Kayes to Bamako

On the basis that what can go wrong will go wrong we rose at 05:30 to get a taxi at 06:15 to take us to the bus departure point. We arrived in the darkness and settled down to sit on rickety benches with our rucksacks at our feet. Other passengers had arrived much earlier, or perhaps the night before, and were lying sleeping on the ground wrapped in their travelling blankets and robes. As the eastern horizon lightened hinting at the dawn a lady set up an open air coffee stall on a rough low table with benches on three sides. Several eggs were broken into a glass jar of dubious cleanliness and shaken vigorously before being tipped into a greasy black frying pan perched on cement blocks over a small open fire. She had fresh bread and soon the smell of freshly cooked eggs stirred the sleeping forms who rose like mist from the ground and congregated silently on the benches. Margaret joined them and returned with two omelette sandwiches.

Our luggage was marked with the number on our ticket and our destination and was loaded onto the top of the bus.  All of the luggage was then covered with a tarpaulin and lashed down. Our fellow passengers were an assortment of romantically dramatic looking men in robes and turbans which were wound over their faces leaving only their eyes visible.  There were also women in brightly coloured clothes carrying babies and young children. The passengers were loaded by ticket number, with the dispatcher calling out the names of each passenger in turn.  We were very impressed with this level of organisation, so different from The Gambia.  Our bus was a sturdy looking blue and white cabin, with windows and thirty padded seats, welded onto a high wheel base army lorry chassis.  The vertical exhaust pipe gave it a very business like all terrain appearance.  Our map of Mali was passed around the passengers with great interest. Studying our route, we were surprised to discover that we had set out on the apparently impassable northern route to Bamako through Sandaré, Diéma and Didiéni. According to the ‘Rough Guide’ this route was only an inadvisable rumour but not a practical possibility.  Clearly though or driver had other ideas or, more likely, the road had been greatly improved since the Guide had been written. The road was actually surprisingly good, level and paved for the first 350km.  As we bounced along through yet more light brown scrub and lonely goat herds sheltering under isolated baobab trees we chatted with our new set of friends.  Our dramatically attired companions shed their turbans to reveal rather disappointing looking ordinary blokes.  Ah well what did you expect, Lawrence of Arabia? We stopped at a service area comprising several rustic ramshackle shelters made from branches supporting a reed thatch or corrugated iron roof.  Sheep and goat meat was cooked on flattened beaten oil drums with a wood fire underneath.  These delicious morsels were served on second hand cement bags and exquisitely seasoned by Sahara rock salt.  They were really good and we became quite partial to lamb cooked and served this way. There was also meat and rice dishes on offer and the popularity of these was reflected by the row of busily munching diners on benches around the long tables under the rustic shelters.  The toilet area was round the back.  Men irrigated one patch of sand whilst the women irrigated another.

Having regained our seats with nods and smiles and greetings we were underway again and making good time. The next 100km was on rough dusty gravel roads, with potholes and no road surface.  The narrow seats and cramped conditions made this stretch of the road a bit tiring.  We shared three narrow seats with a thin Malian chap on the isle seat. Every so often the bouncing of the truck threw him off the seat and he had to shuffle his behind back on to the bench.  This he did with smiles and great good humour, but it couldn’t have been much fun for him. The last 150km was on a very good fast road from Didiéni right into the heart of Bamako.  It was a tiring twelve hour journey but there were no breakdowns and everything had gone well.  It was dark by the time we drove slowly into the centre of Bamako which was clearly a large modern bustling city with street lights and even traffic lights. Our travel companions pointed out places of interest, including the lights from the presidential palace, high on hill overlooking the city. At journeys end our fellow passengers were, as ever, friendly and helpful.  We easily found a taxi which took us to the Grand Hotel.

This article is part of a series describing our tour of West Africa
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