constanttrek

Menaka

April 8th, 2007

I am absurdly happy.

There are a lot of reasons for this; but the first is that I am, to my almost incredulous astonishment – HALFWAY across this thing.

There aint the words to tell you how good that makes me feel – here is bolshy sod and I being happy together.

The second – I am, somewhat unexpectedly, writing this from Bamako, Mali's capital.  No – I didn't suddenly decide to take the quick plane out at halfway point; but some decisions have had to be taken.

Despite giving the camels as long as I could possibly afford, to rest and eat in Gao, upon arrival in Menaka, there was no longer any debate about it – my boys have had it.  Fortunately, I have been deliberately holding out for Menaka, since for the last 1500km common nomad wisdom has had it that the best camels between Mali and Niger are to be found there.  This is partly because adjacent to Menaka there is the most wonderful forest full of all good things for camels; it is the only seriously good feed for many kilometres around, meaning that if you want camels with fat on them, Menaka is the place to find them. So at least I am in the right place, at last.

 But I arrived in Menaka on the day of the market, and although I did get there, I didn't have the time (or energy) to start negotiating, and it is a week until the next one; so in the meantime, I am making a final – concerted – effort to sort out the ongoing satellite/laptop dramas in a major capital city with efficient communications; and I am giving my poor brave champions of camels a last ditch chance to recover.  If they can't do it on this feed, they never will.

So – back to Gao, and to the actual journey here.  They are never – EVER – uneventful.

I went to lunch with the chief I mentioned previously (and I have a huge and embarassing error to correct – he is Songhai, not Tuareg as previously stated, and I apologise for any similar errors made wholly through my ignorance), and not only ate like the proverbial camel, but also met a lovely girl from the Peace Corps, who is stationed in Gao for the next two years.  We had a bit in common – she has bought herself a horse, and gotten very active in setting up a horse association here, as horses play a huge part in the local culture.  Brie is also extremely fluent – as are many of the Peace Corps workers – in Songhai; something I am totally impressed by, speaking not a single phrase. 

I was really touched – in exchange for the copies I made of the photos I took in his village, the chief gave me this mat as a gift.  No more thorns in hard to reach places…

I also ran into the pretty amazing Lachlan Prouse, pictured here filming my departure from Gao.  He is (I am proud to say)a fellow  Australian, and has been cycling for the last four years.  He's covered over fifty countries and gone through the kind of ordeals that make the rest of us look totally weak and pathetic – cycling through Iran and Afghanistan in the dead of winter at 30 degrees below; confronting drunken trigger happy guards in countries at war; and generally doing the hard yards, without website or fanfare.  It was bliss to knock into another Aussie, and particularly one who really gets the whole long term travel thing, and his company made Gao even more perfect than I already thought it.

I looked at the camels when they came back into town and didn't feel overly confident; I could see that they had gained a little weight, but nowhere near enough to keep them going strong.  I admit that packing up in the courtyard of the Bangu I felt pretty worried – plainly obvious here, good look Paula! - but also very frustrated.  I knew there was absolutely nothing I could do in Gao, and short of trucking to Menaka, buying more camels, walking them back to Gao and then attempting to find buyers for my clapped out guys in a town that isn't known for camel trading, I couldn't see any option but to walk. 

 

Adding to  my concerns was the news that an Oxfam vehicle had been hijacked on the route to Menaka that week; and that there seemed to be a substantial amount of movement of unsavoury characters.  Now, I get pretty used to people mumbling about bandits and danger and every conceivable nasty, and generally I heed the warning but take it with a grain of salt.  But when the warnings are coming from every quarter, thick and fast, people pulling you aside and quietly saying "please listen, this is really NOT a good route," it starts to get a bit depressing.

 

So all in all I was feeling a little sober the day I bid the lovely Madam Haowa and the boys at the camping goodbye.  (Little Moussa is the obviously height challenged fellow at the front).

And look – it wasn't a great stretch.  There were an inordinate amount of vehicles passing at odd times and in odd places with men riding shotgun with what can only be described as seriously BIG guns.  On a couple of occasions after too many questions were asked about what equipment we were carrying, and where we were going, Moussa and I quietly packed up and moved camp at night.  Adding to the unsavoury flavour was the rather sticky issue of water, of which there wasn't, really, a great deal; not fun when the camels were already run down.  We put ourselves on rations and donated a lot of our water to the effort of keeping them on their feet.  All of this wasn't helped by the fact that for the last three days, the wind got up to good full on, headwind proportions, which left me dragging three very tired and hungry camels direct into dry, sandy gales – not a brilliant combination.

Look, none of it was really serious; the wells weren't overly far apart, just not good distances for tired and thirsty camels, who were foraging for pretty sparse feed.  The guys with guns weren't really that dangerous – more interested in making money than causing anyone harm.  And the wind – well, that is just part and parcel of life here.  And fortunately, I of course had the excellent company of little Moussa, who is a king of calm, knew most of the bandits on the route anyway, and didn't think I was being at all overly fussy about the camels when I insisted on giving them water from our jerry cans; even  staying up at night to water them after they had rested. 

It was just depressing watching how hard the camels were doing it, and worrying every day whether they would actually make it the full distance to Menaka or not.  I think whilst I can happily push myself to exhaustion, that I have never found anything more disturbing or distressing than watching the camels struggle to get up after the baggage was packed.  It was the little white camel that really had me worried – I have never seen an animal so patently, utterly, shelackered as that guy was on the last limping kilometres into Menaka.  Despite walking  seriously slowly, taking 12 days to do the 300km between Gao and Menaka, all three camels were a sorry picture when we finally knocked on the door of Moussa's family – but the little white guy was just shot to pieces.

But – as happens so often, to my great good fortune on this walk – I couldn't have found myself in better hands.

Moussas family are Tuareg from the Kidal region of Northern Mali;  They are serious camel people, and epitomise all the qualities I love in the true nomads I meet – unconditional, unstinting hospitality; immense good humour; and a real concern for their animals.  Moussa's Dad switched straight into action, and that same afternoon my camels were in the hands of a nomad trusted and known by the family (who I also met) grazing in the heart of the forest fifteen km way (which I went to have a look at, this time.  No more trusting anyone with my camels, no matter who the hell they are.  Hard lesson in Tomboctou, that one!) who I am paying the least I have ever had to, to watch the camels.

Moussa and I made the decision to travel to Bamako together, since he also has stuff to do here, and I took two days with the family to get other bits and pieces sorted out.

 

Because here is the thing: for weeks now, since even before Tomboctou, little things have been falling apart;  camel baskets breaking, saddles tearing, ropes snapping, even my lovely tea sack getting holes in it.  And I guess somewhere deep down inside I was looking at the weather and thinking, "oh Lord, it's getting hotter, everyone says I can't walk through the heat, remember last time in Morocco when it was fifty degrees, you are going to have to stop and come back…" and maybe, under it all, I was giving myself some kind of out clause; I was letting things fall apart because I wasn't sure if I could do it or not.

But something has happened in my head in the last month, for a number of reasons – but not least because I had a chance to really rest for the first time in Gao, and take stock, both of the walk so far, and of the realities of continuing.  And I guess I have realised that no matter how much of a rocky start it was in Mauritania, and no matter how many mistakes I feel as if I have made on the way (and one does give oneself rather a thrashing over those) I seriously, SERIOUSLY want to make it to Egypt.  So I have pretty much stopped the train of thought that thinks about what "isn't possible" and started looking after the things that are  – like taking two days to fix and organise all my kit.  I also spoke to a lot of Tuareg nomads in Menaka who know the dread Tenere stretch between Agadez and Bilma (800 km with ONE tree and not many wells) and began to feel optimistic that, yes it will be tough but – YES – it CAN be done.

I went to the market and for the first time since midway through Mauritania, saw seriously big, fat, strong camels for sale.  So I closed my heart and sold the little clapped out fella; I reckon he will be one happy camel when he realises that his sole job for the forseeable future is to munch in the forest.  I am really, really hoping that my other two (yes, ok, my favourites) will pick up over the next ten days or so – by anyone's standards, they are seriously good camels, and I don't want to sell them unless it is absolutely necessary.  But I plan on buying two new ones anyway – the biggest, toughest, bolshiest sods I can find; since good camels are in short supply between here and Libya – and so is feed.  It is going to be hot, hard, and hungry for a long way after I pass Tillia, the first town in Niger, and I want to know I have the camel power to make it.

But you know – I really, REALLY want to make it. 

So I organised my whole kit, and ate Moussa's Mum's wonderful cooking and played with the endless parade of children – who are so utterly beautiful I can't describe, and so incredibly courteous, as are all African kids I meet, fetching a pillow if they see you about to lie down, collecting your water bottle and wetting it down so it stays cool – and this at perhaps three or four years of age.  I never cease to be amazed at the inbred courtesy, competence, and good humour of kids here – to watch a six year old calmly pick up her infant brother, change him, feed him, and pat him back to sleep, all without fuss, is something of a wonder to me every time.  And they really know how to have FUN; the inventive games are just endless, and fascinating to watch.  I really enjoy being with the kids here.

An aside – Moussa's family were active in the Tuareg fight for liberation and equality in Mali, which was resolved some years ago.  Moussa himself played a pretty active role, although he desn't have a lot to say about it.  But he did show me one thing – the bullet holes left in the door and walls of the house, one particularly big one – just about head height.  His mother and sisters were crouched hiding in that room when the military came shooting in; later that night Moussa snuck them out and took them to Kidal until the fighting was finished.  Somehow seeing the holes in the walls makes it all the more immediate; and watching the middle daughters, no more than early teens, competently running the house and cooking I thought:  well, I guess they've seen more than their share of hardship.  But to see the good cheer with which life is handled, the singing in the early morning when they sweep the courtward with handmade brooms, and prepare yoghurt and drinks for breakfast; the way everyone looks after the small children, and nobady argues over who's turn it is to do something, instead just calmly getting on with it all …it is a different world.

Moussa and I left Menaka on yet another joyful truck ride, that brought us back to Gao before taking the bus here to Bamako.  We stayed with more family in Gao – which pretty much feels like a second home to me now.  Moussa's Aunt took one look at the state of my braids and ordered me to my knees, undid them all, and washed my hair in the dried mint and water concoction she mixes up.  It feels so cool – lucky since the way she attacks one's scalp, I practically need iceblocks on it after she's done.  So I have new braids and a final feed of the family speciality, barbequed fish from the river and fresh salad – a huge joy after a hot dry stretch in the desert, even if it was only a twelve day one! 

I got to Bamako this morning after eighteen hours or something on the bus – but it was a really efficient trip by African standards and I have no complaints at all, since I have a blissfully cheap place to stay, family to fall back on and help with everything, and – get a load of this – I just discovered a supermarket that sells CHILLED WHITE WINE.

 What's all this guff about crossing a desert…??

I am determined to stay put until I get all of the loose ends sorted and organised – I am fed up with walking and trying to organise myself through sat phone calls to family, and worrying about what to do when I get to a town.  I will get back to Menaka, buy my new camels, have things sorted as best I can – and then over the border to Niger, and on into the tough haul.  I just know I can face it all with that much more confidence knowing that I have set myself up as best as I possibly can, in advance, so I can focus on the walking and keeping it all together out there in what I know are going to be tough conditions.

(Reckon the wine will taste good too!)

But you know – the first couple of days out there on the last, before the camels really went downhill, and when I was still energetic enough and the wind was calm enough, to take photos, I looked around in the morning and thought: Man, I still LIKE doing this.  And I do.  When the camels are good, and the mornings are still and calm; when the wind isn't howling, and the desert is bandit free and peaceful – then it is seriously, a great place to be, and a brilliant walk to be doing.

 

And the rest? 

Well – I guess it's just like that, sometimes.

One thing I forgot – the mighty Jagair, king of donkeys, named after a friend of Moussa and I from the Camping Bangu.  Some of you may remember Ali Baba from the Morocco walk; well, if that little donkey never spoke for nearly the whole walk, this guy is making up for it.  I have never known an animal more vociferous in voicing his opinion; Moussa and I tethered him ever further from our camp until we realised that only made him howl more.  But he's a gutsy little guy, and will come in handy, no doubt, for my next guide. 

I truly hope that the next update comes to you from the desert – it would be great to say I solved this sat comms stuff.  Keep your fingers crossed, huh?

And thanks, thanks, thanks for all the messages – I seriously love getting them and they are one of the reasons I feel so absurdly happy and confident out here.  Having that unending support of family and friends makes anything possible – I treasure every text, email, call and comment.

Cheers

Entry Filed under: trekking