Alien Affairs

Eddie and Paul landed at Bamako-Sénou International Airport the following morning. They cleared customs with diplomatic passports and got into the back of a green and white taxi at the head of a long queue of identical vans. Paul told the driver in French to take them to the American embassy.

Eddy stared through the window and said, “It’s not such a bad looking place. I expected nothing but sand dunes.”

“I think you will get your dunes once we’re out of the capital.”

“Yeah? They got Ebola in this place?”

“Probably.”

“Lots of dudes in robes. Muslims I guess.”

“That’s right. Try not to get captured by extremists.”

The CIA agent embedded with the embassy staff greeted them and paid the cab driver. He looked vaguely like Robert Vaughn. “Welcome to Bamako, gentlemen,” he said shaking hands. “I assume you want to get started. If you’re lucky you can reach your destination before dark.”

“Do they have a hotel there?” Eddy asked.

“That’s a negative. You’ll have to spend the night with the Dogon. They’re used to tourists so you shouldn’t have any problems. I got you an English speaking interpreter.” As he talked he led them to a silver Range Rover with a small dark man by the driver’s door wearing a deep green thobe. “This is Abdule Konaré, your translator and driver. In this envelope are enough West African francs to cover your incidentals, bribes and meals and so forth. Also, this is a topographical map of the area. I assume you have your own GPS units.”

“Yep. We came prepared,” Eddy said.

“Good. You’re carrying enough gas to get you there and back if you don’t get lost.”

“Doesn’t Abdule here know the way?” Eddy asked.

The Malian said, “In Mali one can always get lost.”

Paul and Eddy exchanged looks.

“Gentlemen, good luck.” The Robert Vaughn lookalike shook hands again while Abdule remained inscrutable. The Americans climbed into the back seat while their driver assumed the wheel position and they exited the compound. Traffic was light and consisted mainly of those green and white taxis. Abdule negotiated the streets of the capital automatically and soon had them on a long bridge over the Niger River at the end of which modern civilization ceased. Donkey carts and bicycles predominated on the road with girls in bright colored dresses balancing metal basins on their heads walking along the margins.

Eddy looked at the landscape. “Hey, Abdule, how far is Timbuktu?”

“Long way.”

“Damn shame to come to Mali and not see Timbuktu.”

Paul said, “I’m sure you’ll be back someday.”

Eddy looked at the scenery again. “Oh God, I hope not. It’s greener than I expected though.”

“Soon we be in Forêt de La Faya. That be very green,” Abdule said.

After the forest Abdule stopped at Segou for lunch. Paul and Eddy took a moment to watch the boats on the river and the women beating laundry by the banks before entering the round thatched building. The driver already sat beneath a fly blown ceiling fan. “I ordered the special of the day for all,” he said, “but you can get something else if you prefer.”

Paul shrugged his shoulders.

Eddy said, “What is the special of the day?”

“Peanut soup, fufu with goat.”

“Fufu?” Eddy made a face as he said it.

“It be made from millet.”

The proprietor came from the kitchen wearing an apron around a white thobe and carrying a tray. He served the soup and fufu, stood straight and said, “Bon appetit.”

The Americans stared at the gelatinous glob of starch. “How do you eat it?” Eddy asked.

“Like this.” Abdule formed a ball of it with his fingers and popped it into his mouth. Eddy drank his soup and gnawed on his goat. Paul tried fufu but gave up on it. Shortly they were back on the road. Paul rode in the front and tried to engage Abdule in French while Eddy tried in vain to sleep on the backseat.

The terrain grew increasingly barren, and when they passed through the town of Son, Paul shook Eddy saying, “You don’t want to miss this.” Eddy came upright in time to see three bare-breasted women walking down the road with tubs perched on their heads and babies on their hips. “They have remarkable balance, don’t they?”

“Those are well balanced, all right.”

Abdule said, “From now on you see more Dogon.”

“As long as they look like that, it’s fine by me.”

After Son, Paul began to monitor his GPS device. The sun was sinking low on their left side when Abdule stopped to consult the map.

“It’s that way,” Paul said pointing out the passenger side window.

“Yes, we leave highway. Have to find the trail.”

“That was a highway?” Eddy groused.

“You are no longer in the United States, annoying one,” Abdule said and squinted over the map. He grunted and put the car in gear driving slowly until he spotted the trail. Waving his hand he said, “This is Bongo Plain. On the horizon ahead is Bandiargara Escarpment.

“Is this plain where the drums come from?”

Abdule gave Eddy a hard look in the rearview mirror.

The rutted road did not slow the Malian driver. Paul fastened his seatbelt but Eddy clung to the “Oh-shit-handles” and bounced around the backseat. Finally, as they approached the Dogon village of Kani Kombal, Abdule slowed to a crawl. Children crowded around the car reaching begging hands through the windows and dogs barked at the tires.

“Give them nothing,” Abdule shouted over the clamor. He braked in front of an oblong building with a thatched roof supported by wooden columns carved like bare-breasted women. Men began crawling from the low structure on hands and knees, and real bare-breasted women came sauntering to seize any handouts that their offspring might have earned. Once in the open the men stood and beat the dust from their clothes, which mainly consisted of sleeveless undershirts and ragged shorts. Abdule exited the car to address them. One man stepped forward and engaged the driver in a brief conversation. Abdule turned from the Dogon and said through the passenger window, “They agree to give us a place to sleep and something to eat for ten-thousand francs.”

Eddy asked, “How much more for something besides fufu?”

Paul said, “The road isn’t bad. Why don’t we just grab the thing and leave?”

“No, the road be not safe after dark. Besides, you find it first.”

“Are they hiding it?”

“I do not know. This man says we ask the hogon. He be spiritual leader of the village.”

“I don’t do well with spiritual leaders,” Eddy said.

To which Paul replied, “Edward, I don’t think you do well with any kind of leader.” To Abdule he said, “Where do we find the head man?”

“He take us to his house. First settle matter of the ten-thousand francs.”

Paul counted the small bills and gave them to the man who then led them to a circular mud house with a conical thatched roof. The Dogon said something at the door and a man with a gray beard and a red fez appeared and examined the strangers with a suspicious eye.

Abdule said, “What you want me to ask him?”

It suddenly occurred to him that he had no way of describing what he wanted. “Ask him if he has seen a strange object that mysteriously appeared here,” Paul told him.

Abdule looked puzzled but spoke to the hogon at the same time Eddy wandered away with his GPS unit. The hogon watched Eddy as he answered the question in a highly animated way.

Eddy shouted, “Hey, this funny looking building is in the crosshairs of the coordinates.” He tried to open the carved wooden door of a tall phallic shaped structure, that was prickly with logs protruding from the baked mud at seeming random places and angles starting above the door. The hogon became highly excited and shouted and gestured toward Eddy.

“That is holy shrine. You must not touch it,” Abdule said.

Eddy pulled his hand from the panel, took two steps backward and looked at the absurdly shaped construction. “This is a shrine? Who to? The god of the prickly dick?”

Paul said to his translator, “What was he saying before Eddy got him excited?”

“He says that he knows what you seek, it be given to him not long ago by the Nommo and he be responsible for its safekeeping.”

“What’s a Nommo?”

“Nommo be gods who came here from stars many generations ago. Dogon legend say they promised to return. For them it be as the return of the Prophet. He not be going to let you take the thing you came for.”

Paul took a moment to absorb the development. “Ask him how much money he will take for it.”

Abdule spoke to the hogon who replied heatedly. “He be offended by your offer. The thing be a sacred object beyond value. He not be change his mind.”

Eddy rejoined the group. “Well, what are we going to do now?”

“Well, let’s see about getting you some fufu and we’ll put our heads together.”