WAW 13

At lunchtime we stopped at a desert town where I ventured ashore. Yet once more everyone queued to shake my hand but none demanded "un cadeau". The excitement of noise,colour and movement was addictive and I many minutes standing still, savouring every snippet for my memories. While people embarked and disembarked, like opposing teams of ants, donkey carts patiently awaited their cargoes, human and otherwise. The rare car vied wiuth the few motos for a space closest to the boat as young boys shucked of their clothes and unconcernedly began soaping themselves and each other, washing used plastic bags for recycling as drinks containers, or just leaping into the river for the fun of it, as boys do.

This trip I have eschewed the lonely comforts of Luxe Class for First. A fan replaces a/c, the toilet is shared, my bunk is single, the price is halved. On the "Tombouctou" segregation is less severe and a dozen of us share mealtimes in the bar, even the captain. Here too, the a/c works, music plays morning and evening, pretty girls perch on bar stools and a video plays in the afternoon. It is a much more pleasant vessel than the old "Captain". They even charge less for a cold Castel.

Tuareg camps and Songhai settlements have now been replaced by the grass-roofed huts of Bozo fishing communities, many on stilts above the water, clustered together to form manmade islets. These people live as the Britons of the 16th Century, with modcons dating to the Bronze Age. Thezre is still sand to be seen but greenery is on the increase as we meander ever Westward.

The famous mosque at Djenné, largest mud building in the World, is nothing out of the ordinary here, I having passed 3or 4 equally exquisite, merely smaller.

The ship arrived in Mopti at 0200, the captain having confidently predicted a midnight arrival (if he can't get it right, who can?). Reaching Korioumé 5 hours adrift, now Mopti 8 hours behind scedule, our genial skipper didn't impress me. The delays were a direct result of his hesitant dithering especially when berthing alongside, qualities which can be dangerous when manouevering a large and unwieldy vessel. When it comes to boat- and ship-handling I have always gone for speed with safety, precision and planning, coupled wiuth a certain amount of élan; "cutting a dash" in Naval parlance. But, heck, this is Africa! Things aren't supposed to go according to schedule!

I booked into the Campement (cheap, central, adequate) and managed 4 hours kip before curiosity got the better of me. I like Mopti - it has the vibrancy of Bamako without the traffic. I wandered the wildly colourful market, bought my onward ticket, hit the best cybercafé in town before paying a call on the newly refurbished Grande Mosquée. I then took a look around the fish and salt markets that bracket the harbour, which took me to lunchtime and the conveniently situated Bar Le Bozo. Here, for the first time, the height of the river was well demonstrated. Two years ago, and only 3 weeks further into the season, I looked from the bar's terrace down onto boats and swimming boys, way out of my reach. Today, as boats approached the port, I was eye-to-eye with passengers.

I was befrieznded by a Rasta, Moussa, who was impressed that I knew "John Travolta" (a Rasta I met last trip). I am getting noticed in Mopti and Bamako, if only amongst the "wacky baccy" brigade.

I must go now. The hotel staff have moveed a tv into my room so I can watch the Rugby World Cup Final. I don't mind who wins, so long as the African thugs don't resort (as they often do) to Neolithic behaviour on the pitch. But for any Francophones out there - "ALLEZ LES ANGLAIS!". And for Prime Minister Howard, "Up Yours Mate!"

Dave

Thank you for this colourful description of a place I would dearly love to see.

your musings brought a smile of pleasure to my face, as i remembered mly own experiences in Mopti last year.....