I woke up feeling a little anxious – nay, frustrated, because I had been unable to draw cash from either of my credit cards last night.

We had to make several substantial payments today – the hotel for 3 nights, Mikael for his arrangements, including the desert trip from Timbuktu and the hotel there, the driver and day tour, and the boat that was to take us from Mopti to Timbuktu…

I am happiest when things work out the way they’re planned, and while I love a challenge, I get worried when money things don’t work as planned… I had a back-up plan in the back of my head, but it was still wanting, willing the ATM to work.

My MasterCard I knew wouldn’t work, but my VISA (which I got only for this trip) should have done. But it was hanging, and hanging. And doing nothing!

But – a dream of mine (part I) did come true today (11 November 2009):
I got to see the Grand Mosque in Djenne in the flesh! I should say in the raw, or in the “mud” to be more accurate – but you know what I mean 

It is a photograph of this building on the cover of the June 2001 Getaway magazine that has been stewing in the back of my head for all these years, “I’ve got to see that building myself”. And here is was!

It wasn’t quite as big as I thought it would be, and the market space in front was quite filthy, but I was so happy to be there. Travel guides recommend that you go on a Monday when the market is in full swing, but our itinerary didn’t work out that way, and that’s not the most important thing for me anyway. The Mosque was.

Djenne is a town set on the banks of the river, but it wasn’t always there. The previous location suffered under quite a few natural disasters (flooding mainly) and has since moved to its current location. A young virgin girl was sacrificed – “built” into a wall, alive – to protect the town, and to date it has not suffered more disasters. Her tomb is in town on the water’s edge to see.

The whole town is mad of adobe (mud and grass), which makes it sandy and prone to disliking water.

The Grand Mosque is the world’s largest mud structure, and is over 100 years old. Each year the mosque is re-plastered after the rainy season, to give it a new look – we saw some of this, as they were not quite finished yet. The mosque has plenty of those wooden beams sticking out of it at regular intervals. This is not only for decoration – but also as footholds (or scaffolding) for repairs after the rainy season.

After we arrived in Djenne, we needed to find a guide first of all – someone who could speak English and tell us about the place. We quickly located such a youth in the market place, and after some hefty negotiations (in his favour…) we agreed on a 3 hour tour. Bear in mind that it was now around 10h30, and already about 31 degrees Celsius!).

We looked at the mosque, bought a cooldrink nearby, and were promptly offered the chance to go inside the mosque. For a fee of course. And completely aside from the fact there are large signs indicating that non-muslims are not allowed into the mosque.

For a fee which constantly changed from 25 pounds to 25 dollars and then 25 euros, someone was willing to look past the fact that we weren’t, strictly speaking, of Islamic faith… always a business opportunity!

Dirty side street, little alleys with sewerage “lanes” or drains in the middle, little rooms that are the schools, the market area, the fishermen at the bridge – all sights and sounds of Djenne.

Halfway through the tour I realized I was likely to suffer serious sunstroke, so ended up buying a large straw hat – which probably saved my life. we also cut back on the tour, not covering as much of the town as we had initially planned, the heat, and walking in it, just became too much.

We did however do a sterling job in supporting the local arts and crafts artisans – bought hat, jewellery, and then cloth from the women’s cop-operative. Some beautiful stuff!

After the 2 hour drive back to town, I tried all 3 ATMs in town yet again (and there are only 7 in the whole country…) but to no avail. It was at this point that I was starting to get restless, and sms’d my dear loving parents and asked them to assist, by wiring me money via Western Union.

And here is another irony of life:

A week earlier Mikael had insisted on a 30% deposit for his arrangements. He doesn’t take credit cards, so he suggested I wire it to him. With some hesitation, and a bit of hassle from the bank, I went and did it, cursing the process from start to finish.

Little did I know that a few days later that experience made it possible to get out of this pickle. I managed, by SMS, to explain to the parentals how to go about doing this process. And apart from leaving out one small crucial details (sorry Dad!) it seems to have gone well – and I’m ever so grateful to my parents, Mikael, and the universe for this sequence of events 

Anyway, at this point I was still desperately trying to enjoy the holiday, while worrying about whether the money thing would work in the morning, in time. Thanks heavens SA is an hour ahead of Mali, so we would score an hour that way the next day. Ruth drew extra money, but couldn’t draw enough for both of us.

Interestingly, here as elsewhere in West Africa, we are constantly asked if we are Americaine? Belgique? Allemagne?

Afrique du Sud?!

“Aah! La Cup du Monde!!! ”

Move over Mandela…

it seems that the Y2K bug hit Germany a decade later than was expected

read this article i found on news24.com today:

Germans buy – with cash
2010-01-07 17:02
Berlin – German shoppers hit by a “Year 2010″ computer bug that has bitten 30 million bank cards fell back this week on a proven means of payment – cash.

Ines Klem, 45, for instance, said she has decided to withdraw “between €20 to €50 ($30 – $70) on a regular basis to be sure to have no more problems”.

A day earlier, Klem had tried to buy food and found herself with a full basket and no way to pay for it after her bank card failed to work as normal.

“Everyone was looking at me at the check-out,” she said.

The problem stems from computer chips in the cards being unable to cope with the changeover to the year 2010, leaving millions of Germans starting the new year unable to withdraw cash or to pay with plastic in shops.

Glitches

The situation has since improved at cash distributors, with bank staff working overtime to reprogramme their software, but payments in shops and supermarkets are still subject to glitches.

The German HDE retail trade association said the flawed cards hit about 20% of one million retail point-of-sale terminals in the country.

Worst hit were holders of bank cards issued by Germany’s dominant public-sector savings banks and cooperative banks, but clients at private lenders Postbank and Commerzbank clients also had problems.

“Sometimes cashiers get cards to work by wrapping them in plastic film before inserting them into the payment terminal,” Klem noted.

The problem was a reminder of the feared “Y2K” bug of a decade ago that had governments, businesses and individuals expecting the worst at the turn of the millennium. In the end, everything went smoothly.

This time around, German banks believed they will be able to reprogramme the defective bank cards via automated teller machines so as to avoid the cost of replacing them, estimated at €250m – €300m.

Lawyers will probably have to decide whether it is the banks or the card makers who foot the final bill.

Problems common

The French firm Gemalto, a major supplier of bank cards, said it and banks were mounting a joint effort to develop “a corrective process that avoids the replacement of the affected cards”.

Around one third of all German credit and direct debit cards, known as “electronic cash” or EC cards, are believed to have been hit by the bug.

Germans trying to make purchases abroad have also experienced difficulties and the German association of savings and regional banks DGSV has said it might take until Monday to fully resolve the problem.

Europe is working toward a harmonised electronic payment system with the Single Euro Payments Area (Sepa), a direct debit network that covers 32 countries.

Back in Berlin, “the situation is not extreme”, said Kerstin Haertel at the Thalia bookstore chain before adding: “There are always problems with cards.”
- SAPA

I’ll always remember the bend in the M5 where I said yes. It was while I was driving on the long straight stretch of the M5 just after the Koeberg interchange that I answered the call which posed the seemingly casual question of, “what are you doing on the 1st of January?”

“Nothing that I can think of now – don’t have anything planned… why?”

“Well,” continued my friend, “I’m not sure if you’re up for it, but we need a model for a hen-party… we’re doing life drawings and need a man to model for us…”

A brief silence ensued…

“OK…”, said I.

“Do you think you might be…?”

“OK”, said I.

“So you’ll do it?” she responded, sounding half relieved and half surprised.

“Yes. Yes, I will. It’s actually something I’ve wanted to do for some time, but I didn’t expect you to be the one to ask me”.

“And I didn’t know you were such a tart!” I heard exclaimed through my ear piece as I negotiated the other vehicles changing lanes in the home-ward bound traffic that evening.

I was told that she would confirm in a few days time, as they needed to arrange for some easels, but that I’m booked so long anyway.

I hung up the phone in some disbelief at having had that conversation on my way home from work, but feeling quite intrigued and interested.

While easels were found and a rehearsal date set over the next few days, I googled life drawing poses, contemplated taking my kit off in front of a group of women and did a poll amongst my friends to see if they would do it too (only 2 said yes).

I considered asking for a guest list to see if there was anyone I know that would be there, but decided that if someone from school or studies was there, they would be as embarrassed as me, and it wouldn’t change anything anyway.

I got a call a few days later to say “we’re on” and agreed on a time to do a rehearsal of sorts.

I wore “nice” underwear to this “rehearsal” in case they wanted me to strip down as practice for the day, and to see the poses we were to agree on. But I told myself that I wouldn’t get starkers before the day.

In the event though, we didn’t get nekkid, but spent the session scripting a story for the art class that we would hold for the bride. We decided on my poses, and the props that I would use – hats, swords and canes mainly. We had a lot of laughs, and came up with a great plan for the day.

I left the rehearsal, and headed for a wedding, feeling quite excited about the hen party.

I told some more friends, to varying degrees of surprise, and on New Year’s Eve I got home still feeling excited by the whole idea. Before I went to bed, I even went onto gumtree to see if anyone was looking for life drawing models, and found that a local art school had in fact posted just such a request. I stopped myself from replying on the spot, thinking I would first see how the session goes, which would determine if I would do it again.

So I switched off the computer, turned out the light and shut my eyes. I was tired, so sleep would come soon.

Only it didn’t. I kept thinking about tomorrow (strictly speaking, later today), and wondering how it would go. It took a while to fall asleep and when I finally did, the dreams began. I can’t remember any of them in any detail, but they were variations of what I was about to undertake in varying degrees of outrageousness. You know those dreams that just keep going and going, and if you wake up you fall right back into them, because your mind is occupied with only this thought? End result was not the best sleep ever.

In the morning I found myself feeling a little nervous. Not anxious, just midly crapping myself at the realization that this was actually going to happen. Today.

I busied myself with doing the dishes, packing for the weekend away, and tidying up bits of the house. I was thankful for the quiet evening the night before, meaning I didn’t have a hangover. Giving me more presence of mind to consider the impending “show”.

I needed to be at the house at 12h30, so I took a shower at about 11h45, and promptly froze. I realized with a start that I had forgotten the one thing I needed to do, that all my friends had suggested.

We had all agreed that it would be best to “go in empty”. And I had forgotten to unload. I calculated that my nervousness was unlikely to cause unreasonable growth, as long as I kept my mind on sober matters. At about this time it also struck me that opposite could actually be a problem too – I didn’t really want unnecessary shrinkage either….

On my way to the venue then, the universe decided to send me a little tester though, because we all know that she has a sense of humour… Stopped at a traffic light, a cyclist came to a stop next to my car, waiting for the lights to change.

The legs, the butt, the distraction, the test… don’t let that image linger!

I continued, and was startled again when I turned into her road – there wasn’t a single car in the road, let alone outside her house! Was it cancelled? Was this some massive trick? Was it a “private showing”? It’s amazing how quickly the mind can run through a multitude of scenarios.

I heaved a sigh of relief when I saw the cars parked in a side street – I would be happier with more women than fewer. The art teacher was there, and we were quickly smuggled in, despite being spotted by one of the dames…
The bride had said that she didn’t want a stripper, so our idea was that gathered group – with collective hangovers and a glass of bubbly or two each in hand – would be told that there was a surprise, to help familiarize the bride with the male anatomy prior to her marriage.

To the cue of Joe Cocker’s “You can leave your hat on” – that quintessential stripper song – the art teacher would come out, causing the ladies to wonder for a second if he would be a stripper, but quickly be put in place by him as being the one who would be getting the bride to draw.

When she starts drawing he would exclaim, “mon dieu!” and announce that help is needed for this lady and her drawing. At which point boards with paper would appear, and the laundry boy would be fetched from the back of the house as a model to assist them – dressed in apron sans anything else, drying his hands as he comes in.

And so it was that we were in accommodated in the laundry, and I quickly changed into said apron, so that I would get comfortable with the whole idea. Glasses of bubbly were brought to calm the nerves; the first disappearing rapidly, the second being savoured while we heard the ladies chatting away inside – loudly and unaware. Basically having a good time.

At one point though, our male voices were heard through a side window, causing the bride to call out “Hello Big Guy” to the man of the house, that she thought was hiding in the back. He had, though, left the building house ago.

We completely missed our cue – and Pierre, the Art Teacher, had to be fetched, because we couldn’t hear the music from the back there. So out he went, and the show began. I remained, trying to remain calm; the bubbles had gone straight to my head, which certainly helped.

A last minute shrinkage check did not look promising, but nothing to be done now – and within minutes I was called out.

Dishcloth in hand, drying my forearms, wearing only a blue & white striped apron, I entered the room. Gentle giggles from those who spotted me first, and then excited laughter from them all as I entered the semi-circle of women – feeling nervous at the knowledge that I would be starkers in front of them all in a few moments…

It’s a strange feeling in my head to explain, almost like a loud humming halo around my head, helping me block out some of the group.

I heard the art teacher talk to them, while I started to remove the apron, naked butt causing some giggling. I’d hoped this would go quickly, so I could get into position, but obviously the knot got stuck and I struggled with that a bit.

I turned around and casually sat down on the stool with my arms crossed, trying not to feel nervous anymore. The group was being given their boards with paper, and there was much chatter in anticipation of their having to draw.

The Art Teacher asked me to uncross my arms, and the drawing began. I glanced down to establish the degree of shrinkage, but made peace with that, nothing I could change now.
The keep-still-in-position session had begun – and the girls were drawing. I was sitting on a stool with no props for this first session, and their instruction was to draw me as they saw me. I stole a first glance at the group while they were busy to see if there was anyone I knew. I’d had a moment on the way over wondering how I would react if one of my ex-girlfriends were in the group, but I didn’t know anyone.

I stole another glance at some of the papers nearby – and saw that some were focusing on my face, others on my legs and quite a few were not shy to draw it all!

After a few minutes of them getting tips from The Art Teacher about using cylinders and circles to draw the human form, I was asked to change pose.

By this time I was completely relaxed, and no longer fazed by being naked in front of a group, so that when I got up to get the sword for the next pose, it felt quite natural. The only thing bugging me was the fact that despite the anti-perspirant I’d put on wasn’t working, and an occasional drop of sweat landed on my leg… throughout all the sessions.

I got into The Thinker pose with a sword in my right hand, the tip leaning on my left thigh. The women were asked to now focus on the negative spaces around my body, and the triangles created by my arms and legs.

By now the group had calmed down, and were really into the life drawing aspect of this, enjoying this quite unexpected and fun activity.

So I was quite relaxed when I got up again, and swopped the sword for my straw hat and stood in the corner with my back facing the group, right leg raised on a low stool.

The Art Teacher explained that on women it’s called a derriere, but on a male it is called a bum. The group was instructed to draw me from behind, or to focus on a part of my anatomy and draw that.

The last pose was me lunging forward, hand on a cane, wearing a top hat and bowtie. The new instruction was for the ladies to draw for 30 seconds and then pass their drawing onto the next one for them to continue – this happened about 5 times, and lead to some funny drawings!

I was excused, and left the room, straw hat over privates, more for show than out of embarrassment – and to some applause from the crowd.

I came back, dressed, and they all compared drawings – which was fun. There were some really good ones, some very flattering ones (some were generous, others gave me a six-pack ) and some humorous ones – including one where I was drawn with the sword going through my bleeding stomach!

I got a few of them – funny ones and good ones – a great memento of a fun experience – really enjoyed it!

I guess I’ll be calling that art school in the week 

As i am a bit of a book-nut, about 2 years ago iI created a list of all the books I own, and marked next to each one whether I had read it, started it or if it’s a reference book.

At the time there were about 600 or so books on the list, including some duplicates. As of today there are 757 in my collection (and sure to grown over birthday and Christmas season…)

I also discovered that while owning all these books, i haven’t actually read them all… at the beginning of 2009 I’d read 38% of my books (excluding teh reference ones) and i set myself a target of reaching 45% by end of 2009.

Each time I finished a book i updated the spreadsheet and the countdown was nearing 0 – which it finally reached last night

So i can happily say i’ve read 45% of all my non-reference books!

for the new year i’m going to try and change the goal a little. i kind of avoided the bigger, thicker books in order to reach my statistics goal, but i’d like to try and cover some of those interesting books as well.

but it is gratifying nonetheless to see this goal reached!

well done to me

One of the other things I love about travelling is that you live in the moment – that a week before or after fades into insignificance, because you are experiencing, hearing, tasting, feeling, smelling NOW. And that’s a wonderful place to be – one we don’t explore often enough in our every day life.

I caught myself again a week ago, when I got the opportunity to go to the Aqua festival at the V&A Waterfront.

They have a stage with 65 tonnes of equipment on it, which floats on the water of the harbour. The audience sits in stalls on the quayside, but all the action takes place on the floating stage. In the background is the face of Table Mountain, and all around are the lights of the apartments, the windows of the Cape Grace hotel, and the muted lighting reflecting off the hulls of the multi-million rand yachts moored nearby. It had been a bit rush to get there, but once I took a moment to absorb the setting, I realized that this compares with (and is maybe even better than) some of those concerts you see taking place in Central Park in New York. Truly magnificent is Cape Town 

I’m not necessarily a big fun of opera, but I thoroughly enjoyed that evening of music – 4 excellent singers, supported by the Cape Town Philharmonic Orchestra with a varied programme. If you can, you should go!

One niggle on the night was that people kept getting up and leaving during the show. I know that it was a dress rehearsal (damn good though!) and that the tickets were free of charge, but neither of those give you the right to disrupt the audience and performers by walking out before it is finished. Some people seem to think that because it is free it is not so bad, or they just don’t appreciate it the same way as if it they had paid for it.

It wasn’t just one or two people – I wouldn’t have mentioned that, but there were a lot of people. It is just bloody rude!

Anyway, while I was sitting there I thought back to my week, and how it was actually a good one, even though I didn’t always focus on the moment enough:

1. On Friday evening I got the opportunity to ride in a stretch Hummer limousine! Space for 10 people, and boy was that fun! The lights inside, the tinted windows meaning you can see the oglers outside, but they can’t see you. The bubbly, the music, the smiles it brings to people’s faces. Wonderful!
2. This brought us to a wonderful dinner with my colleagues in a superb venue (Opal Lounge) where we were served by a very cute waiter – much to the enjoyment of a few of us…
3. a wedding in the Harold Porter Botanical gardens in Betty’s Bay the next day. Even though I’ve sent so many people there, I’ve never been – and it is a beautiful spot.
4. our work Christmas party the following night was also a great success: I won Best Dressed Male and got a Shark Cage diving trip for 2 people as a prize. Additionally I won a clock as well as dinner for R1’000 at Nobu restaurant at the One&Only hotel in Cape Town – none of which I would normally do. Lucky me!
5. On the Tuesday I was invited to a High Tea at the Mount Nelson – what a decadent affair  I surprised myself by having mainly savoury foods, but did indulge in one piece of divine cheese cake… again we had bubbly – and I do enjoy those…
6. Wednesday saw my friends and I arrange a lunch for the old age home and hospice guests of Nazareth House in Vredehoek in town. I was blown away by the generosity of people in donating their time and money. Food, chocolates, santa hats, helping hands and even music was donated. Not to mention money that I could donate to them too. People are amazing 
7. and last night Carols by Candlelight in our Kirstenbosch botanical gardens… something that always gets me into the Christmas spirit – again truly magnificent.

So I for one, am trying to appreciate the moment a little more. It’s not always easy in this industry where we are now dealing with rates and issues for 2011, but if I don’t enjoy the present now, when will I?

One of my favourite things about tavelling is being on the move; actually moving from one place to another – either in a car, plane or train.

Often-times I used to get a knot in my tummy about an hour before arriving somewhere. Admittedly this mainly happened in Europe and the US when my train would arrive and I would need to locate the nearest backpackers that had available bed-space… so there was mild anxiety involved, which I didn’t have while on the train.

Anyway, now that I’m (kind of) grown up, I still enjoy the bit about being-on-the-move, but the knot in my tummy is much smaller, because I have invariably arranged some accommodation ahead of time.

We had arranged for a driver to take us from Bamako to Mopti on this Tuesday in November. We were to leave at 06h30 so that we would get to Mopti about 9 to 10 hours later (it’s about 650km).

06h30 came, and we didn’t see a driver. 06h45 came, and I went outside, and the road was still deadly quiet. (which, incidentally, was a massive contrast to the liveliness of the evening before!).

Just before 7 the manager offered to call me a taxi, but was (understandably) a little surprised that we would take a taxi so far… it seems I wasn’t describing myself properly…

So when Ruth explained to him in actual French that we had pre0-arranged for a driver to meet us and take us, he pointed out the white station wagon parked in the road. I’d seen it, but not taken any notice of it. But I did notice it when we all went over and knocked on the window to wake up the driver – he’d slept in the car!

It’s only after the majority of the large mosquito colony in the car had fled into the morning air, that I noticed the green mosquito coil burning in the boot area… but by then we were only killing one mozzie a minute on average. By the time we’d reached the outskirts of the large sprawling city it was down to about 2 an hour…

It was a fascinating drive – reminded me quite a bit of northern Mozambique when I drove from Pemba to Ilha de Mozambique – dusty villages on the side of the pot-holed tar roads and dirt road detours every now and again. Despite them both being Muslim areas, the architecture here was quite different – flat roofed mud villages with increasing Arabian decoration as we got closer to Mopti.

Interesting bit of traffic control though on these long roads – at the entrance and exit to each village (and there were many) the authorities had put narrow but nasty speed bumps across the road – sometimes 2. sure made us go slowly! There was also the odd police roadblock, at which I didn’t dare let my camera be seen – don’t want to mess with police in Africa!

Other road users consisted almost exclusively of crabbing coaches (glad we didn’t use those!), mini-buses laden with luggage and goats – often to twice the height of the vehicle, and Mercs. Yes, when the roof of the min-bus didn’t have up to 30 goats on it, the sedans were of the old 190 Mercedes Benz variety. At one point my random statistics returned 9 out of 10 sedans being a 190 M-B… And we only saw one bus that had nothing on the roof, only one.

We had only 1 flat tyre on the road, thanks to a pothole, and we spent a few minutes at a road side mechanic having that repaired. It’s not surprising that each village has at least one wheel-man running a shop – what with all the broken down buses and the potholes. I’ve also seen this in other African countries – when a truck or bus breaks down most of them don’t have the smart red triangle with reflective circles on it. So what is generally done is that the driver or his lackey walk back along the road in each direction from the vehicle, and place tree branches (with lots of foliage) onto the side of the road at intervals of 50-100 metres. Generally 3 of them in each direction. It’s quite effective, and bio-degradable!

Despite the hungry pothole, the road was actually quite good. Closer to Mopti inland delta of the Niger became apparent with actually lots of water near the villages. By this point I was surprised by how much water and green there is in this country – I had expected plenty more desert. But that was still to come!

After 9 hours we got to Mopti, I went for a short stroll to where the Mopti and Bani rivers meet. Followed by a swim, and then a relax on the rooftop restaurant of the Yas pas de Probleme hotel we’re staying at… beautiful view onto the surrounding buildings at sunset, and the first of 3 nights with delicious spaghetti bolognaise 

We arrived in Bamako last night, off a very full Kenya Airways flight.

It’s fascinating to see how this part of the world is more of a stop-over area than I realized. And how airlines do multi-stop flights to serve destinations that don’t warrant dedicated flights. So you’ll find that Turkish Airlines stop in Dakar en route to Sao Paolo or Brussels Airlines flights stop in Dakar on their way to Banjul.

And then within Africa you have our flight started in Dakar and stops in Bamako on the way to Nairobi. Kenya Airways also has a route via Abidjan, as do several other airlines in the region. Much like they have in South America – where the old Varig did several stops on their flights from north to south in a large country.

Anyway, so we were met at the airport, and driven along very busy roads (despite it being a Sunday) to our hotel. Most of the traffic consists of scooters, many being taxis, and often with well-dressed female taxi-drivers. And almost always without a helmet. In fact I think I saw a grand total of 3 helmets in West Africa.

Our hotel, Tamana, is very nice with a courtyard for relaxing in, with a pool, and a bar. Our room was spacious with own bathroom, but there were many mosquitoes – in the room and outside. I was very grateful for the mosquito nets – which prevented night-time bites, the little critters certainly got a mouthful or two during the evening…

Food was quite expensive too – about R100 for a pizza… which I began to crave by the end of the trip, but never actually bought because of the ridiculous prices.

Here’s a list of what we ate on our trip:

sat 07 in flight meals

sun 08 dakar B: pastries from patisserie for
L: in flight?
Bamako D: Croque madame at Le Relax

mon 09 Bamako B: bread, jam, butter, coffee at Tamana
L: fries in town near museum (heat stroke?)
D: chicken & fries at Tamana

Tues 10 to Mopti B: bread, jam, butter, coffee at Tamana
L: snacks in the car
D: SpagBol at Ya pas de Probleme

Wed 11 Djenne B: bread, jam, butter, coffee at Ya pas
(daytrip) L: bread & fruit in car on way home
D: SpagBol at Ya pas de Probleme

Thu 12 Mopti B: bread, jam, butter, coffee at Ya pas
L: pastries in patisserie
D: SpagBol at Ya pas de Probleme

Fri 13 COMANAV B: bread, jam, butter, coffee
(boat) L: salad & rice with 2 pieces meat
D: Spaghetti

Sat 14 COMANAV B: bread, jam, butter, coffee
L: potatoes (swapped for spaghetti)
D: rice & veg

Sun 15 to Desert B: bread, jam, butter, coffee & omelette at Colombe
L: beef sandwich (baguette) and veg in dunes
D: chicken and veg under the stars

Mon 16 back to town B: bread, jam, butter, oranges, coffee & tea in desert
L: snacks rummaged from our bags
D: spaghetti & sauce at Maison des Artisans in TOM

Tue 17 Timbuktu B: bread, jam, butter, coffee & tea at Colombe
L: crackers & cheese and snacks at Colombe (self-bought)
D: beef kebabs & fries at Maison des Artisans in TOM

Wed 18 to Bamako B: bread, jam, butter, coffee & tea at Colombe
L: croissant in flight
D: ginger drink (!) and pineapple juice; steak & fries at Piri Piri in Bamako

Thu 19 Bamako B: bread, madeleines, water at river at Mande (self-
bought)
L: fruit (paw-paw, banana) & snacks at Mande pool
D: hamburger & fries at Le Relax

Fri 20 to Dakar B: bread, fruit, juice at river at Mande (self-bought)
L: in-flight
D: schwarma & fries at Leyaya (?) Lebanese restaurant

Sat 21 to JNB B: juice & fruit at Radisson
L & D: in-flight

After a very late and leisurely wake up we had breakfast and went on a short walking city tour with Guendo, our self-appointed guide (based on the premise that he transferred us from the airport last night).

Our final destination was going to be the Marché Medina, and I managed to convince Ruth that it would be great to walk, and not too far for her, despite the heat. So we headed off past the fancy nightclubs in our road, and ducked behind a mechanic’s shop and were instantly in a different world.

Obviously this was a short cut – taking us through fields of private veggie gardens that were beautifully tended and lush looking. We reached the rather dusty Hippodrome (horse-racing track) which we crossed with a number of goats, one of whom was being beaten by the goat-herd for being a little too horny… funny, this was to be a recurring theme… no, not the beating, but I did seem to stumble across more procreating animals on this trip than ever before…

But I digress.

The Marché Medina is a local market, not really a tourist trap – so while you won’t find any wooden carvings, you will find plenty of dried fish, raw meat (usually with a free helping of flies), bags of rice, millet and corn, individually packed tiny bags of macaroni (probably about 30 pieces of pasta in there). Piles of motorbike springs next to a group of ladies peeling veggies next to a selection of tyres.

They stall-holders were not keen on photos – in fact I’ve never seen someone move so fast on seeing a camera raised in their general direction. This too was to be common – a country where photos were not liked, appreciated or allowed, more often than elsewhere. One of our guides explained to me that some Malians had seen photos of themselves on guide book covers and had never received payment of recognition for that – hence their mistrust of cameras. Can’t fault them on that!

Dried monkey heads, dirty smelly dusty walkways between the hundreds, and hundreds of stalls of people trying to make a living.

Ruth wanted to get an ink “tattoo” at the one “salon” in the market. It’s an open air space where a group of women sit and braid or extend your hair and ink tattoage patterns on your skin (in henna or black ink). Ruth spoke to the one woman and was negotiating a price for her preferred design. When the lady didn’t want to do it at the lower price, another woman offered to do it, which resulted in a massive shouting match – and I suspect it was only minutes away from a physical altercation. The tempers were certainly high at this theft of a customer.

In the end Ruth went to the woman who offered a lower price, and I had a small design done on my ankle by the first lady.

By this point though we’d had enough of the market – it was hot, and we needed something to drink.

We continued to “Pointe G” which is a hill in Bamako, with a hospital on it, and a grand view over the sprawling Bamako below, with the Niger River weaving through it. We saw the several bridges and markets and the few high-rises, tallest of them being their central bank building.

Exhausted and hot, we headed to the National Museum for the photography Bienalle and a drink, but being Monday it was all closed, despite this being the opening day of the exhibition by photographers from all around the world, including many from Africa.

So off we strolled for a quick bite & a beer at a local restaurant. It doesn’t happen often, at all, but by this point I was seriously over-heating. Diarrhoea, no appetite and no amount of drink was helping either…. I needed to swim and rest – and fast.

I just wallowed in the pool back at the hotel for a while, to let the coolth regenerate me, to bring down my core temperature. One forgets that this takes a little bit of adjusting, even if one does travel regularly! But a nap and a lazy read perked me up again.

After nightfall we went for another stroll, in the other direction, to a bistro restaurant that had been recommended, called Le Relax. It was a super spot – with a terrace open to the road, so ideal for people and car-watching. Interestingly, most cars (and taxis) are old 190 model Mercedes Benz cars – not what I had expected. After that, several Toyotas, but few other German makes.

We had one of those wonderful warm evenings that we just have too few of in SA.

And it is just this warmth of the evening that caused me to fall in love.

Bright, very cool, and despite being quite round, the looks were very promising…

Pineapple juice. From Cote d’Ivoire. I have never tasted pineapple juice better than this… and I was sure to order it anywhere I could from then on… it was that good. And cool. And refreshing.

Damn, I drooled on the keyboard…

“Thank God you’re not old!”

Those were the first words we heard from Sineta, our guide for the day in Dakar – words that were as surprising to us as they were a relief to her.

It was 10h30 on a warn Sunday morning, we’d arrived at our hotel 8 hours earlier, and were excited to get going on our city tour.

She had expected older people, and was relieved to have younger folk stepping out the hotel.

We had expected a Senegalese man with a car, and were surprised to see an African-American woman with dreads and 2 motorbikes.

Yep, the city tour Senegalese Style way! Our hotel had neglected to mention to us that the city tour they organized on our behalf would be on motorbikes – something I would have changed immediately, had I known.

Not only were there no helmets, but despite having passed my bike exam a few months earlier, I had sworn off getting on a motorbike before I got to Timbuku – and now I was only a few days away from that, and certainly not going to compromise.

Despite Sineta’s comments that “we have the best roads and infrastructure in Africa!”, I was not going to risk it this time. Maybe we were older than we looked, but she did understand, and she did apologise for the comment, once we had explained that in South Africa the roads are even better (and Dakar does have some excellent roads!)

Sineta moved here 10 years ago with her 3 kids, to prevent them becoming mall rats in Florida – she owned a store in a mall, and her kids were spending way too much time there.

After Sineta arranged for a car and driver to meet us, we headed to the lighthouse. It was better this way – we could all talk as we drove in one car. I was sad that we didn’t have time to go to Goree Island – I was really looking forward to that, but there was nothing I could do. In the lighthouse we were shown the huge old lightbulbs and the newer small halogen lamps that are used – a massive difference. We went right to the top where the lights turn – quite interesting, especially with the Mexican soap operas dubbed into French on the TV in the lighthouse keeper’s main room!

One thing that had dominated the landscape since we arrived, was huge and brown. From the angle we saw this thing from the hotel, it looked either like a tall and skinny hill, or a massive turd. Once we got closer though, we could see that it is a statue of a man, woman and child, which is absolutely huge. Think of the biggest statue you’ve seen, and then double it in size. Put it on a hill, add steps going up to it, and put holes in the guy’s head, and that is roughly what this “African Renaissance” Statue looks like. The president wanted to leave his mark, a legacy. But when the majority of the Dakarians objected to it, he simply had the statue tuned through 180 degrees, so that the butt faces Dakar, and the Statue faces away – if you don’t like it, you don’t see the best part!

It was only almost finished, so we couldn’t walk up inside, but we did get a great view from up close…

From there we stopped briefly at a beach with many ex-pats on it, and then headed for our first lesson in negotiation. This is something that we would perfect on this 2 week intensive “course” in West Africa – the art of negotiation and not feeling (too) bad when you and the seller take a flying chance with the price asked or offered.

We were the only people at this market – and I’m not sure if this was good for us or bad. Either we got really good prices, because we were their only hope for a sale, but we were also offered ridiculous starting prices, in the hope that we would pay them, as this is their only sale of the day.

The Marche Carmel sells everything from South African fruit to raw fish and meat (with or without flies, but mostly with), to vegetables, soccer t-shirts, clothes, masks and several other curios.

We spent most of our time with the curios and African artifacts – and some clothes that Ruth wanted to buy for her niece. We had to bargain hard – the starting prices were often more expensive than the similar item at home.

And everyone wanted a piece of you – “come look my stall”, “where you from?”, “I have nice [whatever you’re looking at]” or showing you items that you’re totally not interested in. Like Senegalese soccer team t-shirts. Sure some people might like them, but I am completely not interested in that – and they were very surprised by that!

Anyway, after a bit of shopping we went back to the hotel, and got a transfer to the airport, for our afternoon flight to Bamako – on Kenya Airways.

I know I’m going to be told that this has nothing to do with “neutrality”, but in a way it does.

The Swiss had a few referendums over the weekend, two of which are reported on below (thanks to iafrica.com and news24.com for their texts).

Am I the only one to think there is a bit of a contradiction between the 2 articles below?

Anyway, it is a sad day when towers on a house of worship are banned, because these towers are considered to be a sign of Islamic fundamentalism… very sad indeed…

Swiss reject arms export ban
Geneva – Swiss voters rejected in a referendum on Sunday a proposal to ban weapons exports.
An activist organisation, the Group for Switzerland without an Army (GSwA), had gathered the necessary 100 000 signatures under Swiss regulations to force a referendum on the issue.
It called for Switzerland to have “a coherent foreign policy, without participating in conflict and killing indirectly”.
Defence companies had argued any ban would result in as many as 10 000 job losses, and 68%t of voters were against a ban, according to official results.
After the result, Economy Minister Doris Leuthard vowed to “strictly” review each sale of arms abroad and promised Switzerland would not sell weapons to countries that systematically violated human rights.
Switzerland’s weapon exports were worth a total of €477m, in 2008.

Swiss ban new minarets
Mon, 30 Nov 2009 07:35
Swiss voters approved a ban on new minarets being built, with the success of the far-right initiative causing dismay among the Alpine country’s tiny Muslim community.
The referendum to ban the towers or turrets attached on mosques from where Muslims are traditionally called to prayer was approved by 57.5 percent of voters who cast ballots and in 22 out of the country’s 26 cantons.
Far-right politicians across Europe celebrated the results, while the Swiss government sought to assure the Muslim minority that a ban on minarets was “not a rejection of the Muslim community, religion or culture.”
The far-right Swiss People’s Party (SVP) — Switzerland’s biggest party — had forced a referendum after collecting a mandatory 100 000 signatures from eligible voters within 18 months.
They said that the minarets — of which Switzerland has just four and which are not allowed to broadcast the call to prayer — were not architectural features with religious characteristics, but symbolised a “political-religious claim to power, which challenges fundamental rights.”
Having won a double majority on turnout of 53 percent, the initiative will now be inscribed in the country’s constitution.
“The Federal Council (government) respects this decision. Consequently the construction of new minarets in Switzerland is no longer permitted,” said the government, which had firmly opposed the ban, in a statement.
Justice Minister Eveline Widmer-Schlumpf said the result “reflects fears among the population of Islamic fundamentalist tendencies.”
“These concerns have to be taken seriously… However, the Federal Council takes the view that a ban on the construction of new minarets is not a feasible means of countering extremist tendencies,” she stressed.
Switzerland has had an uneasy relationship with its Muslim population, which makes up some five percent of its population of 7.5-million people. Islam is the second largest religion here after Christianity.
A mosque in Geneva was vandalised three times during the anti-minaret campaign, local media reported Saturday.
Widmer-Schlumpf sought to reassure Muslims, saying: “It is not a rejection of the Muslim community, religion or culture. Of that, the Federal Council gives its assurance.”
But for the 400 000-strong Muslim community here, comprised mainly of ex-Yugoslav and Turkish migrants and of whom only 50 000 are estimated to practice their faith, the harm has been done.
“The most painful for us is not the minaret ban, but the symbol sent by this vote. Muslims do not feel accepted as a religious community,” said Farhad Afshar, who heads the Coordination of Islamic Organisations in Switzerland.
The Conference of Swiss Bishops also criticised the result, saying that it “heightens the problems of cohabitation between religions and cultures.”
Young people carrying candles and cardboard minarets led a mock funerary procession in the federal capital Bern, carrying a banner reading “This is not my Switzerland,” the ATS news agency reported.
In Zurich’s central Helvetia Platz demonstrators erected around 12 mini-minarets made out of recycled objects, ATS said, with a total of a few hundred people protesting in the two cities.
‘Violation of religious freedom’
Amnesty International said the minaret ban is a “violation of religious freedom, incompatible with the conventions signed by Switzerland.”
The Swiss Green party said it was contemplating lodging a complaint to the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg for violation of religious freedoms as guaranteed by the European Convention on Human Rights.
In Morocco, a parliamentarian from the Justice and Development Islamist Party expressed surprise.
“I think that Muslims in Switzerland, and those who live in the European Union, have a lot of work to do in communication to show their real face of tolerance and cohabitation of Islam,” said Saad Eddine Othmani.
French far-right politician Marine Le Pen welcomed the outcome, saying that the “elites should stop denying the aspirations and fears of the European people, who, without opposing religious freedom, reject ostentatious signs that political-religious Muslim groups want to impose.”
“Switzerland is sending us a clear signal: yes to bell towers, no to minarets,” said Roberto Calderoli, minister of administrative simplification and a member of Italy’s anti-immigrant Northern League party, told the ANSA news agency.
Meanwhile, SVP Vice-President Yvan Perrin cheered the fact that his party had won the vote “without difficulty.”
He told Radio Suisse Romande that Swiss companies should not worry about suffering from a possible backlash from Muslim countries.
“If our companies continue to make good quality products, they have nothing to worry about,” he said.
Egypt’s Mufti Ali Gomaa denounced the ban on new minarets in Switzerland as an “insult” to Muslims across the world, while calling on Muslims not to be provoked by the move.
“This proposal … is not considered just an attack on freedom of beliefs, but also an attempt to insult the feelings of the Muslim community in and outside Switzerland,” the Egyptian government’s official interpreter of Islamic law was quoted as saying by the state-run news agency MENA.

being a Capetonian, i am supposed to be very excited about the impending world cup in our land, now under 200 days away.

but i have had my misgivings about fifa for some time now, in the way they deal with the whole world cup. it has become quite clear that this is not about the friendly competitiveness of soccer played by the best nations of the current year, but it is rather a cash-cow for fifa’s coffers.

examples:
1. Why would McDonalds have to be the official food sponsor (and only food allowed near a stadium) in Germany – when Germany has some of the best & easiest foods around (such as their well known sausages – perfect for a game like this!)

2. Why does FIFA get tell us who can and can’t trade within 1km of the stadium, and who can and cannot brand their souvenirs with “2010″?

3. Why does FIFA dictate ridiculous rates for hotels, making them stupidly low for the local hoteliers in a boom season, yet selling them at madly inflated prices to the public? I’m glad so many SA hotels and accommodation establishments told MATCH (FIFA’s accommodation arm) to go look elsewhere.

and now the Ireland – France game has just proven this cash-cow fixation:
it is clear, without any doubt whatsoever, that France’s Thierry Henry used his hands on the ball. ANYONE knows that that is not allowed.
He admitted it was wrong.
He suggested a replay.
Ireland suggested a replay.
France suggested a replay.
everyone suggested a reply.

FIFA said, “non”.

Why? presumably because France being in the game will ensure more spectators at the tournament in SA than if Ireland were travelling south. And more spectators = more money. plain and simple.

But now, if France were to actually win the tournament, it may well be considered a fraud by the world, because they shouldn’t have actually been there. by their own admission.

FIFA has fucked up, and like Mugabe, they are too embarassed to say, “pardon”, “sorry” and stick to the actual old ideals of this game – friendly competition between soccer-loving nations – and may the team that plays the best this year win.

very very sad.