Safari na Paka

From Here to There Where there is no Road

One of my most memorable experiences where there is no road, was an awesome overland dissection of the desert to Timbuktu.  No question in my mind how it has come to be synonymous with impossible destinations, although it isn’t quite as difficult as it was in 1828 when René Caillié traveled there.

Back in the 11th Century, Timbuktu had its early beginnings as a Tuareg settlement taking advantage of the northern trade by offering a desert rendezvous locale connecting Jenné, a major market town to the West and the Songhai Empire with the markets of the East through Sudan.  Later under Mandingo kings it achieved note, as a market for gold and salt and at the time was an Islamic cultural center of great splendor.

Back then, no infidel was allowed to reach the city and live, so René had to plan it very carefully spending several years first learning to speak impeccable Arabic and a flawless mastery of the cultural basics.  Maj. Gordon Laing beat him by about two years but paid with his life, murdered as he departed with his entourage.  Caillié was the first to survive the visit and report back to Europe although he lost his health and most of his sanity in the process.

Now there is a boat that takes several days.  The only problem is that it often doesn’t run.  Take the boat in and there is a real possibility of getting stranded in the middle of nowhere.  There’s also a plane that flies in sometimes on a spotty schedule.  It never flew during the week I was there.

During the dry season a 4x4 can do it handily by following the river Niger.  With the onset of the rainy season, sudden disaster may result due to subterranean swamps that can literally swallow up unsuspecting souls attempting to navigate by holding close to the river.  The only option is to avoid the river altogether, which requires intimate knowledge of the surrounding desert that only a local tribesman could possess.  Enter Abdolaye and his apprentice, Ousman, who were just the ones ready to take on the challenge.  Crusty blue robed man of the desert—Abdolaye was a treasure.  We headed out secure in the knowledge that Abdolaye was the man to see us through to our destination.

The most common local language in Mali is Bambara, the predominant branch of the family of languages that includes Mandinka.  From my days in The Gambia with Peace Corps, I have a Mandinka name, Issatou Camera, which Abdolaye loved.  Both the Mandinka and Bambara chant each others name during greetings, so we were always doing the “Abdolaye,” “Issatou,” “Abdolaye, Abdolaye,” “Issatou, Issatou,” greeting thing.  I was traveling in the company of a Canadian male I met deplaning in Bamako, and he was amused by Abdolaye’s insistence on clearing everything through me, a female in a male dominated society.  “It’s because your French is better than mine,” says Mr. Canada.  “Not so,” say I.  “It’s the Abdolaye/Issatou chanting ritual that gives me enhanced credibility.”