Sunset Drifting

A fisherman poles his canoe, or pinasse, down the Niger River at sunset.  Not even ten minutes from the heart of Niger’s capital, Niamey, the feeling along the riverbanks is of a time far older and simpler than the quaint, bustling Sahelian town.  During the painfully brief rainy season, the Niger- West Africa’s longest river- floods to over a kilometre wide here in the city, with a steady, weighty flow behind it.  During the crippling dry season, which lasts from October until June, the river all but dries up, and herders drive their cattle across the bed, and it’s narrow enough that you can cross all but a channel a dozen metres wide without getting your feet wet.

This author has, in fact, been silly enough to swim across the Niger while its waters are not in flood.  And, hippos notwithstanding, quite enjoyed the experience.

This shot was one of my favourite to come out of my time in Niger, and captured the serene beauty of the river which, in turn, turns Niamey from a dry and dusty outpost on the edge of the desert, into a restful and characterful watering hole in the midst of a land wracked with poverty and desolation.  Watching the sun set over the Niger River, cold beading beer in hand, was one of a handful of simple pleasures in that country where simple pleasures were few and far between- making them all the more precious when they came.

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Moments in Space and Time #5: Niger River

Sunsets in Niamey were predictably beautiful, particularly in the months following the rainy season before so much dust obscured the atmosphere that the sun could lose itself in the haze. The near-desert air, tinged with sand particles, and cloud-free in the absence of reliable moisture, gave warm orange dusks while the sun itself showed its true colours as an orb of burning gas melting into the horizon.

The Niger River runs north-south through the city, with the bulk of Niamey on the east bank, from where several vantage points gave stunning aspects of the sun going down behind the river itself. From atop the hill on which was perched the Grande Hotel, we would sit with dew-drops wrapped around our cold beers and nibble on barbecued meat on an open poolside deck watching the sun slip behind a low rise of plateau-like hills a few miles away. Better still, from our favourite little hideaway the Diamangou, an old riverboat-turned-restaurant moored on the eastern bank away from the city centre, we would feel the slow gait of the moored craft beneath us as we enjoyed leisurely drinks beneath strings of fairy lights, watching fishermen pole past in their little pirogues and batting at persistent mosquitoes.

This photo was taken in September 2005, during an evening where most of our team had gathered in Niamey. Myself and several colleagues had spent most of our time in the border town of Maradi, close to Nigeria, which was where a large portion of our famine-relief activities were happening. Maradi was a hot, dusty and frenetic town, with little by way of entertainment and less by way of charm. By contrast, Niamey had excitements such as shops, restaurants and freshly-baked french bread that didn’t have the taste and texture of gritty dough.

The fisherman in this picture presumably came from the nearby village, and spent a few minutes moving up and down the bank close to the riverboat, pushing the canoe along with his pole. I took a few shots of him, but this was by far my favourite, shot just as he framed himself in pose, balanced with the backlight of the sun setting. The quiet lap of slow-moving water against the boat, the plop of the pole in the water, the sound of voices drifting through the bushes from the nearby village, soft conversation and buzzing insects all leant the place an exotic peace. The air was warm, the beer was chilled, and the company was good. While there were a lot of times from Niger I would choose never to revisit, this particular riverside moment is one I continue to cherish.

Slow Boat to Mopti

In 2006, after finishing with my contract in Niger, rather than fly straight back to Australia, I took a slight detour.  By slight, I mean one-month.  By detour, I mean a 7,500km overland hitch from central West Africa to Spain.  It was a lot of fun.

The journey had many stages, and many memories.  I set off with a vague set of milestones I wanted to acheive, but no real itinerary.  In the end I meandered through Niger, Mali, Senegal, Mauritania, Western Sahara and Morocco before catching the ferry to southern Spain where I caught a flight to London and began my journey home.  I kept a diary, and at some stage I’m planning to try and write up my experiences.  But you’ve seen how much space I take up describing even a relatively small event in my life, so this is going to take a while…  😉

A highlight of the trip was my journey from the legendary Tomboctou (Timbuktu).  Tomboctou is a place both real and mythic.  Mythic, in that it represents to the traveller that which is furthest away- the most isolated, forsaken and mysterious that can be attained.  Indeed, Tomboctou’s nickname still today is “The Mysterious”, and a startling number of people I speak to, when I tell them about my visit there, ask me, “So is Timbuktu a real place then?”

Leaving Tomboctou, then, I travelled to the riverine port of Mopti.  Mopti’s about four hundred and fifty k’s south and west of Tomboctou, and there’s nothing that can really be called a direct route to Mopti.  Partly because there’s no such thing as a direct route to Tomboctou.  The nearest sealed access road to Tomboctou is three hours south, in the dry season (and without a tyre blowout, as I had already discovered).  Though, would you believe Tomboctou has an international airstrip…?

I wasn’t really that interested in going by road, however.  The Niger River, in its tortuous circuit, loops northwards deep into the Sahara Desert and at one time kissed the southern edge of Tomboctou itself; the old port area is still visible as a slight depression in the sand on the edge of the old town.  Today it’s about thirty km south and there is a grubby, bustling little port called Kourioume.  From there the boats run.

The boats in question are called Pinasses.  They are large cargo canoes, up to 3m wide and about 20m long, roughly the dimensions of a large bus.  Owners load these beasts of burden with cargo- I’d estimate an easy 50 tonnes on a fully-laden boat, which will sit sunk to within a couple of inches of the gunwhales- and passengers- another fifty or so, crammed beneath thatched roofing, or perched atop in the blazing Saharan sun.

For four days, I chose the latter.

And it was one of the best journeys of my life.  For four days, I did little, except sit atop the thatching, wrapped in my turban, reading a novel (Triumph of the Sun, by Wilbur Smith, if you must know), writing in my diary, praying, thinking, decompressing, and watching the Malian desert slip slowly by, village by village, canoe by canoe.

There was more to it than that, of course.  And I’ll try and share it some time.  But in the meantime all I’ll say is that I arrived at Mopti tired, hungry, thirsty, and one of the dirtiest I’ve ever been.  But very, very happy.

Photos:

1. Smooth Waters: A pirogue (small canoe) navigates the gentle current of the Niger River in Mali, just shy of sunset.

2. Public Transport: (Above) An SNTV desert bus between Niamey (Niger) and Gao (Mali) on one of our many ‘technical’ stops on that 24-hour journey.  (Below) Pinasses drawn up on the riverbank at the tiny port town of Tonka, square in the middle of Nowhere, Mali. (Note: You can see my backpack on the roof of the one with all the colourful drums in the hold 🙂 ).

3. Call to Prayer: The UNESCO World Heritage Djingarei-Bar Mosque in Tomboctou.  The ‘spikes’ coming out of the minaret are part of its packed-mud framework, typical of the ‘Sudanese’ style.

4. Market Day: Crowds of colorfully-clad buyers and sellers throng on Tonka’s foreshore, where pinasses provide the lifeblood of supplies and commerce up and down the Niger river.

5. Pinasse: A cargo-canoe manouevres out of Tonka’s little harbour.

6. Barque: Just another fragile little vessel on the waters of the Niger.

A Nomad’s Footsteps (1 of 3)

I realise I’ve been posting quite a few Australia-focused shots recently.  Which has more to do with photography (one part of this website) but far less to do with travelling (the other).  So I thought I’d throw up a sprinkling of shots taken over the last little while from different corners of this beautiful planet we call home for a few brief years…

Guatemala (2007)

A street scene in the exquisite and historic Antigua Guatemala.  Generally known simply as Antigua (literally ‘old’ or ‘antique’), the city was the colonial capital of Guatemala until the place was effectively leveled by a series of earthquakes towards the end of the eighteenth century, when the capital was relocated to its current location in Guatemala City.  Guatemala City is the fourth capital the nation has enjoyed since colonization during the sixteenth century.  The first capital was founded on a pre-existing Mayan city and was moved after a series of indigenous uprisings.  The second was destroyed by volcanic mudflows.  Guatemala City has so far managed to last a little over two hundred years and while it has experienced its fair share of disasters, it’s still standing.  Let’s hope they don’t have to move it again, because they’re starting to run out of alternatives…

Antigua is a pleasant and peaceful little town.  Heavy on tourism, the central area is a grid network of narrow streets arranged about a central plaza, home to a grand and intricately-worked cathedral, and walkways covered by colonial archways.  Rich in atmosphere and history, and overshadowed by looming volcanic cones, it’s well worth a visit to anybody passing through this delightful Central American nation.

Niger (2005)

Golden light from an evening sun catches in the smooth-flowing waters of the mighty Niger River.  During the rainy season (when this was taken), the river fills a broad plain nearly a mile across , swallowing ephemeral islands and swamping fields along the banks.  At the peak of the nine-month dry season, it constricts into a narrow channel just a dozen metres wide in places, impassable to boat traffic, and so insignificant that herders drive their cattle across it on foot, forcing them to swim just a few seconds where the flow has all but choked to a standstill in the fierce heat.

From Niamey’s Grand Hotel, the view over the river at dusk and the surrounding countryside is one of the perks in a city that is largely devoid of them.  Hot, dry, dusty, and the capital of a country that frequently takes bottom place in the UN’s list of underdeveloped countries, Niamey has the feel of a village of a million people.  It is an isolated island in the middle of the Sahel, landlocked and generally ignored by the rest of the world.  However it is a gentle place, incredibly safe and very relaxed, and with a number of locales where a meal and a cold beading Biere Niger go down extremely well.  Many things about Niger I do not miss, but I would gladly find myself in Niamey for a quiet evening out with friends once again.

The Niger River is one of the world’s great rivers, providing a vein of life that cuts through West Africa’s southern Sahara region and connecting a network of cities and civilizations that once flourished here.  Nearly 4,200m long, it rises in the hills of Guinea and Sierra Leone, just a short distance from the western Atlantic coast of Africa.  From there it flows counterintuitively inland, carving a path through the interior of West Africa, and then arching its way deep into the Sahara where it reaches its zenith near the ancient city of Tomboctou.  From there it swings south, passing through Gao before reaching Niamey, and from there on a straight shot through Nigeria where it pours itself out across the infamous Niger Delta.  The sense of life and freshness it provides the otherwise-dessicated Niamey can’t be underestimated.  Like many cities with ‘soft’ features, it forms the heart- and the character- of what would otherwise be a stop well worth missing on a journey across the continent.

South Australia (2006)

Yellow Canola (Rapeseed) clashes with a cloud-spotted blue sky at the foot of the Remarkables Ranges in South Australia state.  On a photographic road-trip through the area with my brother, we’d spent some time ooh-ing and aah-ing over the bright colours and beautiful contrast of the sun-soaked flowers.  It was a perfect day for photography, and my biggest regret was that I hadn’t yet purchased a polarizer filter for my brand new Canon EOS 350D/Rebel XT, bought the day before we went on the trip.  It would have made better use of the blue skies, but irregardless I was pleased with how this image turned out.  South Australia is, in my opinion, one of the underestimated corners of this vast and varied continent.  Full of quirk and character, there are a thousand dramatic landscapes to be discovered in a state that seems to receive very little tourism or international interest, and I for one can’t wait to head back for some more voyaging, camera in tow.

California (2007)

I’ve always loved the open road.  As a traveller I enjoy the reality of being on the move.  So long as the wheels are turning or the jets are revving or the hull is slicing past the waves, I’m happy.  California is like a traveller’s dream.  A great wide expanse of spectacular and varied country, beneath a strong blue sky, connected by one of the world’s best networks of driveable roads.  I spent five days driving around CA, and I loved it.

This highway wound its way across the landscape of Death Valley.  Deserts are among my favourite biomes, and Death Valley’s mix of salt flats, scrubland and barren mountain ridges was simply spectacular.  I spent less than 24 hours in the park and it rates to this day as one of my most memorable photo shoots.  Going back when the light’s a little sharper and the temperature’s a little lower is high on my agenda, and I’m glad I have a growing contingent of friends in-State who I will shortly be relying on for a return visit…

Senegal (2006)

Colourful boats are drawn up on a beach in Ile de Gorée.  Gorée is a small island in the harbour, fifteen minutes’ ferry ride from Senegal’s capital, Dakar.  Once a minor node on the network of the Senegambian slave trade, today the island is a tranquil little escape from the bustle and mayhem of one of West Africa’s largest cities.

Although billed as a major hub of the slaving triangle of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Gorée is considered by modern historians as insignificant, and most of the slaving that happened here was incidental to larger centres of activity.  Despite this, the island continues to draw visitors to the slaving museum.  It’s real charm lies in the peaceful and laid-back nature of its narrow streets.  Colonial homes lean close together to provide deep, shaded alleys where the sound of footfalls echoing on cobbles mingles with the quiet hiss of breaking waves, the murmur of a sea-breeze, and the catcalls of a gull soaring overhead.  After the frenetic chaos of Dakar’s winding streets, the industrious energy of the port, and the vibrant colours of its varied inhabitants, Ile de Gorée is an island not just in geography, but an island for the soul as well.

Scotland (2005)

Seen from a nearby hill, late autumn sunlight falls like gold vapour on downtown Edinburgh.  My work takes me to a wide range of exotic locales in developing countries, but I rarely find myself in more sedate haunts.  On this occasion, a few days’ R&R on the way out from an African posting gave me a chance to catch up with friends in the UK.  I spent a couple of pleasant days in Edinburgh with old friends from University.  In true fashion, the city was bitterly cold and swept with a wind that threatened to sear exposed extremities.  Although I’m not a fan of winter in the British Isles, there is something about the cold that lends a sense of coziness when you’re cooped up inside a nice warm pub, with wind and rain hammering against the windows.  I can’t say I miss it very often, but every now and again, a nice wintry afternoon sharing a pub with an open fire and a pint of Newcastle Brown Ale would go down very well indeed.