Mali Market

While it was still light we descended to the market, at the base of the village and had a standoff with an ornery bull on the way down. He managed to nick my elbow with one of his curved horns but Soulemane fended him off with his cane before he did any serious damage.

The market was awash in colour, with babies and toddlers and the very old. Fruits, vegetables, greasy donuts, aubergines, mangoes, dried onion balls, soap, fabrics and herbs were all on offer, but by far the biggest product was millet beer, bought by the calabash and drunk straight from the gourd. Little old men and ladies sat around great cauldrons of the it and a circle of men near us broke into song while passing the calabash. The animists were by far the most intriguing, with their little earrings and ancient leather belts, their well-worn sandals and walking sticks with the tips ground down. Soft hoods framed their wrinkled faces and in some cases, they looked like something George Lucas might have dreamt up. They seemed delighted to see us sitting beneath a baobab, children crowded at our feet and a calabash making the rounds. A smile seemed kind of gruesome, though, as each of the old men were chomping on kola nuts, which left little splintery orange fibres in their teeth.

As the light faded, I went up for a shower and bottle of water and when Soulemane and the girls returned, tipsy and high, we sat down to an incredible meal of tomatoes, onions and vinaigrette salad and chunks of pork in sauce. Below the village they were selling cuts of sheep, goat, cow and pig, and roasting them on the spot. It was delicious.

I climbed into bed early, as always, and stared at the stars for about a half hour before rolling over and trying to fall asleep. There was no wind so it was hot and the bugs were biting. I could hear the donkey next door work through his dinner.