We had arranged to travel on a pinasse with a group of strangers. After 3 days and nights with them, we left with some lifelong friends.

here come the white people by anappleanight

The boat held 18 passengers plus crew (captain, mechanic, chef, utility infielder), and our fellow passengers were as diverse geographically as they were in life experiences. There were the Australian grandparents, blue collar workers who take a month each year to travel somewhere traveling and exotic, all the while worrying their kids sick (he travels with a special brush for his fiery red beard-she raises doves that are sold to be released at weddings).  There were a Norwegian father and son; the father an international journalist and blues harmonica player; the son a masters student of peace and conflict in Oslo. There were two dating psychologists from San Francisco, with whom we spent most of our time. They had been hippies in the truest sense of the word, and those experience (over 100 Dead shows each!) combined with their intense educations and perspective, let to some mid blowing conversations. There was a Sri Lankan couple living in Ouagadougou selling tea in West Africa. There was a French pilot and his girlfriend. There was a French mother and son; she particularly liked trip and he tucked each cigarette butt into his shoelaces.

There was also a guy, who, as it turns it, is fairly famous, who we were all incredibly sketched out by. His name is Henry Rollins, and was a fairly/extremely (depends who you ask) influential musician and punk back in the day. Since then he has been on a bunch of TV shows and whatnot, promoting his very unique sense of self. He spent 95% of our trip down the river with ear plugs in and a towel wrapped around head. I tried talking with him, which I do not think he was a fan of, if his recent blog is any indication!

Beyond the people, camaraderie, and general ease of not having to worry about anything, the passing scenery was beyond mesmerizing. From small villages with waving children and a mud mosque to passing fisherman, sleeping hippos to inland delta views, sleeping on the boat felt sacrilegious.  The villages changed as we progressed north, reflecting the change in ethnicity of the people and the availability of building supplies as the desert grew closer.

DSC_0529 by anappleanight

Several times we stopped in random villages along the way for voyeurstic photo opps and random acts of kindness/commerce. While we all expressed some concern and hesitancy around these visits, everyone took part, as the opportunity for interaction with locals off the beaten tourist track (we were, after all, practically in Timbuktu!) proved too great a temptation when combined with the chance to stretch our legs after hours on the boat. It is so very cliche to note, but no less true, that the children were unhesitatingly open, welcoming, and joyous, grabbing our hands to be held, posing for pictures, and playing with their homemade toys.  On stops along the way, regardless of the Obama/Yes We Can/Change shirts that are now omnipresent and inescapable on this tiny little planet of ours, the differences between “us” and “them” melted away into the midday heat as we shared laughs and little moments of understanding.

rockstars by anappleanight

I’ll never forget Elisa returning from a trip to the boat’s bathroom, commenting (excitedly/worriedly) that she thought she saw a tail poking under the bathroom’s rear wall. Sure enough, it was a tail, a goat’s tail to be precise, the very goat that the chef purchased in the last village, and that we wolud soon be eating for dinner. It is rare for us, in the west, to be reminded that meat does not originate from a plastic bag in a refrigerator case, but from an actual animal- living, breathing, the whole nine yards.  The goat’s horns, legs, and tail made the remainder of the journey with us, presumably to be used in a soup or stew, as nothing is wasted there; exactly how we live, but opposite.

Our time on the river was a true highlight, and an ideal way to travel as a group. I don’t remember the last time I ever spent so much time continuously out of doors, watching and living sunsets and sunrises, temperature swings, and nature’s rhythms.  The most awe filled encounter we had with nature was each evening as the sun descended over the river in a spectacularly drawn out fashion, only to reveal the night sky’s treasure.

a perfect sunset on the niger by anappleanight

I had been in rural locales; I had been in Africa; I had been in rural Africa, but I had never seen a night sky like we were treated to each evening as we crept closer to the Sahara. Elisa, ever the soundbite machine remarked that sitting under the stars each night was like being in the ultimate planetarium, and we all laughingly agreed, because the planetariums of our youth were the only things that could compare with the majesty of the night sky in the Sahara. A particular highlight was learning the Tamashek’s myths and explanations for some of the constellations; remind me, and I will share the traditions with you next time we are under the night sky.