Varela: ngoni music

Yes, I’m still in Varela. I didn’t plan to be still in Varela.

I woke up early-ish, at 7am, when the sun rises. Plan was to get to Bissau during the day. I assumed I would catch one of the toca toca that are coming here from São Domingos. I mean I was on one and I assumed that one wasn’t the only one and there surely is something in the morning going to town.

There is. At 3am. The owner of the hotel told me. Once per day. Otherwise I can sit on a back of a motorbike, for 10.000CFA.

Oh well, no transport, no hurry, no worries. I could take breakfast slowly. Baguette with a single triangle of Laughing Cow cream cheese, a knob of butter and an omelette. And a single sachet of Nescafé. I need to up my espresso game in Bissau.

I decided to stay one more night. Leaving at 3am could possibly get me to Bissau before noon and all I really need from Bissau (except espresso) is visa for Guinea which apparently is granted on the spot. And I have an added bonus of empty grandeur of the beach here and I won’t spend a day in transport.

I quickly confirmed how much I owe to the hotel and it turned out to be not bad: room 12.000CFA, lunch 5.000CFA (which is a lot) and dinner (soup, 1.000CFA). I could stay.

And I did. It was another lazy day, I’m getting more and more of such. The owner told me about another beach, the fishermen beach. When I got there, all the action of bringing and slicing and sorting the fish was over. There were many vultures eating fish remains.

Back in the hotel I read a book called “Sunjata”, as presented by local bards, called griots. Sunjata was a king who went on creating what some call Mali Empire, which was located on today’s Guinean-Malian-Senegalese lands. The story was written as told by two different griots, mainly for comparison and scientific studies but the part that was even more interesting was the introduction, who the griots are, how the stories are being told, even in contemporary music. There was even an overview on the instruments. There is the famous kora but there is ngoni, a precursor of banjo, there is xylophone, there is tama, a small drum held under the arm that produces characteristic various-pitched sounds.

Ah, music of Mali. Deserves a separate post but if you like to listen to kora while reading this post, Toumani Diabaté is a master. For ngoni take a listen to Bassekou Kouyaté and his appropriately named band Ngoni Ba.

Lunch was pork. They baked it in a large outside fire oven. The smell was tempting. I don’t eat pork normally but I didn’t wanna stray much from the mainstream after yesterday’s squid fiasco, though I was offered chicken.

I’m not sure what was baked and how much of the pig was in the pots. What I got was one spinal bone and two sides of jawbone, complete with teeth! I know some people consider various animal heads a delicacy but I don’t. I nevertheless tried. There was fat skin, a lot of fat and the scary bones. Thank God there was enough rice and potatoes to fill me.

After lunch I went to the beach. The three South Americans who are also staying here gave me a ride. Not sure how long they stayed here or what they really do here, I had to show them the way to the beach.

On the beach there was seven men rolling a newly carved piroguer down to the water. One of them asked for water. They finished the whole bottle. I went on walking and I saw my South Americans taking a swim. When they saw my empty bottle they offered me a new one. That’s what you do with water people, share!

I walked a bit further and sat down. I started reading another book, “Meeting the invisible man” by Toby Green. Looking for marabouts, the wise men of the region he is, with a friend who lives in Guinea Bissau.

Coming back at sunset the guys still struggled with the boat. In three hours they moved it by maybe 30 metres and now it was already drowning in the wet sand when they were still trying, wooden logs in hands to push it further into water. They finished what was left in my water bottle. One of them, speaking English told me they will take the boat to Senegal. It was made in Bissau, seemingly from one piece of wood, brought here by car and they have been struggling with it since morning.

Dinner was soup again and my new South American friends took pity of me and asked the owners to give me more pork from lunch. This time it was ribs but not much better than the jawbones. I will stick to poulet.

PS So far mobile network fails to upload photos as I’d like them, hence text only.