered with mud each year. Thus, the wood stakes featured on the face of the mosque serve as a scaffold for workers. Non-Muslims weren't allowed inside this sacred building, but having seen smaller Sudanese style mosques, I know that the massive mud requires an equally massive wood framing for support. As a result, the inside isn't the cathedral like open space suggested by its huge exterior. It's the plastic exterior forms that startle the imagination of those interested in architecture. For real cultural knowledge and adventure, visit Djenne, Mali. More photos and travel advice can be found at http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/611ff/200b0a/
