Night In The Bush – mighty Sankarani river

I continued the dark road along the Sankarani. Always present on my right I could sense the mighty Niger tributary, which flows majestically, a mile wide. Always alert, expecting to meet some new surprise, gazing towards the end of the high lit beams, into the heavy, damp air that surrounded the bush here. The sheer, never ending screeching sound of Cicadas filled the night, adding a peculiar sense of solitude in this vast wilderness. No sure whether I was close to Mali, or perhaps already within Mali. My uncertainty grew as the road got more and more covered by grass. Suddenly it seemed to turn, then got lost into several tracks. I halted, attempting to visualize the unimaginable vast stretch of Savanna in front of me. It was futile to get carried away in this situation, almost painful to think where I was, at that time, at this moment.

Nobody at home would have had the slightest idea of my location, left alone its surroundings. I shuddered at the thought of how to reach the next settlement. Continue to drive, slowly, trying to make out landmarks, tire tracks of vehicles that passed before me, became even more difficult. Amid all the tracks, several of them, lost in the bush, one could made out the dark Silhouettes of Cotton plantations which are frequent in this area.

It had become apparent, that I needed to look for a shelter for the night. The time was close to midnight, and my reserves were going down fast.. My road, it turned out was going to nowhere. The Bush closed in, no more passable, the tall grass surrounding the vehicle almost completely. I had lost my way completely.

Thinking of where one could have been, be at this time, at a different location, at a cocktail party , enjoying dinner with friends; Why did I chose to be in a deserted place like this, 5000 miles from base ? Worse :No one knew when – or if – I 'd return home. By now desperaton set in.  Where to go; it was hard to maneuver the car in this thicket, reversing seemed the only option. Sure,  it would take me time to find back to my path. Not to end up in a ditch, slowly inching back and forth till the car had turned completely, then retracting slowly, being careful not to miss my own tire tracks. Tedious and painstakingly slow, always verifying not to miss point overlooked. One must give credit to the makers of my vehicle, for any defect could have meant a real disaster. For days I drove on the worst, unimaginable roads, thousands of bumps, potholes, water puddles. And my car just performed miraculously well, except for an exhaust pipe break, it gave no complications.

Inching on, I noticed the widening of the Savanna, and the trail from Fulani cattle herders became more apparent again. Finally,  the main road . Unexplainable how ending up in a dead end, overlooking the important cow tracks.  In the distance a shimmering light became visible.  It turned out to be a village on my right. There was a bend, behind it a bridge, water gushing underneath. My beams could not make out anything, except the bushy trees on my left and right.

When reaching the creek, it was passable by a mere makeshift bridge made from rough tree logs, covered by boulders and rocks. Against my better instincts, forcing an attempt to cross, with almost no space left on my left and right. The car was hitting the rocks below, bong,  this was not good. A third of tis length covered, it became apparent ti was best  to unload the car and try again later with an empty boot. Once again inching back carefully, not to miss the track, my head protruding, not to miss the narrow passage over the creek.

The vehicle would have been washed away in a second, the torrents were strong, the creek filled to the brink with rapid floods. At late midnight I decided to get to the village passed on my way and find some sleep. Another hour had passed and it was now getting to 01.00 h. One could notice the strong scent of a log fire. The distant glare of the in the village attracted my attention. The dark shadows of the African village, its distinctive round huts covered by tapered straw roofs. This would be the only chance of a relative secure overnight stay.

The path leading to the hamlet was narrow, merely wide enough to let a person pass, left alone a car of my size. The fire became closely visible, an old Fulani sitting near the flames. He was as curious as me, and came cautiously to the car, holding his mighty cutlass. I uttered the few words in Malinke, the local language of the Fula. I greeted him, and asked careful if I could spend the night near the fire within the shelter of the hamlet. He nodded his approval, upon which he sat back near the fire, straw hat and frock, Bush knife close to him. An awkward feeling beset me, in spite of the hospitality shown.

These parts were known where Cannibalism was as common as in places such as South America, or Papua – New Guinea for that matter. Nobody has ever mentioned  the cannibalism occuring further down to the south, Liberia, where warring parties devoured their captives. I will write about this later, in a different chapter. Tense, tired, exhausted I tried to make myself comfortable, reclining seats in front, stretching myself across. Still, at this hour of the night, the hot air had not cooled down. To open the windows for a grasp of fresh air, on both sides. This attracted myriads of Mosquitoes which buzzed around my face. Imagining a cold shower, a bath, fresh clothes, slowly drifting off to sleep, with a mixture of thoughts and sentiments.

Since my Army days I developed a habit to wake up at once, it could have been a life saver. I  will never know what prompted me to open my eyes that night. The sky was moonlit, there was relatively good visibility. After opening my eyes, I noticed the dark face beneath a large straw hat moving along the side of the car, gazing inside the car with a vehement look. It did not look as if someone had clear intentions.

With all my courage, jumped up and switched on the inside light. The person outside was stunned and stood still. He had not expected a White person, and he was as surprised as I was. He mumbled something and disappeared in one of the huts nearby. It was luck, never know how much, but it would have been easy to attack me, and  made me disappear in this wilderness. Nobody had the slightest idea where I was, and this was no civilized area.

Here the strongest survive, unimaginable if one needs a doctor, a Hospital. I gazed around me, but could not find the Fofo, the old Fulani. He could be the one who send the nightly visitor. The remaining hours I can not sleep anymore. It got darker, the moon almost disappeared. Upon hearing some noises coming from my right, the fire had gone off by now, I was again on full alert. I had no weapon with me, I did not bring my 9mm Taurus , my licence was only valid for my country of residence.

Without, It would have been difficult to defend oneself against an expert Bush knife wielding Fulani. To well I know how skill full they can handle this broad machete. - The noises came from my right, and before I could make out the noise it took minutes. By experience I knew it was after four, and a glance at the mechanical car watch confirmed the time stood at 04.30 h. The sounds came from the right hut, some 20 meters away from the car.

African village women get up as early as 04.00 h in order to sweep the courtyard before the hut. I always was puzzled, how could a person see in the dark, sweeping the rough grounds, and for what reason. The answer lies in this simple explanation, to remove ants and dead insects from the working area, a form of keeping the surroundings tidy. I was relieved, as the time ticked fast towards dawn.

One by one, the kids appeared from the hut, leaving the patriarch asleep. I realized it had become chilly. The mornings are quiet cold, in the lower 20's Centigrade. Some shivers overcame me. The kids lit a fire from dry branches, and curled around it. The smoke was immense, and the kids held their palms stretched towards the fire. I shuddered at the thought of lack of personal Hygiene here. There was not bath except the ones in the close stream, bringing dangers such as Bilharzia, and other water born diseases. There were not changes of clean clothes, simply impossible.

The people are poor. Although their cattle is a valuable asset, 1 going for roughly 300 U.S.$, the herders have hundreds of them. Distinctive, the 'Mali' hump backed cattle species in the African Savanna. They can resist the deadly 'Tsetse' fly, and numerous other pests that infest the Savanna.

As soon as daybreak was close, I sparked the engine, and turned, within the parameter of the hamlet. Slowly inching out, trying not to make unnecessary noise when leaving. The exhaust had been welded, my silencer did a good job once again. I was not eager to see the nightly visitor who disappeared in the hut on my left. The early morning was refreshing, invigorating. Once back on the Bush road I felt relieved.

Before 05.00 AM I reached the makeshift bridge over the gushing creek which I dared not to cross the night before. Logs of trees had been laid across the creek, rocks covered the bridge, so large, it needed to be inspected closely. Walking across it revealed a desperate picture, it would be torture to the vehicle. Below a torrential creek gushing powerfully. Not to figure out to make the crossing during the night.  Even if it meant to sleep in the Fulani village with the nightly intruder. In order to make the vehicle lighter, Removing the large bags in the boot, also, in case I had to reverse it would have been easier. Slowly the vehicle made it over the makeshift bridge, its width just as wide to accommodate the car. Inch by inch, now distinctively watching the torrent below. It took 5 minutes across.

The night had come to an easy end, the dawn was now on the Horizon, the golden African sun penetrating the misty air, the branches and twigs of the Neem and Acacia  trees, and the wet grass of the Savanna. Moments like this will let you forget the harsh reality, and you praise the new day as a new beginning. Africa is unimaginably beautiful, and this was the proof for it. Moments of tension and despair will evaporate amid this, and that is how I was able to spend 30 years on the continent. Next : Mali bureaucracy

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