Djéné
ByThrough Mac we hired a 4×4 which took us down to Djéné to see the famous 600 year old mud brick mosque. Essa, the driver was a quiet, reliable man with a pleasant demeanour. Essa said that the whole town of Djénné, including the grand Mosque had been designated a UN World Heritage site in 1988.
Our guide, Baboucarr, was one of the guides recommended by Mac. His working name was John Travolta. He said the tourists liked a familiar name which they were comfortable with and which they could remember to pass on as a recommendation, if it was merited. We picked him up at the ferry over the Bani river. The great mosque, said to be the largest mud brick structure in the world, was an impressive sight with three large square towers, in the centre of the front façade, each reaching over 10m into the clear blue sky. Each tower had an array of wooden poles, or toron, sticking out of the surface so that workmen could easily climb to repair and maintain the banco exterior after the rains each year. Around the massive toron studded walls were pointed castellations giving the mosque the air of a fairy tale castle. Standing on a three metre high plinth the Mosque dominated the central market square. It was said that with the main worship hall being 50m by 26m and with 90 pillars supporting the wooden roof the mosque could accommodate a few thousand worshipers.
According to Baboucarr an original mosque was build by King Koy Konboro in the thirteenth century, when he converted to Islam. Apparently in his religious zeal he demolished his palace and build what became known as the Konboro Mosque. It survived for many centuries until Amadou Sékou, a Muslim Fundamentalist, shocked by the inhabitants’ revelry in the square in front of the Konboro Mosque, allowed it to fall into disrepair considering the building to be desecrated. Sékou then built a new mosque in 1834, but this was converted into a madarsa, a Koranic school. The current Djénné Mosque, built in 1907 rose from the rubble of the 13th century Konboro Mosque on the same site.
Unlike many of the world’s great mosques non Muslims were not permitted to enter the Djénné Mosque. Baboucarr explained that a French fashion photographer had held a fashion shoot there a few years previously involving scantily clothed women. This stupid and flagrant disregard for customs and religious sensibilities had led the Mosque Council to ban all but believers. I can well imagine a similar outrage if the photographer had tried the same stunt in St Paul’s Cathedral or the Vatican.
The town itself was composed of many three storey mud brick and banco, flat roofed houses. The streets were narrow to create shadow so that it was as cool as possible. We went inside a few houses and these were also pleasantly cool. One feature which intrigued us was the toilet tower. These three storey high towers built onto the houses were accessed from the top. When full, indicated by a trickle of liquid from a vent near the top, a hole was broken in the bottom and the waste taken by cart to the fields to be used as manure.
From the flat roof of Baboucarr’s house there was a panorama of flat grey mud roofs dominated by the silhouette of the towers and castellations of the great mosque. He introduced us to his wife, and two baby daughters, as she was sitting on a mat on the earthen floor preparing a meal of cous and small fresh water fish. According to Baboucarr many of the householders felt that the traditional mud and banco houses were difficult to maintain and their design didn’t fit in well with modern living. So there were some houses being refurbished using modern brick. Anxious, however, to preserve the traditional look and feel of the town the city fathers had obtained grants to repair many of the houses using traditional methods. So Djénné still has the air of a thriving centuries old town, worthy of being one of the top tourist attractions in Mali. We certainly found Djénné as interesting as say Bruges, in Belgium, with a similar old world charm.
At the end of a very interesting day we returned with Essa to Mac’s Refuge in Sévaré to another delicious evening meal chatting to our fellow guests around his big communal table. Our discussions centred around Timbuktu and the best way to get there. On the one hand we could spend three days on a tourist piroque from nearby Mopti, gliding down the River Niger, through the great inland delta. Alternatively we could hitch a ride on a commercial trading piroque in Mopti and cover the distance in a less comfortable but probably more interesting trip. The overland trip was another option. Using public transport bush vans the journey from Sévaré to Timbuktu would take two days. We decided that, for us, the best option was to trace the ancient salt road from Mopti to Timbuctu with Essa in his truck.
Steve, Joyce and Debbie had spent a quiet day at Mac’s and were beginning to restore their equilibrium. A message from their son, Jeff, delivered by a messenger from the chief of the village he was living in indicated that Jeff would join them in about a week.
Essa met us in the morning and we went to fuel up the truck. Then we called into his compound where his wife brought out a basin wrapped in a cloth which contained his food for the trip. The first 200km was on a well surfaced road to Douéntza. We stopped there to buy our favourite, roast lamb seasoned with Sahara rock salt and a box of 24 bottles of water which we would need later. Then we headed out into the desert over a graded latterite road. This took us past huge precipitous outcrops of red rock glowing in the morning light. Soon the road disappeared and we drove over smooth desert pavement past small bare bushes and isolated pockets of scrub. The route through the red sand was marked by boulders and the tracks of other vehicles.
A donkey train of 100 donkeys each loaded with four slabs of Saharan rock salt walked past going in the other direction, from Timbuktu to Mopti. Four Tuareg herders loped along beside them with long effortless strides. Each slab was about a metre long, 40cm wide and about 3cm thick. The rock salt was mined at Taoudenni, about 700 km north of Timbuktu and brought there probably by truck. In the past camel trains of hundreds of camels took a month to cover the distance which now takes a few hours. Essa told us that the Tuareg was saw traded grain and other crops for the salt and brought to Mopti.
The 200km desert route took us through large areas of sand with some bushes, low scrub and some areas of sparse grass. We passed the occasional man on a camel and several camels roaming free nibbling the few leaves on the bushes but never saw another vehicle for the whole of the journey to the Niger ferry. Occasionally the tracks in the sand faded out, but Essa seemed quite confident that we were still heading in the right direction.
Eventually we reached the ferry crossing at the River Niger. A spit of yellow sand extended out into the broad blue river. At the ferry crossing Margaret attracted a crowd of little girls who hugged her legs and no doubt hoped for presents. They were the children of families who sold food and refreshment to the travellers waiting to cross on the ferry. We waited two hours for the ferry to Karioumé on the far bank. As we waited other vehicles turned up, the drivers and passengers sitting patiently on the sand and chatting, in the shade of their vehicles. During that period we chatted to local farmers who managed to persuade three donkeys and two cows to climb into an open pirogue to be ferried across the river.
The crossing on the ferry, a small but relatively modern, diesel powered craft cost 14,000 CFAs and that was split among the number of vehicles travelling. As there were seven cars on the crossing we paid 2000CFA each. Gliding up the River Niger toward Karioumé we saw fully laden trading pirogues, with bright ornate designs painted on the bows, hull down in the water, and men standing on the arched canvas awnings. From the ferry it was a short drive on a well made road, past the airport to the town. We stayed in the new Hotel Hendina Khan. The manager was a very friendly affable man who chatted easily to us. In the evening we strolled into the town and met Mohamed, a young man, with stylish sunglasses, who professed to be a student who worked as a guide to supplement his income.
The room was comfortable and well equipped but not very well finished for a new hotel. The evening meal was basic but wholesome. Each diner was equipped with a fly swat so we guessed flies must be a problem at some times of the year.
This article is part of a series describing our tour of West Africa
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