Mali is a big country, in total area almost twice the size of the Texas. Now, much of that is desert that the average tourist has no interest traveling in, but even the parts of Mali that are relevant to tourists is quite large, for example, about 900 kilometers from Bamako to Timbuktu. To cover all that distance, tourists generally have two options, as far as road transport goes: private car hire or public bus. As comfortable and quick as a car hire would be, it is simply out of the reach of most travelers’ budgets, given the relatively high cost of everything in Mali (post to come), and so, for most travelers (including us), it’s the bus, and the distances involved and the false starts and delays of Malian bus travel mean that a great deal of a tourist’s time in Mali is spent on a bus. And so, I thought, what better way to give you a feel for Mali travel than to describe to you a typical Malian bus ride?
The journey I’ve chosen to cover in this post is the relatively short trip from the town of Segou, a peaceful riverside city much loved by foreign tourists (in part because of the serenity, in part because of the extremely comfortable available lodging), to Mali’s capital of Bamako. The total distance is only 230 or so kilometers and the ride is said to take three to three and a half hours (a rather optimistic estimate based on unrealistically ideal conditions, but one that the bus company will give every time and in a very certain, matter of fact manner).
There are two kinds of scheduled bus departures in Mali. The first, which is quite rare, buses actually depart at the appointed hour. For example, buses of Bani Transport, one of the leading bus companies, supposedly always depart on time (although I find this hard to believe). The second, and far more common, kind of scheduled bus departure? Completely disregarding the schedule, the bus leaves when full.
We were told by someone who travels from Segou to Bamako regularly that Somatra’s (another major bus company) 4 AM departure from Segou to Bamako always leaves on time, and that there were two other Somatra morning departures, the “7 AM” and “8 AM,” which leave after filling up (and therefore not necessarily at 7 AM and 8 AM at all). We asked Somatra about its schedule directly, and were told that there were buses to Bamako on the hour, all morning, which we knew must be something barely short of an outright lie. And so, heeding the first advice, but not wanting to get up at 3 AM, we headed to the bus station at around 7, and bought tickets for the next departure. (We wanted to take Somatra because we had earlier on the trip taken a very comfortable Somatra bus, an old-fashioned model with windows that open and great legroom. Unfortunately, most of fleet in Mali now consists of modern buses with cramped seating and sealed windows, to keep in the air conditioning, except that the air conditioning is invariably non-functioning or turned off–it is winter here and the locals tend to get cold quickly–resulting in hothouse-like conditions. Also, Somatra’s station was convenient to our hotel–inconveniently, Malian bus companies maintain separate stations, making the business even less consumer-friendly.)
We then sat and waited. And waited. There was no indication of when the bus would leave (certainly no straight answer from the staff), but, by this point in our Mali trip, we were nearly as patient as the locals, eating snacks and enjoying the characters at the bus station. Now, Segou is not a big place, and so there was not quite the level of activity and volume of long-distance travelers that might be found in Bamako or Mopti, but there were still plenty of young men selling everything from shoes (draped around their necks) to over-the-counter medicines to prepaid SIM and recharge cards (a thriving business in West Africa), livestock being transported in sacks, sometimes the head poking out, other times wholly bagged up, and flies.
Waiting room
A donkey cart, carrying freight. I have developed a great love of donkeys on our trip–could they be any more adorable?
Finally, about two and a half hours after we first arrived, the bus company indicated which bus was headed to Bamako–unfortunately one of the more modern buses with neither opening windows nor working A/C–and luggage was loaded. (Remember the supposed hourly departures? At this rate of delay, there must be quite large number of buses sitting around at the end of the day!)
Now, just because the luggage is being loaded does not mean that a departure is imminent, nor does the bus company telling you that a departure is imminent mean that a departure is imminent (as we learned in Bamako, where a bus departing “tout de suite” didn’t leave for another hour). But, fortunately in this case, our bus took off fairly soon after loading.
One of the drudgeries of a bus ride in Mali is the dull scenery outside of the window. In terms of natural beauty, the Sahel in the dry season is pretty unremarkable–flat, dusty, a mixture of brown and an unhealthy shade of green. Another hassle, and the reason that voyages take so much longer than they are supposed to, is that buses stop all the time. They stop to drop off and pick up passengers and freight on the side of the road, for security checkpoints and sometimes for, as far as we could tell without language skills, no reason at all. That said, there are some interesting distractions on the Malian road.
I developed a great respect for African entrepreneurship (and sorrow for the lack of economic opportunity) from the number of people who seem to make a living by selling food to buses passing by. Any time the bus stops, a crush of girls and young women elbow and push their way on, trying to be the first of usually three or four with their particular product, and verbally marketing with gentle, rhythmic repetitions of their offerings. With prices so low and competition so fierce, it’s hard to imagine them making much money at all, in spite of the grueling conditions. In the first picture are women selling a boiled root vegetable (not bad, surprisingly juicy and sweet) and cupcakes (gateaux). In the second picture, you can also make out in the upper right baggies of frozen juice, always tempting but for fear of sickness (sometimes thirst would win out, other times fear of tainted water prevailed).
Police checkpoints are extremely common in Mali. From our limited West Africa experience, it seemed that Senegal was run quite efficiently with minimal police checkpoints or visible bribery, while checkpoints and petty bribes were endemic in Mali. We heard that the situation was yet worse in Niger, although of course none of these countries stack up to the rampant kleptocracy and violence of Nigeria. On one of our Malian bus rides, one of the passengers took up a collection from all of the other passengers, and then turned to us to pressure us to kick in, so that they could bribe the police not to check the cargo hold (we did not contribute).
Always common in developing countries, due to the condition of both the vehicles and the roads: breakdowns and accidents. Note the U.S. flag decoration in the interior of the bus. Malian buses and trucks are often decorated with the stars and stripes–it’s amazing that people still love and respect America so much after the last eight years.
All in all, our journey was quite smooth,
with no significant delays. Even then, what is said to be a three hour journey ended up taking four hours, or a total of six and a half hours from the time we showed up at the bus station. But by now we’ve started to assume that any bus ride will somehow end up taking the whole day, and so an early afternoon arrival was an unexpected windfall. (Our ride from Bamako to Segou a couple weeks ago, which we were told would take three hours but ended up taking closer to five, was excruciating–it’s amazing the difference that expectations make in the tolerability of physical discomfort.)
One is made to wonder what the total benefit to a country’s development and economy would be, were there simply reliable and cheap transportation, given transport’s role in facilitating commerce (or, in the case of Mali, in impeding commerce and raising the cost of everything). Maybe all development aid should just be aimed at transportation infrastructure and logistics? But then, how would that help to get rid of excess American agricultural products?
Our fellow passengers (the man in the middle blocking his face must be either shy or a fugitive!)
