White Mans Grave
West Africa was once known as 'White Mans Grave' as most western explorers never returned!
With the irony of 'never returning', right now I'm in the heart of West Africa, Mali, a beautiful country, full of beautiful people and a beautiful culture. I won’t lie, it's amazing here, BUT, I'm currently stuck here, not knowing when I'll return, due to riots, rebellions and more gun fire than in Saving Private Ryan... or was it Shaving Ryan’s Privates, I never remember!
(All images blow this line: Lucinda Helen Grange/More Than Two Halves)
You can read what the BBC say on the matter HERE, but I wish to give you what it's like from where I am...
I'd been here for ten days, photographing football culture for A Promised Land, working with teams such as AC Police, a team, as the name would suggest, made up of only Police Officers. When we got into their Base (which ironicallyI thought was much more like a Millitary Base than a Police HQ) we were greeted by this man, who'd lost his arm in the last Millitary coup, who would have though after my curiosity of his loss, I'd be here for a coup of my own:
It began on Wednesday night, with a rumour that the flight my boss and I were to take may be cancelled, despite this, we packed. My boss, a French couple, and a Malian man and I all crammed ourselves into the back of a little yellow banger of a taxi.
The driver slowly crept through the back roads, there were road blockages to avoid, also occasional gun fire. With every shot fired, the men around us on motorbikes would slump down to their machine, almost hugging it, their eyes peering over the handle bar in all direction to see where it was all coming from.
Arriving at the airport, there was no flight, so once again, one man too many, we clambered back into the taxi, and sneaked along the bumpy back dirt-roads, back to Bamako, to where all the 'riots' were happening.
Once back in the hotel, I found out that the French Embassy had put a curfew on all French people, and our lovely fellow passengers had sneaked past their curfew as well as the rebelling military’s road blocks. So, what's there to do, other than get my camera out (sadly armed only with a 18-70mm for tele-photo opportunities) and see what I could get. Not much as the case may be, here's the road block outside the hotel, shot from a bit of a distance due to being fond of my camera, and it being taken from me if seen being a certainty. As seen many of the Military are plane dressed.
The driver slowly crept through the back roads, there were road blockages to avoid, also occasional gun fire. With every shot fired, the men around us on motorbikes would slump down to their machine, almost hugging it, their eyes peering over the handle bar in all direction to see where it was all coming from.
Arriving at the airport, there was no flight, so once again, one man too many, we clambered back into the taxi, and sneaked along the bumpy back dirt-roads, back to Bamako, to where all the 'riots' were happening.
Once back in the hotel, I found out that the French Embassy had put a curfew on all French people, and our lovely fellow passengers had sneaked past their curfew as well as the rebelling military’s road blocks. So, what's there to do, other than get my camera out (sadly armed only with a 18-70mm for tele-photo opportunities) and see what I could get. Not much as the case may be, here's the road block outside the hotel, shot from a bit of a distance due to being fond of my camera, and it being taken from me if seen being a certainty. As seen many of the Military are plane dressed.
Board of hiding in the nearby bushes, it was time to hit the sack, I got into bed thinking 'keep it down boys, trying to sleep here' as I could hear them starting to pull out the semi-autos and pointing them upwards too. So instead of trying to sleep I tucked myself in with an apt book, 'The Dark Tourist', one I'll also have to recommend!
With Thursday morning came a hunger for more of a view of what was going on outside (as well as for a good breakfast), a need for more than just a web page, flight cancellation and rumours in a hotel full of westerners. So, Salif and I hit the road, with the little petrol left in his tank.
With further development, on our journey Salif explained about the clamp down on transport of all kinds, not just international (all borders are closed now, nothing in or out), all the petrol station had been closed, and the street vendors selling by the old glass bottle were closed too, as had they opened, the troops would come, take all their petrol, and close shop ... much like the British Embassy in Bamako as it turns out! Fortunately Salif and I found a sneaky little man, selling fuel by the bottle from the inside of his hut, with the quick turning of a cap, inserting of a funnel, pouring of two bottles, exchange of money, we were good to go for as long as we needed!
With Thursday morning came a hunger for more of a view of what was going on outside (as well as for a good breakfast), a need for more than just a web page, flight cancellation and rumours in a hotel full of westerners. So, Salif and I hit the road, with the little petrol left in his tank.
With further development, on our journey Salif explained about the clamp down on transport of all kinds, not just international (all borders are closed now, nothing in or out), all the petrol station had been closed, and the street vendors selling by the old glass bottle were closed too, as had they opened, the troops would come, take all their petrol, and close shop ... much like the British Embassy in Bamako as it turns out! Fortunately Salif and I found a sneaky little man, selling fuel by the bottle from the inside of his hut, with the quick turning of a cap, inserting of a funnel, pouring of two bottles, exchange of money, we were good to go for as long as we needed!
Even on the outskirts of town, it wasn't hard to find the rebel military presence, to be honest, keeping your hand on the horn, firing guns in the air at ever junction crossed as well as when ever hell you feel like it too isn't the most discrete was to go about town! So crossing bridges, heading to the centre, and making a few big loops, we got a feel for what was going on, and to our surprise greeted quite well.
As we passed the rebel Military, with a camera filing in one hand, I would wave back at them with the other. Maybe they were amused to see a little white girl on the back of a bike, or to see someone white out at all, but when seen, I was always greeted with a nod, wink, smile and/or a wave from one hand, as the other clutched a riffle in readiness to shoot in the air.
At the Tour D' Afrique, one of the old haunts, you can see these guys waving and greeting. These men clearly feel about what they're rebelling against, but they're not letting it effect the Malian culture within them, and are still friendly as ever (to me anyway), although had they known I'd been filming, that would be a different story I'm sure.
As we passed the rebel Military, with a camera filing in one hand, I would wave back at them with the other. Maybe they were amused to see a little white girl on the back of a bike, or to see someone white out at all, but when seen, I was always greeted with a nod, wink, smile and/or a wave from one hand, as the other clutched a riffle in readiness to shoot in the air.
At the Tour D' Afrique, one of the old haunts, you can see these guys waving and greeting. These men clearly feel about what they're rebelling against, but they're not letting it effect the Malian culture within them, and are still friendly as ever (to me anyway), although had they known I'd been filming, that would be a different story I'm sure.
(For being on a bike, AND not wearing a helmet, SORRY MUM !)
On a more serious note, as safe as I may feel here,
I'm aware it's a very bad time for the country, and it's not just the Military
rebelling. Much like the riots in the UK, Joe-Malian-Public is using this to
his advantage, looting shops, bars, and hotels. Currently being in a Hotel full
of Westerners, each with a nice laptop and camera, I'm aware we're a prime
target.
Despite this, Friday night the boss and I have hid our cameras under our shirts and headed down to the river for some rebellious football (were they caught playing, the Military would break up the match) but sadly we were followed, so the cameras never got any use.
... so now I wait, and wait, and wait ...
Despite this, Friday night the boss and I have hid our cameras under our shirts and headed down to the river for some rebellious football (were they caught playing, the Military would break up the match) but sadly we were followed, so the cameras never got any use.
... so now I wait, and wait, and wait ...