Oxygen

I escaped from Bamako to go rock climbing the last couple of days in Siby, a village near the cliffs of sandstone amidst the Sahel in southern Koulikoro region (same region as Bamako, on the road to Guinea, heading southwest out of Mali). Our transport going was a bus (the driver of which only owned one tape, played on loop, of a laughing and then crying baby remixed techno style), for which we waited for hours. At least we were entertained by the endless barrage of insults to our names due to "cousinage" (it's a way to pass the time). We enjoyed the "nectar of the gods," a sweetened purple drink made from hibiscus flowers served ice-cold. We also practically ate the banana vendor out of business. Arriving in Siby, we dropped our bags at the "broussy" hotel (a collection of huts with no electricity nor running water) and walked out to the main road. The moon hadn't risen yet, so I took in all the stars that I had been missing while under polluted Bamako skies. Then it was time for dinner. The street food in Siby is renowned. I had a plate of beans and a plaintain sandwich, avoiding the meat-sticks even though they looked so good! The next morning, after delicious street omelets, we met the guys who ran the rock-climbing expeditions. The hike up to the cliffs really wasn't too grueling, though, the incline was abrupt. The mist and fog hadn't cleared yet, so we only saw a shrouded Sahelian landscape below. Once at the base of the runs, the guides sparred no time in whipping off their shirts (a Malian thing, regardless of gender really...it means getting down to business). As they were setting up the courses, I hiked up to the crest of the butte and over around back of it where there was a beautiful wind-eroded arch. Just like southeastern Utah. Because we are at the period where Mali is most lush (end of the rainy season) I couldn't access the top of the arch. The climbing was great, one run took me two tries (30ft), and the last (60 ft.) was my favorite because of the ledge at the top, allowing me to stand and scream "Alhamdulilahi!" I also just sat up there (until the balayer was getting impatient) and breathed. This was oxygen. Without odors of sewage and feces, without exhaust! The climb down the butte was a bit rough on my knees, but nothing a little rice and tigadegena (classic west African PB sauce) couldn't cure. In the afternoon when went spelunking of sorts. We went hiking up the northern escarpment in search of rumored caves with waterfalls. We found paradise in Mali. It was at least 10 degrees cooler in the cave, if not more, with ferns and hibiscus and a waterfall. Palm trees hugged the mouth of the cave, and birds were serenading us as we sat and enjoyed the surroundings. Again, I took as deep of breaths as possible without passing out...the air was just that intoxicating. We watched the sunset from out of the cave, but the muezzin calling evening prayer reminded us we had better hike our way back down the cliff side to make it back before dark. I opted for street food again. Macaroni for me this time, with more beans. It all sounds like perfectly mundane/bland food, but with a little Maagi (Le secret de bonheur) everything is delicious. Our last day we decided to get up early to get transport out before the market really got bustling, but things didn't go as planned. We quickly found the van headed to Bamako. This was 8:30. They loaded our stuff and said we would be on our way in "quelque minutes" only. Ha. By 9 the rest of the group found us, deciding it would be easier to go into Bamako and then catch transport back out to their sites. Well, this meant the van was getting more full and maybe we would get going. No. At 10, we threatened to find other transport if they wouldn't leave in 10 minutes. We knew there would be no shortage of passengers up the road desiring to board. Why did we have to pack it in right in Siby?? So 10 minutes goes by and the girls who wanted off (two of us had no choice but to stay on this transport) caused a scene trying to get their bike off the roof. The driver flat out refused. They started the car, and said we would be on our way. Lies. All lies. For as soon as a mediator (arguments are always solved by a third party here) settled the dispute and the girls found other transport, they turned off the engine again. Drat. So we were depressed by the sad looking donkeys, discussed development politics in Mali, joked with the few on the van (my Bambara is surprisingly improving just by immersion), and finally obtained "kosam" (sweetened milk sold typically by Peulh vendors). But we couldn't leave the van. That meant giving up our primo front bench seats (most breeze, least dust, close to the exit!!) Evidently we were waiting on another car due in with more potential passengers. These turned out to be three ornery goats (strapped to the top...goats really sound like small children screaming when in distress...not cool) and about 30 chickens tethered to the side of the car. By the time we started rolling (11 am) and got passed the second "gendarmerie" checkpoint, we had four men in the cab of the van, 23 people in the van (with middle bench added and two chickens who refused the tether), and 3 on the roof with those screaming goats! I could not feel my knees down...at least the road wasn't incredibly bumpy. Transport is always obnoxious here. Always. And yet I always enjoy the experience because of the conversations had (always starting with insults/jokes and demands for items to be given as gifts), random things observed, and whether or not I can beat the record of 29 people in the back of a van, experienced on a trip back from homestay last August....