Saying Hello The Dogon Way

Timbuktu, Djenné and Gao are all nice, but the jewel in Mali's tourist crown is the pays Dogon: Dogon Country. Situated slightly to the east of Mopti the pays Dogon straddles a high rocky plateau, a steep, 200m-high escarpment and the dusty plain that stretches from it to the Burkinabe border. The Dogons themselves arrived on the scene only about 1000 years ago, displacing the native pygmy population, the Tellem, to flee the encroaching wave of Islam. More than anywhere else in Mali this is where the traditional animist beliefs still hold sway, although their influence is waning as more Dogons convert to either Islam or Christianity. And it is precisely for these beliefs, and their associated rituals, that people come to the pays Dogon. When exploring the area the services of a guide are essential as the potential for cultural misunderstandings is great and the paths between villages are not obviously marked. It is this reason, and the fact that many Westerners seem to be unable to move their asses from A to B without a big 4x4, that sees the pays Dogon earn the lion's share of Mali's tourist revenue. A fact that is elegantly observed when driving from Sévaré to Bandiagara, the main town in the pays Dogon, along what is undoubtedly the best road in the country, with dedicated lanes in each direction, no potholes and clear markings, despite the fact that the road doesn't lead to any major population centres.

Finding a guide in Bandiagara is simple. In fact you don't find them but they find you (usually as soon as you step out of whatever vehicle you arrived in). Finding one that will give you a proper price, along with a breakdown of costs (because all prices in the area are fixed) is another matter. Finding other travellers with whom to share the costs of a guide is also tricky - of those tourists who have not organised something in their home countries before departure many get snagged long before they reach the pays Dogon, either in Mopti, Sévaré, Ségou or even as far away as Bamako. So although I managed to get myself a scrupulous guide (apparently the only one in the pays Dogon with a university diploma in tourism) but was unsuccessful in my search for trek partners. Instead, to make my Dogon experience more affordable, I decided to walk for longer. The Bandiagara escarpment, which is the focus for tours, is divided into a northern and southern section, with about 4 days hiking recommended for each section. However, when I scrutinized the distances I was certain that, for anyone who isn't too squeamish about walking, it could be comfortably done in 2 allowing sufficient time to visit the various villages.

So early on the first day (As a slight aside my daily rhythm has changed somewhat to what it is at home. With no entertainment to speak of I am generally in bed by 9pm and awake by 6am, which, quite frankly, when you're sleeping on roofs to save money as I am, is as late as you can sleep with the early morning cacophony of braying donkeys, crowing cockerels and bleating goats.) Yembila, my guide, and I set off from the charmingly named village of Djiguibombo at the southern end of the escarpment northeastwards. The villages are strung out along the base of the cliff which used to serve as a place of refuge in bygone days and where many families still maintain their characteristic mud-and-thatch granaries, in impossibly inaccessible crevices high on the cliff face one can still see the remains of the Tellem habitations. The Dogons believe that the Tellem could fly, and it's not hard to see why, although it's more likely that they used a system of ropes.

Malians throughout the country place a great emphasis on greetings and no conversation, no matter how trivial, can be commenced without a couple of ça vas. This insistence on etiquette is taken to the extreme by the Dogons who, upon meeting one of their countrymen ask them how they are, how their family is, how their children are and finally how their close friends are before the other goes through the same list as well. The phrase "is/are well" being séo (say-oh) a normal greeting goes something like this:

"mumble séo."

"Séo."

"mumble séo."
"Séo."

"mumble séo."

"Séo."

"mumble séo."

"Séo."

Change over.

"mumble séo."

"Séo."

"mumble séo."

"Séo."

"mumble séo."

"Séo."

"mumble séo."

"Séo."

Of course when crossing paths one has to plan ahead and start shouting greetings from about 10m away and finish with a few séos over the shoulder if one doesn't want to break one's stride. It's not just us toubabs who find the whole ritual funny but Dogon hellos are the butt of a little good-humoured mockery from Malians from other ethnic groups as well.

As well as being specialists of long, convoluted greetings the Dogons are also master woodcarvers. As well as statuettes and elaborate face-masks that they use during their rituals even their everyday objects are often works of art. Their doors are often particularly pretty and often show various legends from their unique mythology which is not always easy to fathom and has a very convoluted creation myth involving twins, termites, snakes, clay and plenty of others besides. Although for me, just as mesmerising as the Dogon villages were the baobab trees that dot the plain amongst the millet fields. Not only are these majestic, solitary trees incredibly photogenic, but they are considered to be magical by the Dogons for their many uses: the bark is used to make ropes, the leaves are an important food source, the seeds a condiment and herbal remedy and the fruits can be either eaten or turned into maracas. I would probably have to agree with the Dogons on this point.

That evening we stayed in the village of Yabatalou (one thing's for sure, the Dogons sure have great place names) in a campement run by a gregarious old man. Despite his patchy French he was very talkative and took me aside to show me his photo albums showing himself, his family and the many tourists that had stayed there throughout the years. I was quite surprised because Malians, and Dogons in particular, are quite reticent about having their pictures taken. So when I asked him if I could take a photo of him I was taken aback when he said no and dived into his hut ... only to emerge a minute later fully kitted out in his Dogon hunter's clothes with an indigo smock, wide-brimmed hat and armed with a spear, sabre and flintlock musket dating from at least the early 19th century and looking far more dangerous for its user than any potential target.

The next day we scrambled up the escarpment to the plateau above to visit some of the villages there. It is a stunning, almost lunar, landscape interspersed with narrow, verdant valleys where the Dogons intensively cultivate small onions which, along with millet that grows during the rainy season, forms the basis of their diet. After visiting a few villages we made our way to a rendez-vous point on a dirt track where a motorcycle had been left for us to get back to Bandiagara. Unfortunately technical maintenance is not a huge priority round these parts and the bike had various mechanical problems until the chain eventually came off. We then had to push the (surprisingly heavy) bike to a nearby village that had a mechanic who was able to repair it by torchlight - as it was now dark. The repair held out for a whole 500m before the bike came to a grinding halt once more. Instead of trying to fix it again we found a guy who had a trailbike to give us a ride for the last 15km to town. It's without exaggeration that I say that it was one of my most nerve-wracking experiences ever. Not because there were three of us on the bike, nor that we were riding along dirt tracks at night, but because the driver was more than a little crazy and drove as if he was about to miss the latest episode of his favourite telenovela. And although you may scoff at the idea it's not as unlikely as it may sound: walk down any (sub)urban street in Mali between 7 and 9pm and you'll see crowds of people gathered round old, flickering TVs mesmerised by the goings on of Argentine fictional feuding families. But anyway, I arrived safely, albeit with a slight hypertension, and left the next day towards Bamako to pick up my Mauritanian visa for the next leg of my journey.