In these days where “wanderlust” has been replaced by “travel advice”, “travel restrictions”, “traffic light countries” and all those negative connotations, sometimes it’s worth stoping and thinking about the bigger picture. In fact, it may be worth thinking a little bigger than we used to - going outside the usual parameters, looking at places we have always discarded.
Religious pilgrim, Djenne mosque
Let me start at the beginning: When I started travelling, in what now seems like a couple of ice ages ago, things were simple. Places like Iran, Afghanistan, Mali, Liberia and Sierra Leone, the Congo were exotic places, filled with wonder - unknown, for sure, but places the daring traveller could explore with no more fear than what comes naturally from travelling. Risk of death was, back in the day, very, very low in terms of probability. Unfortunately, all this has changed enormously in the last two and a half decades and now dozens of these absolutely amazing places are essentially out of bounds - dangerous in a very real sense of the word, uninsurable (in a more practical sense) and as a result, logistically very difficult to visit. Oh, and risk of death is no longer a remote possibility.
And yet… there is so much beauty and wonder in these places, so much untouched reality that, for the travel photographer (and for the true, genuine traveller) these places are real treasure troves of images, experiences and, above all stories. To me this is not about thrill-seeking or about notching another country - it is about searching for stories which have not been told (or, maybe I should say, told the way I want to tell them), about coming back and sharing the experiences with everyone, hopefully sharing some of those wonders.
So, why start with Mali? Well, I have been wanting to travel to Mali ever since I can remember - way before Ethiopia, way before a lot of the places to which I’ve been to time and again, even came into view. When I started travelling it was all about Papua New Guinea, Mali, Afghanistan and Iran, Siberia and Japan - they were my unicorns and was absolutely devastated when politics and religion started closing some of them from me. Now however, experience, budgets and easier access to local companies and fixers (the wonders of the internet and smartphones, right?) is slowly changing things and places like Mali and even Afghanistan are coming closer and closer. And this was how the trip to Mali came along.
Why? Well, convenience mostly. It was easier to organise in the midst of the pandemic - which meant last minute flights, last minute hotel arrangements, countless changes in schedules etc. Also, in terms of logistics (visas, fixers, PCR tests etc) it was significantly simpler than, for example, Afghanistan or Iran would have been. I also wanted to go in April which would have been more problematic in the other countries. Of course, this was the theory - reality turned out to be quite different: flights were cancelled literally with 48hrs to go, tribal warfare erupted in different areas across Mali, the Jihadi extremists were making inroads into the middle of the country, prompting clashes with the militia and the army, a heatwave started less than 5 days before I landed, pushing temperatures upwards of 42C for pretty much the entire time I was there. Oh, and while I had planned to take euros with me (as per the information from my fixers), every single ATM in the Paris Airport was down! I mean, seriously, would any of you have even thought this would happen? Oh, and because of the various delays, flight changes etc, the trip ended up right in the middle of Ramadan! All in all, the trip I started planning with the trip I ended up doing were, maybe, 30% similar. And it cost around 40% more than originally budgeted.
Malinke traditional costume and mask
But the moment I landed in Mali all of that was completely forgotten. I didn’t even mind the baking heat - I was in Mali. The plan was simple: travel to the middle of the country, to Djenne, and spend some time photographing the mosque and the quranic schools, then head down along the Niger, shooting at the fishermen tribes in and around the Segou area and wrapping up in Manding Country to shoot the Dogon and the Malinke. Not a complicated plan but one designed to allow me time in each place and hopefully I would find the stories I was looking for.
Djenne was absolutely amazing. I met children who had never seen a white person before - with tourism completely devastated in the last 7-8 years, this was hardly surprising - and were scared and curious at the same, an absolutely touching experience and one akin to how I can only imagine the first explorers would have been met with hundreds of years ago. Working with the different quranic school teachers and the students was also a humbling experience - seeing how learning is done, seeing what real desire for learning looks like against massive odds, seeing the deference towards their elders and teachers and how, even to this date, traditions still hold true. I chose to photograph the quranic schools as they are, without attempting to “beautify” them or remove any modern detritus from the scenes because, to me, that was the story - not just creating a “traditional” image which just looks pretty. Combine it with a virtually deserted mud mosque, Djenne was one of my most favourite places in Mali and one I will go back to the first chance I get. It resulted in warm, kind, personal and almost epic images I think will always look back to.
The famous Djenne mud mosque, the largest mud structure in the world
The absolute treasure trove however was the Niger. It was there that I found the original story I was looking for. With Mali being sorely impoverished over the last 15 years, more and more people have turned to subsistence living, from farming to fishing to sand fishing (!). This is not commerce or industry - this is families and individuals trying to survive even if this means they go back to roots they had forgotten decades ago. I met young and old fishermen each using the typical round throwing net to catch just enough fish for themselves and their families and maybe, if they’re lucky, after 12hrs of fishing, a few fish they can trade for other necessities. I met dozens of people involved with bringing sand out of the Niger’s soft bottom, bucket after bucket, by hard, out onto the shore where it will be filtered (again by hand), dried and then sent by boat to the bigger industrial centres like Bamako where it will sustain the massive building surge happening there. I even met people literally combing the river gathering driftwood which they then dry and sell for firewood.
One the course of 4 days I produced what I feel are some truly amazing images - warm, emotional, focused on the people rather than their jobs or tasks, showing them for who they are rather than what they do. The Bozo and Somono fishermen are absolutely lovely people with a kind of sadness in them which comes across - I feel - in their images but all in all, they were by far my favourite part of the trip. Hey, shooting on the Niger was also not bad…;-)
Young Somono fisherman, Niger river, Segou
The last part of the trip was dedicated to working with the Dogon and Malinke tribes. Unfortunately I hit a perfect storm of intense tribal warfare, in-tribe fighting and displacements and, of course, due to the delay, the Ramadan. So, instead of being able to spend 2 1/2 days with different Dogon villages etc, I was only able to spend 5 hrs with them. It was an absolute, unmitigated disaster but, hey, adjustment is the name of the game when travelling, right? So, over the course of 5hrs I was able to not only experience the absolutely awesome dances which are their trademarks but also to see things I had not expected, had not been able to research but which left me speechless. I did try to capture some video but I’m not sure it’s good enough to share - my focus was on enjoying the experience. In terms of pictures - far, far fewer than I would have liked but some good ones there. The most important point here is the lessons learned: (a) you need time. These are large tribes, with more than 40 people, and to properly capture them you need time. 2-3hrs are nowhere near enough - maybe 2-3 days would have been okay. (b) there is more than enough variety there to give you a panic attack (as a photographer). Dozens of looks, attire differentials, masks etc. Choosing is incredibly difficult and if you do try to focus on just a few, chances are your images will be the poorer for them. (c) you need space - you need a good location. Not all of Manding Country offers itself readily, so sometimes working with your local fixer to find a good location is critical. Why? Because you will be working with loads of people and if you want to create meaningful images, you need the space. I was incredibly fortunate here to find an absolutely amazing location near the village of Siby!
The Dogon are absolutely amazing - I don’t think I’ve ever met people so happy to work with a photographer, so willing to try ideas out, so passionate about sharing their culture. I feel massively blessed for having met them and shared those moments with them and I literally have dozens - if not hundreds - of ideas and shots I am planning to go back for. I honestly believe that spending 4-5 days with the Dogon would still not be enough!
Dogon warriors, village near Siby, Manding Country
The downsides to all of the above? VERY basic accommodation - not a problem for me, but important to know, expect and also understand that it’s the flip side of travelling to places where there is little to no tourism infrastructure. Very limited food opportunities - be prepared to subsist for your duration. Personally I’m not complaining because I’m an omnivore and not very particular when travelling, but I know the overwhelming majority of people would find it less than amenable. Expensive - considering the time you end up spending, the facilities etc., Mali can be disproportionally expensive. But this goes part and parcel with travelling to a forbidden destination - from what I’m seeing, my upcoming trip to Afghanistan will be even more expensive. Finally, risk. Mali is not covered by most travel insurance policies (I had to purchase specific one) and, as a non-frequent destination, flights in and out are subject to last minute cancellations and changes, so you need to check constantly. Oh, I saved one more thing for last: internet! For all you social media junkies and instagram addicts - Mali is not the place for you. I can almost picture people screaming in despair as day after day goes by without internet…
And so we come to the answer to the question I asked at the beginning: Should you go where you shouldn’t go? I cannot claim to have the answer - obviously I did and will do again very shortly. Should you? It’s up to you - there is risk involved and sometimes this risk is neither quantifiable nor easily mitigated or prepared for - so ultimately it’s all about how much risk you can live with. What I can tell you is that there is true wonder hidden there, incredible people and wonderful experiences just waiting. You could absolutely wait until things settle down - this may take anything from 10-20-30 years or significantly less - and make it a more leisurely and comfortable experience. There is nothing wrong with that. But maybe, just maybe, you may end up missing. Things change, people change and things get lost - I am sure that in 10-20 years most of the things I witnessed in Mali will be massively changed and even died away, only to be resurrected for tourists in performances - and this is not always the same.
So, what do you think? Let me know in the comments below!