We spent our first few days in Mali moving from guesthouse to guesthouse, before landing at The Sleeping Camel. Bamako moves at a much faster pace than Nouakchott, so it took some adjusting. My first impression of the city was that it’s noisy, congested, and polluted. If the list continued, expensive would probably come next, for this is not a bargain destination by any means.
Shortly after our arrival, we met Abraham. I immediately took a liking to him, because of his sweet demeanor and soft smile. He currently resides in Bamako, but arranges treks through the Dogon region, as that used to be his home. We discussed the possibilities of arranging a trip together, but decided we needed more time before settling on a guide. Dogon was one of the main reasons for coming to Mali, so we wanted to get it right. That, and we couldn’t bear the thought of ending up with another Ahmed.
Abraham offered to arrange a pinasse trip up the Niger River to a small fishing village. It sounded like a pleasant way to spend an evening, as well as an opportunity to test his guide abilities, so we gladly accepted. We watched as Malian’s of all ages, shapes and sizes, collected along the riverbank to shower, wash clothes, fish, and swim.
When we arrived at the village, 30km downstream, I was taken back by the scene laid out before me. Hundreds, if not thousands, were hard at work, collecting and transporting sand into boats and large trucks. The sand is used to make bricks for local construction, and is in high demand, which explained the flurry of activity. Men, women, and children were everywhere, performing back-breaking work in the unforgiving sun. Some were knee deep in sand, others in water. Mothers had infants strapped to their backs while balancing buckets on their heads — some weighing far more than I do.
I stood there, feet sinking into the burnt-red sand, amazed. As much as I’d like to think I know what it’s like to work hard, I don’t. Not in the real sense — not like these people do. My version of hard work involves staring at a computer from a comfortable chair, using an ergonomic keyboard, sipping hot coffee, at a desk filled with supplies of my preference, inside of an air-conditioned building. Witnessing that type of manual labor, superior work-ethic, and dedication to providing for your loved ones is sobering.
The truth is, I’ll never know what it’s like to work half as hard as they do, and I sincerely hope the images and feelings I experienced that night, stick with me forever. I have so much to be thankful for, and chances are, you do too. The next time I complain about a slow commute, long day, or the jerk who stole my parking spot, please smack me. Trust me — you’ll be doing me a much-needed favor.
