Niger Currents
Exploring life and technology along the Niger river

Eli and I, along with our two Malian colleagues, have just set off from Bamako in our newly-christened 10-metre-long pinasse. As this is a turning point in our journey, we thought it would be a good time to change the pace a little and share our thoughts on where we've been, who we've met and what we've seen. It's also a good time for us to put the road ahead - or rather, the river - into context.

Looking back, both our time in Guinea and our first few days in Mali were incredibly rewarding, but also challenging. We have both learned a lot along the way. The people we've met so far have given us both encouragement and inspiration to face any challenges that presented themselves. Yet almost everyone we've interacted with has been so welcoming and generous that it has made any difficulties seem minor.

I'll never forget the night Mohammed came to our hotel room with a partial refund for our bikes. He was so distraught that the bikes we bought were second-rate that he had gone to the store owner and demanded that he give us some of our money back. What really makes this stick in my mind was his feeling guilty that he hadn't properly taken care of us. He had already done more for us than I would have expected of any friend. But in his mind he had let us down, even though he had gotten us the best possible price for the bicycles and the problems were not at all his fault. Being a good host is very important in every part of West Africa that I have visited.

The most extreme example of this happened our first night in Yardo, when Eli asked if it was possible to buy a mango. Fifteen minutes later about five different people had brought us an immense number of mangoes. But it didn't stop there: people also brought us bananas, papaya and pineapples. Eli's simple question had caused a tidal wave of giving. We left Yardo with tummy aches and what seemed to be a lifetime supply of fruit salad. It is important to understand that accepting a gift is a must here, for it's the acceptance of the gift that's important and not so much the offer.

One of the biggest lessons we learned during our time in communities along the way: getting to know people across cultural and linguistic barriers in a short period of time is really difficult. I already knew this from my time in Ghana, but the constraints of our journey made things even more difficult at times. In order to reach larger towns where we could touch base with Canada via e-mail and post an update, while still making time to stop in some villages to stay for a few days, we had to ride 50-75 km a day during our travel days. It's tough to really visit with people in a community when you are tired from a long day of riding. Thankfully, we were still able to get to know, at least at some level, some pretty amazing people. We also learned some important lessons that will help us "bridge the gap" during the rest of this voyage.

We also found that the incredible hospitality we received meant friendly welcomes in communities and good food to eat, but it also created a bit of a barrier to really trying to get beyond the very surface level understanding of a community. At times people were hesitant to let us "pitch in" and help out. It's completely understandable; many people feel they aren't being a good host if their guest has to help out.

We had to learn how to present our goals in the right way in order to get people enthusiastic about helping us to learn about life in their community. Once we were able to do that things went much more smoothly. In fact, people would jump at the chance to assist us in our mission. "You don't know how to plant cassava? Well then let me show you." Or, "you really need to come herd cattle with me before you go."

We learned a lot by "job shadowing" people, but I found the best connections with people were made during unscheduled time. One of my favourite times was an afternoon I spent sitting with a group of young Fula men, listening to music, eating groundnuts and just talking. Despite the language barrier (one member of the group spoke just a little English), I felt a connection to these guys and sensed that we were now friends.

Eli and I also realized that we were often viewed as a "pod" by our hosts, which hindered our mission. It seemed that people thought that because there were two of us and so we weren't lonely or alone, we could just be left by ourselves. There was also a psychological barrier for us at times: Would we be interrupting the elders conversation? Can I sit and talk to a group of women? I think the same barrier applied to our hosts approaching us as well.

I learned two things from these experiences. At times you need to take a bit of a leap and jump into a conversation and just be very conscious if it seems that you are crossing a boundary. Also, if Eli and I try to split up when we are in a community we can have more one-on-one interactions.

With these lessons in mind we are about to set out on the next part of this journey. For the next five weeks we will be paddling down the Niger River from Bamako in a ten-metre wooden pinasse. I'm excited about the next portion of the journey. We now have a satellite phone (thanks to the support of Roadpost) as well as a small solar panel to keep our computer and other electronics up and running during extended periods away from urban centres, so we can take a slightly more relaxed pace. We will now be able to stop and meet people wherever we feel like it without the pressure to make it somewhere with an Internet connection by a certain time. I'm also looking forward to putting the lessons from the first portion of the journey to good use and hopefully getting to know the people we meet at a deeper level.

We arrived in Bamako expecting to have a nice break for a few days while we searched for a new guide and a boat. We've only finally left two and a half weeks later. The guide fell into our laps on our second day in Bamako. I met Ali when I asked him for directions, and a half-hour walk later I knew we had our guide.

The boat was another story. We thought we could just buy a boat "off the shelf." Unfortunately, this is not the case. A few days after meeting Ali we had commissioned a ten-metre pinasse, signed a contract in both English and French, and paid a deposit on the construction. The reality here is that the cost of materials for a boat makes up a very large portion of the final price, and few people have enough savings to build a boat with their own money in the hopes that it will sell later. At the end of the day this means a lot of business ends up being done "cash in hand." It's one of the things that makes it very difficult for people here to start a new venture or to expand their business.

Our boat was supposed to take about a week, but it's a week later and we've only just left. During the construction of our boat we learned a great word in Bambara - "Mankante," which means "no problem." It rained heavily the first night so Gilles couldn't get a truck to transport the materials. Mankante. The person who was supposed to make our sail left for their village. Mankante. Two days of rain where Bouba couldn't work. Mankante. The reality of life for most people here is that there are a number of factors outside your control. Mankante is more than a word - it's an attitude that allows you to cope with the hiccups along the way. I didn't have a word for it before, but adopting a healthy Mankante attitude (without abandoning the drive to get things done) is key for any Canadian who wants to successfully live in West Africa. Given our experience so far, we thought Mankante is the best name for our boat.

When we came to load the boat, Gilles told us there was a problem. Eli and I both looked at each other, nodded, and said Mankante. There is a tricky section just downstream from Bamako and only one family is allowed to navigate boats through this part of the river. The man was busy that day, so we had to wait.

So for the next five weeks we will be calling a ten-metre pinasse named Mankante our home. We have all the gear we need to stay happy during stretches without villages: a tent, a water filter and a coal pot for a stove to cook our food. More importantly, we have a great team. Eli and I will be joined by Ali N'doye, our guide and translator, and by Mulai Traore, who will guide our pinasse safely along the route. Both Ali and Mulai are excited about the voyage. Ali wants to get out of the city for a bit and travel a long distance in a pinasse for the first time and Mulai is excited to take his first voyage to Timbuktu. It's a journey of firsts for everyone on the team!

I'm really interested to find out who we'll meet and what we'll see in the next five weeks. There are many ethnic groups who live along the river. Bozos, who are known as the river people and fishers; Fula (or Fulani), who are semi-nomadic cattle herders; Bambara, who are primarily farmers; Koroboro, who do a little of everything; and Tuareg, the nomadic people who inhabit the desert area close to Timbuktu. With such a mix of people and livelihoods, the next five weeks are going to be particularly exciting!