toystour

FOTOS burkina faso / ouagadougou

dividenden

eva in action

mindestens 3 liter wasser (manchmal auch aus plastiksackerl)

neue wertigkeiten von plastikflaschen

staatspropaganda gegen kinderarbeit!

taxi brus

taxi brus mit hühnern am dach

FOTOS out of dogon & afrique ARBÖ

abschiedsfoto in gimini

abschlepphilfe auf afrikanisch

28. 12. The long ride through Burkina Faso

On to Burkina Faso. Crossing the border in the early afternoon, very easy going. We stopped in one of the villages for some cold drinks, and I stumbled into a shop where they sold cars and motorbikes out of cans. I fell in love with a Kawasaki bike out of an insect spray can, and I bought it. In front of the food shop, children were collecting plastic bottles.

Going on, Stefan complained about the smell of diesel in our “living room” and closed the window. I fell asleep to wake up feeling real sick: headache, stomach, limbs hurt.

At night we stopped on a field 50 km from Ouagadougou.

27. 12. Mamadou in Guimini

In Bamako we started to notice, that our plastic water bottles (PET- or Polyethylenterephthalat bottles) were items of value. Our “mama”, who cooked the best food around, used old bottles for her ginger and hibiscus juices. In Mopti you could buy used plastic and glass bottles on the market (for me as tourist for 100 CFA), and they were valuable presents for children. Giving a PET-bottle to children caused serious fights. Since then, we have often been asked for our water bottles, and we started to store them more carefully to give away. We are causing plastic waste in rural Africa. On the other hand, we could be sure, that people here would use them as long as they functioned, and it made their life a bit easier: the bottles are light, they keep the water, and they can be closed easily. They are simply the most efficient storing system for liquids.

Igor explored the Guimini alone early in the morning, and he met an old man who wanted to sell him a wooden mask. Igor started to bargain it for PET-bottles, and he would have got it for 20 bottles.

Stefan, Manuel and I went with Mamadou, who introduced us to the different religious communities: there are Christians, who were drumming last night because of Christmas, there are Moslems, who like to join the festivities of the Christians, because it is always nice to celebrate (and vice versa). And he showed us some of the old, animist cult places, the forbidden areas only certain people are supposed to enter, told us about old prophecies about the new culture to come. He found, it was really important for his people to keep all the old stories (and write them down), but at the same time find their way to the new millennium.

Mamadou turned out to be only 18 years old, and he was about to study mathematics and chemistry in Mopti. Over his door, he had mathematic formulas written, and in his room there were heaps of books.

We asked, why people here were so much friendlier than in Sanga, and did not ask for “cadeaus” all the time. Well – almost no tourists stopped here, only a few passed by from time to time. The village was really remote, with only a few old rock habitations, there were no structures for tourists at all: no hotel, no restaurant, not even a shop. We had found the place we were looking for: what happens to the trash far away from our “civilisation”?

In an interview with Mamadou we found out, that the women collect all the trash one time in the month to put it inside a huge hollow baobab tree. There it turned into humus for the fields. “And what happens to the plastic?” – “There is no plastic”.

About the plastic and paper waste we saw here and there, he said, that it was brought by tourists. It was only a few pieces, and some of our shareholders get nice dividends from a village, that is a bit cleaner now – at least we hope so, because the children were waiting for us to empty our waterbottles, which ended in a battle as usual.

Before we left, I gave the cap I bought in Thailand for my “Asiatopia”-performance with Doris Jauk-Hinz to a man who accompanied us the whole day, and he gave me a carved crocodile – the holy animal of the Dogon.

Mamadou went with us to show us the way out. Driving slowly up the huge sand dune, after about 5 km of driving it became clear, that it was impossible to make it: the sand was too deep and soft, it was really steep. After a surprisingly long backside-debate, we were definitely stuck. It was clear, that we had to go back, but where to go then? It had been possible to go DOWN the sand dune, but up? While still discussing, about 30 people - children and adults came running out of nowhere, and started to cut branches from the bushes to build a track of green leaves on the red desert sand. Then they pushed us up to the top of the dune – our truck of 11 tons! We had no more presents, so they got the rest of our plastic bottle prototypes (big battle again), and about 15.000,- CFA (approx. Eur 25,-). Their routine with this task showed, that it must be a big part of their income.

Survival in Dogon country is quite a task: sometimes it does not rain for a year, and then nothing grows, the animals die, people have no food. We saw wells built by the Chinese, and wells built by GTZ (Gesellschaft Technische Zusammenarbeit, Germany), as well as wells by different US-organisations.

In the late afternoon we arrived at the beginning of the corrugated iron road safely and said “good bye” to the Falaise.

26. 12. Falaise de Bandiagara

After a rich breakfast in our slow gourmet restaurant we started late, because all the ingredients had to be bought, and as there was no bread available in the village, the owner baked us some baguettes. Then down over stones and rocks, slow speed. Endless driving, amazing views. Breathtaking landscapes made up for the extreme shaking in the back of the truck. Sometimes we got out to walk a little bit. Wherever we stopped, we were immediately surrounded by children coming out of nowhere. Some shot us fruits from a Baobab.

We stopped in Banani, and Stefan and Igor followed the voices of women. They landed in a courtyard, were old women were dancing around a women holding a small plastic sack filled with gin, laughing, singing, drumming. At least here the women knew how to have fun.

After hours of driving between the rock and a huge sand dune, from time to time passing tiny clay house villages on the foot of the Falaise, we met some Germans, who work in Abuja. They were driving over the sand dune from the other side, and we discussed the route.

Stopping for coke, we saw some wooden gods, seemingly lying in the trash – well, they just were “young” gods put out to the sun for ageing. There was almost no trash around.

Looking for a quiet place to sleep, we drove up the sand dune - deserts are quiet places. Stopping at a breathtaking gorge separating the Falaise from the dune, we heard very distant voices from up the rock on the other side. In almost no time, a big group of children approached, running down from the rock and up the huge dune and asked us for “cadeau, argent, chemise”. We continued to look for a quiet place, but wherever we stopped, and however lonely it looked, we were discovered and surrounded quickly.

At the end, we decided to go down the sand dune back to the Falaise again. Around dawn, we arrived in a small village called Guimini, and stopped at the village green. Surrounded by children, we started to play with them. A 1 year old Suleyman wanted to be in our truck and we let him sit inside. When his father took him away, he cried desperately. Then Manuel asked for a person, who is responsible for the village, and he was brought to one of the elders. We asked, if we could spend the night under the big tree at the village green, and he welcomed us. His son Mamadou came to the truck and we invited him for our instant ramen. He offered to show us around his village the next day.

25. 12. Entering Dogon country: Sanga

Waking up, our truck was surrounded by children already. Women, children, men were carrying water from the village well, some had carts, a few even had donkeys. Women from the Dogon villages walk 15 km bringing their firewood to exchange it for food.
Our host offered to go with us Sanga, because there was no paved street going there, and he knew a very nice way.
Dogon country is an attraction for 4-wheel-drive luxury tourists. You only can only get there on mud roads, the villages are simple, there is no electricity. In the bigger villages they have a few tourist hotels with generators, the water for the showers is brought from the village well on donkey carts and poured into the sanitary system. Usually, it takes a lot of money and time to get there to explore the ancient rock habitations of the Dogons and Telem.
Sanga is one of the starting points to the Falaise de Bandiagara, the 140 km long rock, 250-300 high, with ancient habitations everywhere high in the rock, even in overhanging areas. The mud road from Sanga to Banani leads from the upper side of the rock to its bottom, from where you can climb to some of the habitations.
On the way to Sanga, we passed small villages with a small belt of green fields around. A dam built by US-Aid makes it possible.
We stopped on a beautiful rock formation, and immediately children appeared, shouting in a quite demanding way: “Hello, money!”
In the early afternoon we arrived Sanga: wonderful old trees, beautiful clay buildings, we were impressed. Children were running towards us as usual, shouting “cadeau” (present), “argent” (money) and “chemise” (shirt). Whenever we wanted to take a picture, they shouted “No! – This is not allowed!”
At the entrance of the expensive hotel on the top of the hill we found instructions, how to behave: only explore the village with a guide, there are many restricted areas, the authorized guides would tell. Never take children as guides, or give them money or presents. Give things to the teacher or the elders of the village, they will distribute.
I went out to take pix of the trees, surrounded by shouting children. Then looking for the market, which was on another hill over the creek. Some children followed, children and adults asked for money all time.
The market was small, as usual women working, selling mostly food. Immediately I was surrounded by women, who wanted to sell their indigo cloth really urgently. I bought some mangoes, grinded peanuts, bakery - everything had the price of 500,- CFA (approx. Eur 1,-), but it made the women smile, and people started to leave me alone.
The market place was quite clean, with some trash on the fringes, mostly organic. Here I found a broken plastic bucket, coloured blue and yellow like many plastic items you find here, so I had to take it as a dividend for one of our lucky shareholders. Suddenly all the friendly women warned me and said, that I should not take this, this is not good! It is waste, dirty and broken, don´t take it.
Happy about my finding I walked back to the other hill, on the foot of it there was supposed to be a festival of traditional music starting soon. We had the appointment to meet in the cheap hotel next to the festival site, Manuel would bring the truck there as well. New children followed me, I tried to ignore them. They touched me and my broken bucket. “Tranquille, tranquille!”, I said (calm down).
I collected some more trash, so they started to collect trash for me, hoping for “argent”. I did not want to make this business, keeping in mind, that you should not take the services of children. They collect more money from their tourist hustling than their hard working parents earn in a month, and then they lose respect of them, their teachers, the elders… So no, thank you, and “tranquille!”
Walking side by side, one of the girls started to hum a melody, and then another one started to drum on a rusty metal pot she had collected for me, and I joined them drumming on my bucket. It was a wonderful band.
Suddenly we were out of the village, and I was lost. I asked the children for the festival site, they did not know of a festival. I asked old people, young people, nobody knew. A boy approached me, introduced himself as a “guide”, I said I just would like to know the way to the festival site. He waved to the left and said, that it is not possible for me to go there, because it is forbidden - I can only go there, when I pay him to go with me. Many (local) adults were walking the ways, so I did not believe him, said good bye and walked in the direction he had shown before, followed by my crowd of approximately 7 children, humming and drumming. I entered a clay village structure with tight paths between the houses, sometimes opening to small squares where mostly men were sitting and talking (the women worked out on the fields). They looked at me in surprise, but answered when I greeted. Many houses were open, and all the time some of my children were shouting: “Don´t take a photograph”. The drumming girl then gestured them to be quiet: “tranquille, tranquille!”, and told me, that I can take photographs. These are not my favourite conditions to take pictures, so I decided to switch off the cam and simply walk through the village, look and enjoy.
On the other side, I recognized the place, and in some distance I spotted our truck. The sun went down already, and I happily walked into the hotel. The children stayed out, our song was over. I decided to buy the metal pot drum from the girl for a few coins, why should it always be the men who win in this hustling business. And we were a band by now anyhow.
The owner of the hotel told me, that the other were at the festival and showed me the direction. Back out of the quiet refuge, children behind me, but after a few meters Manuel and Stefan came and described, what was going on there: a few drummers, not too good, some dancers, and some (white) tourists with their guides as audience. Entrance was Eur 6,-, so we decided to eat. While we were talking, the children kept trying to sell their trash to Manuel and Stefan.
The menu of the simple hotel was surprisingly rich. After an hour waiting for the food, Manuel looked into the kitchen: the owner was standing there with a torch tucked under his arm, cutting vegetables. Satisfied we waited another hour or two, and then he served us the best meal we´ve had for a long time.
After eating, Igor and I wanted to have another look at the festival, but it was over. New children followed us, and Igor started to chant with them. Mali is the country of music.