Comfort was not the thing we were looking for when we moved over from the bus into the minibus. So what you don’t look for, you don’t miss if you don’t get it, either. I was more than ready to put up with somebody’s elbow wedged between my shoulder and ear and my foot protruding from someone else’s pocket. Annette was taking it bravely, too, even if she obviously struggled to shake off her fear of minibuses. Other people were as stoic and patient as we were, so under circumstances, it was a pleasant half-an-hour ride to Sikasso. That’s how close we really had been all along to our destination. The young guy who helped us with the idea to change the transport was enjoying himself immensely, chatting with us amiably during the ride. I am not entirely sure that Annette wasn’t still a bit suspicious about him, fearing that he might have an angle after all. But I was unconcerned.
He was from Burkina Faso, but was a student in Sikasso. That was his reason for going there. When I asked him if it was really better to study in Mali than Burkina Faso, he emphatically said it was. He was asking about my reason of going to Sikasso and I explained to him that I was in fact visiting both Mali and Burkina and that the stretch between Bobo-Dioulasso and Sikasso was simply on my planned route. No other reason. He offered to help us during our stay in Sikasso. In any capacity. As a guide, as just a friend, anything. I told him, however, that we would stay only overnight and next morning head off to Bamako. He seemed a bit disappointed, but I didn’t think Annette and I had much choice. There was a lot to see in Mali and a longer stay in Sikasso would only take time which would be better spent elsewhere. Besides, I had to keep in mind the fact that she would probably have to return home in a week. So her time in Mali was limited. That was one more reason not to linger for too long in less than outstanding places.
In any case, before long we finally reached our final destination for today.
Having for the first time arrived at a bus station in Africa after dark, I really had an impression we were dropped off in the middle of deepest wilderness. There were absolutely no lights around and there was nothing to lead you to believe you were on a spot a human being had set foot on any time recently. Except for the fact that humans swarmed our minibus the moment we pulled in.
In a second we were surrounded by potential taxi drivers offering us a ride and, spotting a white man, even some prospective guides. Well, as the very idea of sightseeing was somewhat ridiculous now, and not only for the fact that you could hardly see a finger in front of your own nose, I dismissed all the guides on the spot. As for the taxi drivers, somehow one of them managed to persuade the others to give way and he emerged as the guy with whom we struck a deal to get us to the hotel for the night.
After we had bought a ticket to Bamako for tomorrow morning, that is.
At this late hour – well, relatively late, anyway – it may have been a bit of a wishful thinking to expect a ticket booth anywhere around the station to still be open. But I wanted to give it a shot, and maybe miraculously, we found one. With the assistance of the young Burkinabe student, I must add. Within just a few minutes he discovered someone who was able – and still willing – to sell us those bus tickets. With the help of some candles and torchlight, and money on my part, of course, the whole thing was soon brought to a conclusion to everyone’s satisfaction. Now we were ready to go to the hotel.
I thanked the student with all my heart, wished him all the best and we all fanned out into the night.
The taxi driver brought us to the hotel „Mamelon“. Even if most of the rest of the town seemed to be in almost complete darkness, „Mamelon“ was well lit. At least according to African standards. And on top of it, they had free rooms. We booked one and thereby our journey to Sikasso finally came to an end. When we dropped our luggage on the room floor at last, it was just shy of eight thirty. A long day indeed.
And then I realised I couldn’t find my camera bag and suddenly broke into a cold sweat. I searched over and over, but there was no trace of it.
„Have you seen my camera bag?“ I finally asked Annette.
„No. Why?“
„Seems I lost it.“
„Where?“
„I don’t know.“ I said, making a conscious effort not to let my mood go sinking down through the floor. OK, my camera was on me. So it wasn’t the worst possible scenario. Also, for some inexplicable reason, I had put my spare camera battery into my small knapsack, which I otherwise never did. That was another little thing on the plus side. But my battery charger was in the bag. And I had three full weeks to go until the end of my trip in Africa. With so many days still ahead, so many good pictures would not be taken. I wasn’t going to call it a disaster, because disasters come into people’s lives in shapes different than this one, but I certainly experienced it as a very unpleasant setback.
„When did you last see it?“ she asked me.
„I am not sure,“ I desperately tried to remember. „But I guess on the road when we took our things out of the bus on the border. I probably left it there.“
The thought made me sick.
„No, it was not there,“ she said. „I had it in the minibus.“
„Are you sure?“
„Well... no. But I think I did.“
Hmmm... a fleeting glimmer of hope vanished the same way as it had appeared.
„So you just think so?“
„But I really think I had it in the minibus.“
However, whether I had left it on the border or in the minibus, it didn’t appear to matter much. Either way, I saw no way how it could possibly be retrieved now. With every new minute I was girding myself for the prospect of having to heavily restrict my use of camera. And all that on my first trip to Africa ever.
Well, to an extent, that is. Things were not that bleak. I mean, for another inexplicable reason, I had packed along my old, small compact camera, too, and it was still in my luggage, unpacked as of yet. I had never thought I would need it. I had just tucked it into my luggage on the spur of the moment and that was all. In all likelihood, albeit entirely unexpectedly, it looked like it would now come in handy. Well, better than nothing.
I tried to console myself that the material damage was insignificant. Which it was. I would buy myself a new charger back home. The bag too. So that was not where the problem was. I just had to consciously work on accepting that there was nothing I could do about it, so it was for my own good and in my own interest to get over it as soon as possible.
Next to the hotel there was a restaurant. Probably belonging to the same complex. It was almost empty. Only one table was occupied with some mixed company, both black and white. Anyway, as it was still open, I checked if they could prepare some food for Annette. She was hungry and was looking to have a dinner. A very nice and helpful waiter said no problem and even promised to find me milk, so I could prepare myself milk tea in the room.
Camera bag or not, the world kept on spinning.
