Something must have agreed with me in the whole „L’Esplanade“ hotel setting right there by the Niger river, so I’d had by far the best sleep in Africa as yet. After nine long hours, which happens so seldom to me, I was as good as new and as refreshed as I could be. When my day kicked off in such a manner, it could only be a good day, no matter what. I planned to spend it sightseeing, of course. What else would there be for a tourist like me who had ended up in town by chance in the first place? There was just one thing I had to do. I had to buy myself a bus ticket for the onward journey to Mopti the next day and that was all. All else would be leisure.
Again I enlisted the motor-cycle guy from the hotel who was only too happy to oblige me as I would obviously be a source of extra income for him. This morning I was a bit less leery of mounting the bike behind him even if I would still rather walk any time. But I had no idea where to go as „Lonely Planet“ hadn’t been at their best, drawing up the map of Ségou in their guide book. And besides, the biking guy tried to convince me that, first, not all the bus companies were at the same bus terminal, and second, Bittar – the one I preferred - was too far away from the main gare de routière anyway. So I eventually gave in and let him earn some extra dosh on me.
Actually, it turned out the guy was more right than I hoped he would be. Bittar had their own bus terminal, and naturally, they did not run any bus service between Ségou and Mopti. They may have connected Bamako and Mopti, and probably stopped by in Ségou along the way, but there was no bus line starting out from here. No Bittar line, in any case. So we went on to that main bus terminal. And true, it was quite far away. Not that I wouldn’t have been able to make it on foot, but you would first have to know where it is. Or at least have a good town map on you. Neither of it was the case with me. So the guy and his motor bike came in handy indeed, even if we didn’t ride a shiny hog exactly.
The first thing that I noticed was that Ségou streets were more often dirt roads than paved surfaces. Only what qualified as main drags were covered with hard surface. When on foot, I wouldn’t care. In fact, I tend to believe that human feet somehow naturally prefer the ground which is in its character closer to being natural. Human ass, however, at least when on the back seat of a motor-bike, tends to behave in an exactly opposite manner. Particularly when it’s easier to hit a pothole than to miss it.
Well, we reached the bus terminal on two wheels and in one piece, I am happy to say. I bravely endured all the leaps and jerks, jumps and kicks, and then, nearly stiff as a bone, finally dismounted, happily entrusting my life to my own feet again. My rider went out of his way to assist me in enquiring about and eventually purchasing my bus ticket. No one knew which bus company I would be riding on, but there was a general consensus that we should leave the town „at nine“. The next morning, of course. How they knew it, in the light of the fact that they didn’t even know who would be going, I had no clue, but in the absence of a better pointer, I had to take that one.
And that was it. My rider guide offered to assist me the whole day, but I told him that he could please just get me back to the hotel now. Later I would let him know if I needed him. Which, of course, meant that I was trying to give him the push in the gentle and polite way. Whether he really understood it like that, I had no idea. But he brought me back to the hotel and from then on I was on my own. Just as I liked it most.
Ségou is mostly about the Niger river. From a tourist’s point of view, of course. Even if you’re not necessarily put up in „L’Esplanade“ where you see the river from your room window. So in a way it was only fitting for me to start my tour of the town right at the riverbank.
Of course, there is much more to Ségou than just the river. After all, third biggest Malian town hasn’t acquired its size for nothing. It’s been around for quite a while, since the times when some of the countries which today boast of power and influence didn’t even exist. A historic settlement, it was once capital of the kingdom that the Bambara established some centuries ago. For a short while it even competed for the title, perks and privileges of the capital of entire Mali, losing eventually out to Bamako. But even then it never fell into decline, always being an important trading centre. Today it’s also the centre of what is probably Mali’s agriculturally most important region, spearheading efforts to boost crops production by putting the water of the Niger river to good use by means of extensive irrigation.
They say the town is in the area with two seasons, rainy and dry one. Which was no news to me. But the thing that raised my eyebrows was further division of the dry season into the cold and hot one. Nobody told me which part of the dry season we were currently in. If I was going by the way I felt, then now it had to be the hot half. But then again, if they asked me indeed, maybe my version of the dry season division would revise the popular wisdom and redefine it into the dry hot season and – an even hotter one.
Of course, Ségou couldn’t have avoided its share of foreign armies seeking to conquer it and make it a part of their own empires, in effect toppling the Bambara guys along the way. First there were Muslims, led by El Hajj Umar ibn Sa’id Tall, a chap from the neighbourhood who initially fought both the French and the Bambara, but eventually found out that picking up on the French in effect amounted to punching way above his weight, entailing quite a few punches back. Which he apparently didn’t appreciate much, so in short order he changed his mind and sought to leave the French alone. But now, having been provoked, the French had other plans and at the end of the day toppled the guy and took Ségou over themselves.
The French may have sent El Hajj off with his tail between his rear legs, but the area nonetheless remained heavily and predominantly Muslim. So in a way, you could even contend that from the historical point of view the eventual winner in these parts was the good old El Hajj. Even in Ségou’s architecture you could see more of those red-clay sub-Saharan-style buildings than French-style colonial ones. Maybe it was just a consequence of the fact that the locals nowadays consciously followed in the local architectural footsteps. But either way, to me Ségou looked just the way an ignorant tourist would imagine a predominantly Muslim town in Sub-Saharan West Africa.
But the Muslims of Mali are a friendly and hospitable lot, and no one among them seems to be bothered with other people’s religious views much. Religious tolerance is the order of the day around here and regardless of your own convictions, you feel fully at ease. Just as it should be. And not only that. Since their aim to clinch the title of the Malian capital ran aground for good, they have now been trying to promote themselves at least as the cultural capital of the country. With how much success, it remains to be seen. But whatever the final outcome, they have been staging things like Festival on the Niger, Mali Biennale, Opéra du Sahel and so on.
I was not going to see any of those, though. The timing of my visit to Mali never centred on Ségou. Famously, it was never in my plans to stop here much, and then later not at all. All those things took place in other parts of the year. But at least, I would see the town.
Appropriately, I started off with a stroll along the Niger river. In fact, „L’Esplanade“ owners own a restaurant, as well, just across the street, or Quai Ousmane Djiré to be precise, from the hotel. The restaurant practically lies at the water‘s edge. My motor cycle friend took me there to suggest it as a good place to eat. And I may imagine the place is fine. It has a nice interior, a good terrace which must be a hit in the evening among European visitors, and two living crocodiles in a cage as a side attraction. But I found the prices listed in the menu less than appetising. All the more so as even in such a posh place, particularly for Ségou standards, the choice of food for vegetarians was in a sorry state. In fact, it was just the same as everywhere else. A cheese omelette or something like that could certainly be had elsewhere at a significant markdown. So I took the restaurant just as a minor landmark and moved on.
Back at the Quai Ousmane Djiré, a young fellow selling African music CDs approached me, hoping to palm off one or two on me. My natural curiosity whenever there’s music involved got better of me and I stopped by, not really interested in buying any of the stuff, but I wanted to see the names of the artists nevertheless. And hopefully remember one or two. The lad must have misinterpreted my interest as it obviously elicited hopes of some profit in him. Having no real intention of dishing out my money on African music, I tried to politely let him know that I didn’t plan to make any purchase, either right now or any time later.
„Maybe later,“ I said euphemistically. The way I saw it, it had to be enough to make him understand. It would be enough to anyone in my country, at least. But the young fellow took it literally and asked:
„When?“
Now I was a bit put off. So I tried another vague statement:
„I’ll let you know when I’m ready.“
And that was it. The young lad stayed back and I began my exploration of the town. I started it out right there at the Quai Ousmane Djire, the strip of land between my hotel and the Niger. You couldn’t say it was particularly busy, but it was active enough to keep me stuck for quite a while. Everyday scenes that must have been life as usual to locals were a top-notch entertainment for me. There was a long pirogue moored at the edge of the river, apparently in no hurry, but there were a few people aboard anyway. And quite a few more on the riverbank, simply sitting around on the ground, waiting. To cast off? Probably. Whenever it was going to be. I honestly doubted there was any schedule included, to anyone’s knowledge.
A number of women were washing their laundry there, as well. I suppose they were doing it right there just for the sake of company. I don’t think they were in a hurry to get it done in order to make it aboard. They all rather looked like taking their own sweet time. After all, they spread a lot of the washed laundry on the sloping riverbank ground to dry in the sun. You probably don’t do it if you’re fixing to take a pirogue ride any time soon.
On the Quai Ousmane Djire there was a three-piece row of low free-standing gates of no visible purpose, at least to me. They all looked different, but on the other hand very much alike in the sense that they were all so obviously representative of local, sub-Saharan architecture, what with both building material, the characteristic red clay, and the decorative motives. Whatever their arcane purpose for standing there freely – you could as easily get around them as through them – they were most certainly pretty.
People were passing by without any hurry. Turbaned characters in a desert-style long-robe outfit, young guys in assorted football jerseys, women with all sorts of things on top of their heads, an occasional donkey-cart. And me.
Along a low stone-and-concrete wall between the Quai and the riverbank there was a row of woven baskets, some finished, some still in the production phase, probably all meant for sale eventually. Two guys loitered on the wall crown, more napping than sitting, and if they were the basket weavers, they must have obviously already hit their production target, for they didn’t show the slightest sign of rushing back to work.
But at the end of the wall, off from my hotel and past the third gate, there was the bustle of activity making for a wonderful and bizarre scene. A boon for someone like me. Just off from the riverbank there was this three-storey passenger boat, moored without any indication that it would set sail on any kind of journey any time soon. And around it, both in and out of water clustered a crowd of people, donkeys, pirogues and pinasses. Women were mostly busy doing the laundry. And at the same time keeping an eye on a huge and inevitable bunch of kids. Some men were loading and unloading those pirogues and pinasses, some were digging out the mud from the river bottom and shaping it into bricks ashore, some were washing their bicycles, some probably sought to do some trade. And donkeys? Some refreshed themselves in the water, some just took it easy up there on the high ground. I may imagine that it was something a local sees every day in Ségou. For me, it was plainly spectacular.
I lingered around for a long time. People noticed I was taking pictures like it was going out of style, but nobody seemed to care. Which suited me just fine for a change. Only when I was finally about to leave the spot, a few young guys, sitting up there on the upper edge of the slope, asked me if I was interested in a pirogue excursion on the river. In principle, I was, but not now. And probably not today, either. So I just gave them another „maybe later“, they smiled, we wished each other a good day and I veered off the river.
I turned aside to the Rue 21. It led into the centre of the town, to the spot where last night I had arrived in the „Hôtel le Djoliba“, looking for a room there without success. Now when I was on foot in the broad daylight, I realised it was really not far from where I stayed. On the way there I passed by a row of street merchants exhibiting and selling their goods, predominantly local handicraft. And across the street from them, in a long, decidedly sub-Saharan-style red-clay building, there were a number of art galleries, with traditional and contemporary local art on display. And probably on sale, too.
I went on to emerge on the Boulevard El Hadj Omar Tall, named after the already mentioned one-time ruler of the town, and decided to have a lunch in the „Soleil de Minuit“ restaurant there. The restaurant was placed exactly on the street intersection, had a wonderful, leafy terrace, looked every bit as clean as the restaurant across the street from my hotel, and was so much cheaper. A hungry guy like me saw no reason to search on.
This particular intersection seemed to be a pretty busy one, so I definitely had a good time just watching the local life pass me by. This people watching was a great pastime in Africa. Hardly a thing I would spend time on back at home. But here, with everyone and everything so colourful, this was all the treat you needed most of the time. So, waiting for the lunch to come, actually I had quite a lot of fun.
After the lunch, I went on with my exploration of the town. I pretty much followed my nose, and as you could always fall back on the Niger river to the north for orientation, it was nearly impossible to really get lost. None of the streets I went to stood out in the sense of having some particular landmarks one should see unconditionally, but they were all having this quintessential atmosphere of African life, so none of them was a miss, really, no matter where I went. Near Boulevard El Hadj Omar Tall I stumbled upon a supermarket and went in to buy myself some foodstuffs. Not nearly in the league of what they had in Bamako, I nevertheless managed to stock up on water and milk. The woman manning the cash register was as white as me and I wondered what brought a European woman to Ségou to settle there. Love probably. What else could it be?
As Ségou wasn’t that big, I decided to whiz back to my hotel, leave milk and water that I wouldn’t need on me in the room, and then resume the sightseeing. Once there, the young guy selling those African CDs, who had in the meantime completely evaporated from my mind, resurfaced again, with a perfect timing, as if flawlessly clued-up to my arrival.
„Would you now by some CDs?“ he asked. I tried to be nice and said:
„Not now. But if you want to earn some money, I can give you a few coins if you’ll take a few pictures of me here.“
I wanted to have a few pics of myself anyway, just for the record, and hoped that would be enough to shake the lad off in a polite way. I handed him my camera, explained the shooting procedure and few photos later he was 200 CFA francs richer than before. I know it was measly money, but I also knew that the young chap and I probably didn’t have the same standards on that score. I don’t want to be patronising, but it was almost certain that those 200 CFA francs meant more to him than they did to me.
Anyway, I thanked him and went off on my way.
I ended up in Rue 33. On the face of it, it was just another dusty street in a semi-desert town like Ségou is, strewn with ubiquitous litter in all shapes and forms, from discarded paper to the junk that in its previous incarnation resembled technical stuff. But what set this particular street apart, at least in my eyes, was a house at a corner, just a few hundred metres down from the river, with a painted signboard above the door advertising „Labouzou Percussions“. So, a music shop.
In front of it there were three or four distinctly African drums and two equally African ebony statues, around one metre tall. I decided to go in and have a look-see.
Inside, I found myself in a relatively small space, devoid of any furniture, with only what looked as a concrete reception desk. Behind it, there stood two local guys. On the barren concrete floor there were two carpets, pretty worn or at least dusty, and on them, neatly arranged, ten or so drums in different shapes and sizes.
I said hello and asked if anyone spoke English there. The smaller of the two did some, the taller one hardly any. I introduced myself and explained that I was myself a musician. So a natural curiosity had brought me in. It turned out the tall guy was a musician himself, the owner of this place, and he tried to make his living by manufacturing drums and all sorts of other percussion instruments, giving music lessons to whoever was interested, and playing live on stage himself. His name was Daouda Dembélé. Even if he spoke no English - we talked through the other guy who interpreted for us - he was very friendly and in no time he was showing me his photo albums. I could see that he had on several occasions been touring Europe with various bands, always being a percussionist in the line-up, and on pictures he proudly showed me there were motives from Paris, Luxembourg and Barcelona. It was clear the guy was good. Whoever deserved an opportunity to come from Mali to play European venues had to be good.
I stayed with them for some time. At the end we exchanged e-mail addresses and I left.
After that, I somehow ended up on the Boulevard El Hadj Omar Tall again, and it turned out the Internet café I had been in the night before was right there, so I decided to go in and check my mails. After all, with the Malian sun scorching both the ground and the top of my head, an hour in the café would be a welcome reprieve. The Obama fan I had met last night was not there. Not that it mattered. Just for the record.
After an hour on the Net had expired, I resumed my walk. Down the Boulevard de l’Indépendance I went on, bravely and resolutely, past such boutiques like Yves Saint Laurent and Wrangler. I also passed by things like table football and a rack with bottles containing motorcycle fuel on sale, straw huts and numerous cabines telefoniques. There were „Mercedes“ limousines parked by the roadside and donkey carts slowly gliding up and down the carriageway. There were locals on motorbikes and on foot. And there was me.
Boulevard de l’Indépendance eventually brought me to what is arguably Ségou’s main landmark – a square with the town’s water tower and two funny-looking, egg-shaped statues, which some said were called the Monument to Africa. There I saw signboards advertising the upcoming “Festival sur le Niger“, an increasingly popular event, seeking to catch up in standing with that famous thing in the desert near Timbuktu. I might yet make it to the festival in Timbuktu, but the one here on the Niger would definitely go on without me, as it was not to take place before next month.
From the Boulevard de l’Indépendance I swung back towards the river. I first passed by the Moba-so night club. Maybe it would be open later today, but right now it – or at least the street and pavement around it – belonged to street merchants selling shoes, sun-glasses, jeans and similar goods. Few hundred metres up, I arrived at another square, with another monument, this one in a shape of a canoe. No one could tell me what it was called, so I just took a few pictures and went on. Then the street lost its pavement again and I found myself somewhere where kids played football on a makeshift pitch, their game every now and then interrupted by a donkey cart convoy, another „Mercedes“ or a lorry.
Or me. Because as soon as they spotted my camera, kids ran up to me, asking me to take some pictures.
Back on the Quai Ousmane Djire, it was all a bit less busy than earlier in the day. At least on the spot where they had been making clay bricks. Pretty satisfied with what I had seen, I decided I deserved some rest in the hotel. With my book in the hotel garden, for example.
When I was just about to enter the hotel, the CD selling lad materialised again.
„Will you buy CDs now?“
I didn’t know whether to feel like laughing or sending him packing. He was annoying me a bit. Honestly, I had hoped he would understand by now. But he had not and instead took it all literally.
„No, not now,“ I tried again.
„But when will you buy it? I was waiting for you the whole day.“
„For me?!“
Now I was surprised.
„Yes.“
„You didn’t have to.“
„But you said you would buy some,“ he wouldn’t give up.
„Look,“ I’d had it now. „I never said that. I said maybe. So please leave me alone. If I want to buy something, I’ll look for you.“
The young guy clearly wasn’t happy. But he turned around and left, albeit in a huff. And I went into the hotel.
I spent the rest of the day, well, the rest of daylight time in any case, in the hotel garden, reading in one of the chairs by the poolside, all by myself. When the sun came close to the horizon and was about to set, I went back out and down to the river. Obviously right in time for what was another attraction in Ségou, the nightfall on the Niger. Suddenly, sleek minivans and SUVs started pulling in in numbers, filled to the brim with western tourists. I never thought there were so many of them in Ségou right now. Where had they been hiding the whole day? Well, wherever they might have been, now they all lined up along the riverbank for the spectacle.
And for the good reason. Sunset and nightfall on the Niger here in Ségou definitely got to be the highlight of my trip so far.
All in all, my decision to stop by in Ségou was a wise one and an unexpected bonus to my trip. Because this Ségou is really a wonderful little town on the Niger and so far turned into my absolute favourite on the journey throughout Burkina Faso and Mali. Had it not been for that bus breakdown, I’d have skipped it and I wouldn’t have known what I’d missed. And that would’ve been a shame. It turned out the good Lord’s guiding hand – and maybe even that cow milk – brought me here. A beautiful setting, a peaceful atmosphere, so different from the fuss and noise of the places I’d been to up to now, some fine sub-Saharan architecture, friendly people, an excellent accommodation, a very pleasant restaurant, the majestic Niger river – this place just had it all.
