For all those weird experiences I’d gone through a few days back, Tombouctou had come to occupy a fond memory in my mind. As ever with passage of time, things tended to don a gilded coating and invariably looked ever shinier with every new day. However, it didn’t mean that any of us, including myself, was dying to linger any longer than strictly necessary in Tombouctou on our way back to wherever each one of us had to go. All of us knew that the ride back to Mopti through Sahara wouldn’t be anything like a breeze and so we all wished to get on with it as soon as possible.
But Guele had his own agenda. So when we arrived again in Tombouctou, he dropped us off on a small square in front of a building that obviously served a lot of purposes. It could have been a travel agency, a hotel, a cyber centre, an eatery and in fact it was probably all that in one. Katrin had to check her e-mail regarding something about her and Lea’s flight from Bamako back to Switzerland. So nobody complained about that. What had to be done, had to be.
However, nobody suspected that Guele would disappear and wouldn’t be popping back up long after Katrin had already returned. On one hand, she was at ease because whatever had to be confirmed regarding the flight was now in order. On the other, though, she was getting nervous because we all – and she in particular - were eager to get a move on. And yet, Guele was not there.
This particular spot was not off every beaten track, though. There were other westerners around, as well. OK, some locals, too, who coolly drove their goat herds through Tombouctou streets. But the thing is, it resembled almost a kind of a meeting point. So we killed the time by chatting, of course. Most of the people there were leaving Tombouctou and going south. The only question was by which means.
Mathias, a tall German from Berlin, was looking for a place on a boat. He was there with the help of another travel agent, but if Guele at times came across as less than accountable, then his seemed to be outright shady. They left him there and vanished from the site altogether. So he was now at a loss as to how to proceed from there.
He too had been on the festival and it turned out he was a musician himself. He had a band in Germany where he was a bass player. Colleagues by trade, we quickly found a common language and, naturally, turned to the subject of the level of musical quality in Essakane. It didn’t take us long to completely agree that what they had offered on the festival in terms of quality lagged far behind of what one would expect from such a renowned event. Well, it seemed I had not been seeing things, after all.
Some of the fellow travellers around us started talking of rumours about the threat of terrorist attacks. They were saying that people had been spreading those rumours for quite some time and allegedly there had been an intelligence about some terrorist group or other, preparing to mount such an attack on the festival grounds some time during the festival. Now, if that was the case, then the presence of the army in Essakane had been even more accountable. Katrin pitched in by saying that she too had been aware of those rumours, but had rather chosen not to spread them herself. It turned out she had been right in her judgement as obviously – whether threats had been real or not – we seemed to have gotten away unscathed. That things appeared serious, and not merely an unfounded buzz, seemed to be proven by the fact that some foreign embassies had issued strong warnings to their nationals against attending this year’s festival precisely on the strength of this threat. Of course, the embassies in question were always the same, the US, the UK and their assorted sidekicks who in the name of democracy proudly waved the flag of that most democratic means of persuasion – the war - whenever somebody wouldn’t see eye to eye with their „national interests“. Certainly, no one in their right mind could ever condone any violent reprisal, particularly not such mindless acts as terrorism inevitably entails. But everything has a reason. Nothing in this universe happens „by chance“. There is no such things as chance in this corner of universe. So the seeds of terrorism obviously get some friendly sunshine and water from those generous democratic western garden tenders.
Mathias wasn’t aware of any warning by Germans. Also, privately, no one could really forbid anyone to go anywhere they wanted to go. But some travel agencies, particularly those from the UK, apparently had been forced to cancel their arrangements altogether or at least modify them along the way by shaving off the Essakane festival.
Well, either way, those of us blissfully unaware of any threats beforehand could now return from there and attest to it that nothing bad had happened and security had been just fine.
And then, after a long time, our good old Guele put in an appearance again. Finally. As Katrin was already reaching the point of boiling over as no one had counted with two extra hours in Tombouctou. When she accosted him on when we’d move on, he said:
„Soon.“
I told him that Mathias, my new German friend, would like to go to Mopti by boat, but that his agent had irretrievably disappeared and he didn’t know what to do. Could he help?
„Of course.“
Ever a businessman, Guele jumped in on an opportunity to make some extra dosh. Mathias was a bit hesitant as he was not sure whether he was obliged in any way, morally or materially, to his former agent.
„I thought you were a free man,“ Guele decided to give Mathias his own lesson on personal freedoms and democracy. Mathias looked at me.
„If you decide to go with him, he’ll get you to Mopti,“ I said. „He’s not perfect and you must press him occasionally, but eventually he’ll do what he says.“
At last, Mathias decided to go along. His agent nowhere in sight, and for much longer than the two hours we’d spent here, he eventually cast off all his qualms and followed Guele into the multi-purpose building.
While they were inside, a strange sight appeared before our eyes. A passenger car with Russian licence plates passed us slowly by. A Moskvitch would be my guess, even if I’m no expert on much more common brands than that one. It was appropriately decorated and painted, proudly hoisting a small, white-blue-and-red Russian flag and carried a few plastic containers on its roof, probably extra fuel. Almost like an apparition.
When it disappeared, Guele and Mathias reappeared. The deal closed, Mathias now had his boarding ticket and we were finally ready to go.
When we gathered round our „Toyota“, a lady with a small boy in tow joined us.
„I am Marianne,“ she said by way of introducing herself. „This is my son.“
„She is coming with us,“ Guele explained matter-of-factly. And her addition now explained his former disappearance. Our good old Guele had simply been looking for more passengers. Having found them now, we were finally ready to go.
